#Ma’am you suck

[caterpillarinacave]

I would like to thank retail for allowing me the pleasure of ringing up such incredibly unpleasant, condescending, bitchy people.

[marisatomay]

tom brady is so funny because he could have retired last season at a nice height while everyone in sports was out there sucking his dick calling him the GOAT but nooooooooooo he had to throw a fit and renege on his retirement to play one more season because some sports journalist on twitter broke that he was retiring before he could say it himself and now look at him. his hot supermodel wife left him, he had a losing record, lost the wildcard game, choked so badly in his final game in front of tom cruise that cruise left early, everyone knows he’s a little bitch, his team hates him, gronk already retired, and he’s stuck announcing his retirement via a front facing direct to camera video on twitter. the eagles are back in the super bowl. couldn’t have scripted it better myself. mwah.

[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS アニメ公式ノベライズ Official Novelization ☽ Chapter 2 Translation

[Previous chapter] ☽ [Next chapter]

Originally written by Yukuzuki Hiroha 結来月ひろは Translated from the Japanese by @otomehonyaku

STORY Following her father’s job transfer, Komori Yui is sent to live with the Sakamaki brothers. However, these six brothers turn out to be sadistic, ill-tempered vampires. The men are after Yui’s sweet and incredibly rare blood, and go to great lengths toying with her body and soul to get it. Before long, Yui finds herself trapped in an alluringly dangerous love game(1)...

1. 吸血愛戯 (ラブゲーム): Stylised as ‘love game’ but written with the characters for bloodsucking (吸血), love (愛), and play (戯). The latter character also has a connotation of playfulness/mischief.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

DISCLAIMER This is an unofficial translation intended for those interested in reading the story of the Diabolik Lovers game/season in a slightly more literary format in English. I have no affiliation with Rejet or Frontier Works whatsoever. All rights belong to them, but PLEASE DO NOT POST THIS TRANSLATION ELSEWHERE OR TRANSLATE TO OTHER LANGUAGES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

Now that that’s out of the way—have fun reading! ❤️

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Episode 2

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The evening sun cast a warm glow on the mansion. By the time the chandelier was lit, Yui was sitting on a bed in an unfamiliar room. 

Where am I?

Yui sat upright and looked around. In the corner of the room was the suitcase she had brought to the mansion, as well as her bag. The room was gorgeous with its pink tones and large bed with a lavender-coloured canopy that most girls her age could only dream of. However, Yui wondered why she had been sleeping in this room. 

I arrived at the mansion, and then…

Yui gasped. Right. I found out that they are vampires, that’s why. Remembering the moments leading up to her losing consciousness, she inattentively pressed her fingers to her neck. 

“Thank God, I wasn’t bitten.” Feeling reassured, Yui lowered her fingers to her chest, but suddenly noticed something. “Huh?”

She wasn’t wearing her own clothes, but instead wore a négligé that she had never seen before. 

“Did I change clothes earlier?”

However, Yui had no memory of doing so. In fact, she didn’t remember anything after Ayato pushed her to the floor and she lost consciousness. That meant a stranger had undressed her while she wasn’t conscious. 

“Why am I here? I want to talk to my father…”

Yui wrapped her arms around herself, a thought ran through her mind.

The fact that she is not my own child bears no meaning at all. 

That was what her father’s diary had said when she found it in the forbidden room. I’m not my father’s biological daughter after all… Still, she wasn’t quite sure if she really believed that. She didn’t want to.

“Dad… What’s going on? Please come back home…” Tears started welling up in the corners of her eyes when she remembered the days she’d spent with her father, but the moment was cut short.

“Oh, Bitchlet. It’s no use crying, y’know?”

Yui yelped in surprise. 

When she looked up, Laito was sitting there on her bed, watching her intently. 

“You look hot in your little négligé,” he said, “and you smell delicious, too.” 

Painfully reminded of her current lack of clothing, Yui scrambled for the bed sheets and used them to cover up her chest. Still, the smirk that had been on Laito’s face the entire time grew deeper.

“I wonder if you’re trying to seduce me, little bitch.”

“Why would I…” Yui made an effort to get away from Laito, but soon felt the headboard press into her back, and she knew she had nowhere to run. Oh no… If I don’t do something, he’ll…

The boy was only a hair’s breadth away from her face when he abruptly disappeared from her line of vision, along with the sound of an impact.

“Don’t go touchin’ my things without permission.”

Ayato was the one who had sent his brother flying. 

Laito repositioned his hat onto his head and looked at him. “Ayato, you’re too rowdy.”

“Shut up.”

Has Ayato come to my rescue? If he hadn’t come in, Laito would surely have bitten me. But why would he help me? Even though Yui had not said anything aloud, Ayato called out her wishful thinking immediately.

“I’ll have her.”

So he didn’t come to save me… he was only acting because he didn’t want me swiped away from under his nose.

“Please, don’t!”

“You three. If you do not hurry, we will all be late.” In the blink of an eye, Reiji had also appeared by the side of the bed.

“Again, Reiji?”

“Aw, man, things were just getting good…”

Ignoring Ayato’s and Laito’s complaints, Reiji turned to Yui. “You too. Hurry up and get dressed.”

Yui was glad that the second son had saved her from getting bitten once again, but grew suspicious at his words. “Get dressed? Are we going somewhere?”

“Of course. We’re going to class.”

“Class… at this hour?”

“Please, Yui. Your dull-wittedness is astounding. Do you really not understand anything until I spell it out for you? We attend night classes.”

Yui cast a glance upon the clock at her bedside, and the hands pointed to 5:20 PM. Had she not been here, her classes would have already ended at this time.

“But… we still have an entire day of classes ahead?” Having attended a regular school until now, Yui could not hide her confusion.

“Contrary to what is normal to humans, going out during the day is bothersome for us. As you will be living in the Sakamaki household from now on, we expect you to conform to our lifestyle.”

“But…”

“If you have any complaints, you are welcome to leave at any time,” Reiji said. He then turned to walk away..

“But you said you’d kill me if I ran…” The complaint slipped past Yui’s lips in a voice that was too quiet for Reiji to understand.

“What was that?”

“N-nothing.” Yui shook her head vigorously.

“Then please hurry and put on your uniform.”

When she followed Reiji’s gaze, she saw that a brand new uniform had suddenly appeared on her bed. It consisted of the same blazer that the brothers wore, and a skirt that had white frills attached to the hem. The white shirt ribbon that came with it was tied together with another red ribbon on the centre of the chest. Did they go through all that trouble to get me a school uniform?

“Um…” When Yui raised her face, the three brothers had disappeared from her bedside. And now they’re gone. They really are vampires… 

Alone once again, she sighed heavily. When she tried to get up from the bed, her hand grazed past her rosary.

“Right…” Yui tightly gripped her rosary. “This might be the time to look for the room where I found that diary.” The brothers would be gone, and she would have the room to herself. This chance might not present itself again. 

Yui went to the door and eased it open the tiniest bit in order to check her surroundings. Good. Nobody’s outside my room. Ready to seize the opportunity, Yui prepared to leave the room.

“Yo.”

“Huh?” Somehow, Ayato was standing right in front of her. 

No way. There was nobody here. 

He looked at her scantily-clothed form with an amused grin on his face. “You’re still wearing that? C’mon, I’ll help you change.”

“I’m fine, thank you!” 

Yui shut the door in his face and sighed again. 

Not a chance after all… because I’m not dealing with humans, but with vampires. I should keep my head down for now.

Having given up the idea of going to the forbidden room today, Yui reluctantly got ready to head to class.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When Yui finished getting ready and descended to the ground floor, a large black limousine was waiting in front of the mansion. Are we… going to school by limousine?

She hesitated for a second, but the driver opened the door for her. 

Well, I guess I have no choice, then.

“Thank you,” Yui said to the driver before she climbed into the limousine, but he kept silent as he shut the door.

The limousine was spacious enough to fit all of the brothers, and Yui was the last one to arrive. When she sat down on a seat near the door, the limousine quietly departed from the mansion. 

The brothers didn’t talk to one another. The only sound that could be heard was the car’s engine, and the lack of conversation was in stark contrast with their behaviour yesterday. 

Yui looked at the brothers. They couldn’t have been more different from each other—they each had their distinctive hair and eye colour. Are they really brothers?

Reiji was reading a book, and Subaru was sitting next to him, staring out the window with a sullen look on his face. Maybe they just don’t get along. On the opposite side, Laito’s face lit up like he was scheming, Kanato was talking to Teddy, and Shuu was listening to music with his earphones in. 

They really aren’t talking.

“What’re you thinking about, Pancake?” 

Yui had been lost in thought until she was surprised to see Ayato coming towards her, and she instinctively held out her hands to avoid him. The vampire didn’t seem pleased by that. 

Taking advantage of sitting right next to her, Ayato moved in closer. “You got some nerve trying to disobey me, Pancake.”

“All this time, it’s been ‘Pancake,’ ‘Pancake’… I have a name, you know. It’s Komori Yui. Please use it properly.”

“Shut up. Names lost their meaning to me about a hundred years ago, Pancake,” Ayato retorted, drawing out the syllables. Obviously offended, he suddenly bent over Yui, his mouth going for her neck. 

SNAP!

The sound of Reiji’s book slamming shut broke the tense atmosphere.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Ayato? Take such behaviour to your own room.”

Grumbling, Ayato let go of Yui.

Thank God…

“And you. Take this.”

“Huh?”

Reiji held out a juice box for her. “It’s pure cranberry juice. It works best against anaemia.”

“T-thank you,” Yui said in earnest, feeling a little surprised at Reiji’s sudden kindness. 

“No need to thank me,” he responded, sending her a cold glare. “You will have to learn that you are simply our prey, and drink that every day.”

Their… prey? Yui’s hands trembled. She had known it deep down already, but still, Reiji’s cold words struck a chord. Her body was seized by fear. Soon, she was shaking.

“You know, Teddy? When humans are scared, their teeth start ‘chattering.’ Interesting, isn’t it? Let’s observe closely.” Kanato held out Teddy toward Yui.

To these men, all I am is prey. 

The one eye Teddy had that wasn’t covered by an eye patch gleamed at Yui.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

With her lips forming a tight line and her body absolutely rigid, Yui sat in the limousine for another while until it passed under the moonlit gate of Reitei Academy. So this is the night school they were talking about… This was her first time to attend a night school, but Reitei, with its courtyard bathed in moonlight, looked to be a particularly prestigious one.

Yui trailed behind the brothers after they’d gotten out of the limousine and followed them into the courtyard. It was bright and enormous, and the staff had done a good job keeping it tidy.

That’s good. Even though they teach classes at night, it still seems to be a normal school. Yui had felt a little uneasy when she was told to go to the school the brothers went to, but most of the students somehow seemed to be normal humans just like her.

The moment the Sakamakis entered the school’s courtyard, all students stopped and stared. 

Well, if you count out the fact that they’re vampires, they certainly are handsome… When Yui looked at them properly once again, their outward appearance was very well-put together. It certainly wasn’t strange for them to attract attention looking this good.

However, nobody tried talking to them.

Even when they passed through the hallways and a group of female students looked over while chatting with one another in a low voice, they fell silent when Yui returned their gaze. When Yui averted her eyes again, the girls hurriedly moved past them.

What was that for? She turned around and looked at the girls’ backs as they walked away, thinking it strange. Reiji stopped in front of the staircase and called out, pulling Yui out of her daze.

“You are in the same class as Ayato and Kanato, so please go with the two of them.”

“Okay.”

In all earnest, Yui had been looking forward to some time away from the brothers, but she had no choice. She did as she was told, but Reiji’s cold voice stopped her before she could leave with Ayato and Kanato.

”I am not done talking yet.”

Yui reluctantly faced him again.

“If you do not wish to be struck with a whip, I would advise you to not do anything reckless. Understood?”

Meaning that if I tried to run away…

Reiji’s unrelenting gaze gave Yui the chills.

“Answer me.”

“…Yes.”

Feeling Reiji’s ice-like stare on her back, she walked away and headed to the classroom.

This should be it.

When Yui went into the classroom, Kanato was sitting at the very back, a book open in front of him as he cradled Teddy in his arms. Ayato was slumped over on his desk. For some reason, they were the only students there.

But class is just about to start. Why isn’t anyone else here?

Yui considered asking Kanato, but seeing him talk so animatedly to Teddy made her close her mouth again. She quickly glanced at the blackboard. It said Today’s Home Economics class is cooking practice. Please assemble in the school kitchen.

“So we’re doing a cooking class today.” That’s why the classroom was empty—everyone else must have already gone to the kitchen.

We should get going, too. I can’t be late on my first day here. But where is this kitchen?

“…Cooking practice?”

Yui’s voice roused Ayato from his nap, and his face twisted into a suggestive grin. “Hey, Pancake.”

“Ayato, please don’t call me weird names at school.”

“Shut up. You’re better off worrying about where to find the school kitchen.”

As if he had read Yui’s mind, she fell silent.

“Yours Truly could do you a favour and take you there.”

“Really?”

”Yeah. C’mon.” Ayato grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the classroom.

“Ah, wait!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“…Um, Ayato?”

“What?”

“Where are we?”

The room Ayato had dragged her to was filled with cooking utensils and supplies. However, there were no other students in sight.

“It’s the school kitchen.”

“Then why is nobody here?”

“‘Cause this is the old kitchen. They teach the cooking classes in the new one.”

In other words, Ayato tricked her into coming here.

“So why did you bring me here?”

“As for the reason…” Ayato stood up from the chair he’d been sitting on, and stalked towards Yui.

Oh no, not again… Yesterday’s events were still etched into the back of her mind, making Yui freeze in place, but the answer coming out of Ayato’s mouth surprised her.

“Make me some takoyaki.”

“T-takoyaki?”

…Like, actual takoyaki?

“Well, I don’t expect anything but the world’s best takoyaki.”

A takoyaki pan was already present on the table, making Yui realise the height of his expectations. So that’s why he brought me here? She wasn’t sure if this was the actual reason why, but this wasn’t the time to think about that.

”But… we should head to class, quickly.”

“Don’t talk back to me. Yours Truly will eat your takoyaki. Now get cooking!”

“You could at least ask nicely…”

“You say something?” Ayato clearly wasn’t intending to go back to class. 

Yui did as he said, and started the preparations to make takoyaki. Fortunately, most of the ingredients were already there, and Yui somehow managed to make takoyaki with them.

“Here you go.”

Ayato stuffed the takoyaki into his mouth without hesitation. “So good!” 

Next to an innocently grinning Ayato, who feasted happily on the takoyaki, sat a rather dreary-looking Yui. “It’s only my first day of school and I’ve already skipped a class…”

Yui had never expected it to come to this on her first day after transferring to Reitei. She had never skipped a class before, even at her old school. 

“No use worrying ‘bout such small things. Have a bite.”

Before Yui could answer, Ayato pushed a ball of takoyaki into her mouth. “It’s delicious!” 

“Right?”

For something she had made herself, it had turned out pretty well. As the two sat and enjoyed the takoyaki, Yui caught a glimpse of the clock hanging on the wall. 

Their next class was about to start.

“We need to clean up. I don’t want to miss our next class too.” Yui began carrying the cooking utensils she used to make takoyaki to the sink. To avoid her getting wet, she took off her blazer, and hurriedly began washing a bowl. She had not realised there would be so much washing-up to do. 

Ayato, satisfied with a belly full of takoyaki, stretched out his legs and reclined in his chair, watching Yui as she did the dishes.

“Give me a hand, Ayato. You were the one who wanted me to make takoyaki, right?”

Silently, the vampire got up from his chair and crept over to her. He stopped just at her back. Yet Yui had not heard him coming over the sound of the running water, and so she called out to him again.

“Hey, Aya—”

When Yui looked over her shoulder, Ayato was right there. He was looking down on her quite literally, and as soon as she saw the look in his eyes, she immediately squirmed away from him.

“What’re you running away for?” He stalked over Yui, who was now standing by the window. “I’ve been going crazy since yesterday. I don’t wanna hold off any longer.”

I have to run…

Ayato captured her in his arms with ease.

“Let me taste you.”

“Please, don’t…” 

The words did not reach him. Ayato grabbed her chin and turned her face to the side, exposing the nape of her neck.

“No bite marks at all. Your skin looks delicious, really.”

Taking in the sight of her slender, pale neck right in front of him, a satisfied smile played at Ayato’s lips.

“Yours Truly will be the one to take all your firsts.”

The next moment, Ayato’s teeth hovered above the skin of her throat. A predatory gleam clouded his eyes before he buried his fangs deep in her neck. 

Yui gasped. The pain of Ayato’s sharp teeth piercing her neck and the feeling of her blood flowing freely into Ayato’s mouth made her body tremble. Even if Yui wanted to run from him, he had a strong grip on both her jaw and her waist. 

“Fuck… what is this? I’ve never tasted blood this sweet before.” Ayato briefly pulled away from her neck, his eyes twinkling with delight. “I like you.”

Before long, Ayato’s fangs brutally punctured Yui’s skin a second time.

“Please…”

Yui was not sure whether it was because he was sucking her blood, but her head began to grow numb, as if she was not herself anymore. 

I’m… scared… If he keeps feeding on me, I'll truly become their prey… I’m so scared.

Yui gathered all her strength to push Ayato away from her. However, the force of her push made the skin tear where Ayato had punctured it with his fangs. The intense pain shooting through her neck knocked the breath out of her, and her face contorted in agony.

“Idiot. If you move around while I bite you, you’ll only make it hurt more, you know.” When Ayato looked up, his lips were stained a bright red when they pulled away from his teeth in a smile.

“Ah…”

His lips were stained the colour of Yui’s blood.

I’ve really been fed on.

With the pain and shock of having her blood sucked, the fear showed plainly on her face.

“Seeing you in tears with your face twisting in pain… It’s too tempting.” Ayato wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, and then licked it off before reaching out to Yui again. 

“Please, stop…”

“No stopping now.”

Ayato pushed her up against the window and bit down on the nape of her neck again.

The moonlight illuminated the two of them through the window, contrasting with the dark room behind them. The moon above Yui was the last thing she saw before her consciousness fell into a deep darkness.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You two are an embarrassment to do such a thing on school premises.”

Before long, Reiji was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on Ayato and Yui. Ayato clicked his tongue as he turned around to face his brother.

“Damn it! Shit was just getting good.”

“Look at the state of her. That is your fault, Ayato. Take responsibility for your actions and take her home.”

When Ayato glanced at Yui, who was still in his arms, he noticed that she had already passed out. Might’ve been a bit too rough. The colour of Yui’s face was past the point of flattery, and she did not look like she would be waking up anytime soon. At the same time, Ayato could not simply leave her there. He knew exactly how Reiji would react if he did, and he wasn’t looking forward to that.

“Hmph.”

Ayato swept Yui up into his arms, and the next instant, they had disappeared from the room completely.

“Good grief. If only they could just behave.” Reiji let out a heavy sigh and walked out of the room.

���── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Ugh…”

Yui opened her eyes on a bench next to the indoor pool inside the mansion.

Why am I here? I thought I was at school…

“Yo, you’re awake.”

Ayato was sitting on the armrest, lazily playing around with the uniform ribbon that had somehow found its way from neck into his hands.

Right, he fed on me…

Yui tried sitting upright, but the loss of blood had also drained the strength from her body. Seeing her struggle, Ayato walked over to her. 

“S-stay away!” 

Ayato halted.

The fact that vampires needed human blood for nourishment, Yui knew. But Ayato, on the other hand, only seemed to be toying with her. 

“Why are you doing this?” Yui asked.

Ayato stood over her, staring at her coldly. “You still don’t get it?”

“Huh?”

In a flash, Yui’s body was raised in the air, and Ayato’s face was a hair’s breadth away from hers. He’d picked her up with ease and began walking. Yui struggled to have Ayato put her back down, but he leisurely strode over towards the pool. He came to a stop right by the edge of the water.

“Yours Truly is the one who controls you. Stop complaining about everything!” 

Ayato had barely finished speaking before he threw Yui into the water. 

Yui screamed. A loud splashing sound echoed off the walls of the indoor pool. 

Oh no, I can’t swim…

To make matters worse, Yui was still wearing her uniform, and it weighed her down even more as it absorbed the water. She tried to wrestle herself to the surface, but despite her desperate efforts, she still felt herself sinking towards the bottom of the deep pool.

Ayato watched her struggle from the poolside.

“Tell me that I’m the best. Tell me that I’m better than anyone else, and that you’re mine.”

In a stroke of luck, Yui managed to come up for air. She begged for Ayato to help her, but she kept getting pulled back down. 

“Ayato—I can’t—I can’t swim…”

Yui desperately screamed Ayato’s name, but she had already disappeared under the surface of the water. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Whether he had heard her or not, Ayato's expression remained unchanged as he stared down at the water. This is Pancake’s fault. She disobeyed me…

Memories from his childhood haunted Ayato as he watched Yui’s struggling form in the pool.

In his thoughts, Ayato travelled to a lake far away, one hand strenuously reaching out of the water, flailing desperately. The blurry shape of a woman seemed to come closer from under the surface of the water. Ayato fought his way up, and reached out a hand towards her.

However, the woman had not come to save Ayato from drowning. She merely looked on, her expression flat.

Help me…

Ayato’s face twisted in despair knowing that his words would not reach anyone, but rather disappeared into the lake.

Help me…

Yui’s screams for help lined up with Ayato’s distant memory and without giving it any more thought, Ayato launched himself into the water. He did not know why he did it. Even though he harboured a sliver of doubt about his own behaviour, he took Yui into his arms under the surface of the pool.

Well, he did tell us not to kill her.

Reminding himself of this fact, Ayato cupped Yui’s face in his hands, and pressed his lips to hers.      

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It’s warm… and I can breathe again.

When Yui opened her eyes, she realised that Ayato had been transferring air to her with a kiss. Ayato pulled away as soon as he saw that she had regained consciousness. 

Why is he looking at me with such a forlorn expression?

In the deafening silence of the water, Yui saw herself reflected in his eyes, which were clouded with sadness.

Don’t look at me like that, Yui wanted to say, but the air Ayato had given her became bubbles under the water. 

I can’t breathe…

Seeing the struggle on Yui’s face again, Ayato undid the top buttons of her blouse to expose her shoulder, and sank his fangs into her skin.

“Nnh!”

Bubbles rose to the surface of the water again when Yui cried out. When Ayato switched to a different spot, biting her again and again, the blood seeping from the wounds in Yui’s skin floated around the two of them like a red ribbon that bound them together.

I have no air left…

Just when Yui was about to lose consciousness again, Ayato held on tight and pulled her with him to the surface. Yui coughed heavily to clear her lungs of water and desperately fill them with air at the same time. Ayato’s head was now above the water as well, and his eyes gleamed with a bewitching ferality that she had never seen of him before.

“Fuck, I can feel your blood flowing through my body… I can feel its power…”

“Please, no more…” Yui begged in a soft voice. Her face was white as a sheet, and the cold water and Ayato’s feeding had left her trembling incessantly.

“It can’t be helped. Let’s call it here for today.” Ayato held on to Yui as he swam to the edge of the pool, and hoisted her upwards onto the tiles.

Feeling an intense relief at being on solid ground again, Yui fell to the floor. Ayato threw a towel over her head.

“Huh?”

Yui was surprised by Ayato’s small gesture, but before she could thank him, Ayato turned his back on her and walked away without saying anything.

What does he really want with me?

Unable to figure out his motive, Yui tightly gripped the towel.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Around the same time, a man in a long, dark coat appeared in the woods surrounding the mansion. His motives seemed unclear窶派e merely stood there. However, as if he had noticed something, his head suddenly snapped up, and his red eyes focused on the sight in front of him.

Ah… Brings back memories.

The man’s eyes were trained on the Sakamaki mansion.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Yui had used the shower room adjacent to the pool, and when she returned to her room, she was stopped by the faint sound of a door unlocking once again. With suspicion, she followed the source of the sound, and reached another dilapidated spiral staircase.

“This staircase should lead to that room…”

Since then, Reiji had forbidden her from entering, but Yui was not prepared to give up on finding her father’s diary. I might be able to sneak into the room unnoticed from here, Yui thought as she ascended the stairs and found, as expected, the forbidden room.

Yui entered quietly, and immediately began the search for her father’s diary. It should have been right around here…

Carefully tiptoeing around the shards of broken glass, Yui eventually found the diary among the books on the floor.

“Gotcha!” She opened the little notebook without delay. “Huh…What’s this?”

Yui’s eyes widened in surprise. Her hands trembled as she flipped the pages. 

The pages were all completely blank where her father’s handwriting had been.

“It’s all… gone…” So what on Earth did I see before?

In a daze, the notebook slipped out of Yui’s hands and fell onto the floor, the sound reverberating through the quiet, empty space.

[rainbow-femme]

Watching “Flowers in the Attic: The Origin”

[alluralater]

petition for fanatical christians to only have access to youtube kids rather than the full platform

[thatwasntverycashmoneyofme]

𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾

❥𝗌𝗇𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗍 : 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋!𝖻𝖺𝗃𝗂 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗈𝗋 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗒, 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾.

{ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 — 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾. }

・❥・

Dressed in a baby blue glittery two piece that shined beautifully, captivating him. A voice in his ear warns him of getting distracted, telling him to ‘Focus on the mission.’ He glances off to the side catching a glimpse of his now black haired partner mumbling an “Of course… I’m just trying to blend in.”

Eyes once again glued to you as your back faces the pole, arm above your head wrapped around it as you whine your hips sensually, making eye contact with him urging him closer with your finger. The nagging ‘Be on the lookout!’ coming through his earpiece not being heard through the trance you put him in.

Light purple led lights on your dark skin accentuated your figure, he could hear nothing. Not the shouting and catcalls of the men that begged for your attention, the complaining of his partner, nor the sound of his own heartbeat, everything faded to white noise.

The money rained down on you in slow motion, making you look like a goddess—one that stopped time or something else his brain couldn’t come up with for an on par ethereal comparison in the moment. He watched you walk down from the stage signaling one of the buff men that stood by your platform, not too close but not too far, to collect your money.

You approached leisurely circling him, your tall clear heels clacking with your every footstep, you trail your hand across his waist, giving him shivers that he wouldn’t let have the satisfaction of pushing through as you stood in front of him. Black stiletto nails caressed his collarbone sliding down his silk shirt stopping at his belt buckle, you fluttered your mink lashes looking into his brown eyes, a cheesy smile displayed on your lips from seeing him starstruck.

“So I seen you been eyeing me all night, is it too bold of me to assume you’d want a private dance baby~” Your slight accent had him throwing all caution to the wind as he smirked back, canines gleaming under the low lights. “Course not sweetheart ‘s the only thing I been looking forward to since I got here.”

You chuckle at his charm. “That so?” “Definitely.” Your hand held his as you smile. “Then let’s go.” You lead the way to your private room when he finally hears his partner in his head. “Get your head in the game! We have a job to do Intel said that he’s only here tonight. This is the last chance we have to catch the Bandit here tonight before he moves again.”

He turns his head towards the crowded area, faking like he was looking around before speaking softly. “I am Chifuyu just gimme five minutes I’ve got extra business to handle.” He hears the sarcastic scoff of a “Yea right.” focusing his attention on you leading him, his eyes follow the switch of your hips which has him biting his lips imagining inappropriate things.

You approach a door, the name ‘BABY’ in bold f/c letters adorning it, a tall caramel skinned slim man with dreads, arms folded under his pecs planted near, watching you and the male walk up. “Applejacks you can go imma be a few minutes.”

You watch him size the guy beside you, eyes scrunched in uncertainty. “You sure Baby?” You waved him off, a hand on your jutted out hip as you rolled your eyes. “‘Course I’m good don’t you got other business to deal with anyways?” He sighed coming off of the wall. “Yea right. Call if you need anything.” You giggle opening your door pushing in the sandy beige skinned, black haired dude you’ve yet to ask the name of. “..And no interruptions please and thank you.”

You blew a kiss at Applejacks before closing the door leading your sexy stranger to sit in the seat in the middle of the room, a different more lax song played through the speakers, you caress your body in front of him before taking a seat in his lap as your beau began to speak.

“So…Baby? That’s your name? What’s it really?” You let out a soft hum grinding your ass to his pelvis. “Nah that’s just my nickname. I can’t give my name out to my customers sorry boo~ What’s yours?”

He wished he could feel your smooth skin through his slacks, to rub on you and do inexplicable things and have you in unspoken positions, but he settled for his hands on your hips guiding your movements he still has to focus on his job after all.

“Uggh~ My friends call me Eddy.” You pleasantly exhale grabbing one of his hands leading it to your breast squeezing his hand on top of yours making him get the memo. You leaned back, lips on his neck under his ear, softly kissing it making him groan as you pull away from his lap slowly, his long hair tickling your face causing him to chase after you before you pressed your hand on his chest, lightly pushing him back into the seat.

You stand behind him one hand gliding your sharp nails up his chest the other slid around his neck as you press on kisses, the sound of your voice speaking to him bring him back down from cloud 9, his eyes fluttering back as he groans. “So what brought you to the club? Business or pleasure?”

You laugh at the look of bliss on his face before continuing. “I’m pretty sure I know which one it is cuz you ain’t give me a bill yet.” He blinked realizing he hasn’t. “Yea sorry bout that Sweetface. I came here strictly for business-”

He pauses grabbing your hand from his shoulder pulling you around to him, sitting you on his lap. “But I don’t mind a lil pleasure neither.” He smiles at your giggle before you speak again making his ears ring.

“Yea you’re supposed to be here looking for the Bandit? Right?” He opened his mouth to say a code word or anything but he was frozen, chills going through his spine. “Don’t worry about bothering that partner of yours, I don’t wanna have to mess up his face too bad..he’s too pretty.”

He stutters completely shocked getting ready to push you off of him before he felt a cool object on his neck that could only be described as a steel blade. ‘Where’d you even get it from?’ pedals through his brain riddled with frustration .

“Aht aht aht cooperate or my boys won’t hold back. Your partner’s pretty but he’s not that pretty.” The brunet stuttered out ‘What’s’ and ‘How’s’ before you interrupted his ongoing crisis. “Why does everyone automatically assume ‘the Bandit’ is male huh?”

You took his earpiece out wiping it on his shirt before putting it in your ear tapping it twice before hearing a little feedback. You smile at the shocked Eddy, fixing his hair, a stiletto pushing a few strands behind his ear tapping his cheek with the tips of your fingers, he could feel the subtle sharp pokes of your nails.

“Apple? You there?” You hear a ‘Yea’ coming from the other end as you got off of the stunned man who held his balled up fist at his side, heading towards the only dresser in room.

“You touch me and one word’ll have your buddy surrounded with slow singing and flower bringing over a closed casket.” You opened the draw pulling out your custom baby blue glock checking the clip making sure it’s loaded before reassembling it taking the safety off scoffing as you continue your rant from earlier.

“Like men will find any and every way.. it’s ridiculous.” You look at the man in the chair. “Before it was ‘the Bandit’ it was Baby Bandit. Did you know that Agent Keisuke? Probably not huh?” You watch his eyes widen in surprise of you knowing his name and the new information, he’s a little ashamed of himself for still wanting you.

You gasp sarcastically your glock covering your mouth. “Oh you didn’t know huh? That you’re in my club? You think someone wouldn’t notice pigs in their own club? You tracked in mud the second your foot stepped through my threshold.”

You walk towards him sitting on his lap once again, flipping your weave from your face, the hand holding your gun slung across his shoulder as he tensed under you, your head tilted to the side a little, unwavering smile still pulling him in. “Soo we’re here now… What did you want with me?”

He opens his mouth to speak before you put your gun to his lips silencing him, your finger coming to your own lips in the shushing motion, he could hear the static coming from his earpiece. “Aight tell Zoe and Pablo help you load up the car…” You glance at the man who’s lap you’re on, your playful grin taunting him.

“Take the pretty boy with you, he better be in tip-top shape too.” You pull out a zip tie you also got from the dresser banding his hands together as you got up pulling him with you.

“No sudden movements or noise. You already know the consequences. You and your little g-man is coming with me we’re gonna have a lot of fun…” He followed you towards the door noticing a cute coat that you were putting on tucking the gun inside a pocket that ended just above your knees, finally able to really look you in your eyes, a beautiful brown that he could tell was mocking him making his lip curl.

“…Cuz I got a lil preposition for you… We’ll mix business and pleasure.” You kiss his cheek the imprint of your gloss showing as you dragged him out the door heading towards the back exit a wicked smile on your face.

・❥・

𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗆 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌. 𝖣𝖮𝖭𝖳 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅, 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾. ©𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗒𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅

[deus-ex-mona]

happy fedoraless friday, my fellas

[hythlodaes]

x.x

[venacoeurva]

One of our cats rediscovered a cooling blanket I have and now it’s a war of her laying on it before I can at bed and her laying on ME when I have it and defeating the point

[labyrynth]

have i ever mentioned how fucking annoying wwx megastans are

(below cut bc salt is salt)

like i know that seems like a weird sentiment (he’s the main character! i sure HOPE ppl like him!!) but like. there’s a subset of ppl who like wwx that just take their opinions to an insane degree and like. completely flatten him to put him on a pedestal.

like they’re alarmingly wrapped up in protagonism and fucking obsessed with the idea of “the moral ideal” (as if mdzs is some kind of parable and we’re supposed to be taking notes)

they seem to believe that every single thing that wwx has done was either moral, justified, or both. they think that wwx has never made a single bad, or even “well intentioned but unfortunate consequences” decision.

and like i honestly have no idea how much of this moral whitewashing cql can even be blamed for when the most rabid stans also seem to fall in the canon anti jiang cheng camp which is mostly novel based

then again maybe it shouldn’t be surprising: if wwx is The Moral Ideal and everything he does is right, then it follows that not 100% agreeing with him or not abiding by every single one of wwx’s choices is Wrong and Immoral and Bad and Therefore characters like jgy and jc must be Evil

(and let’s throw in some buzzwords like “toxic” and “gaslighting” and “abusive” for good measure, to emphasize their Evil-ness)

and i really really never ever wanna see another take about how “well actually wwx foils jgy and jc and xy bc where jgy/jc/xy are Mean and Cruel and Resentful and Hold Grudges, wwx just lets bygones be bygones!! HE moved ON from resentment!!!”

(i want you to take a good long look at wwx. what is his total resentment-related body count?)

and then they proceed to explain why actually torturing hundreds of people (including non combatants!) to death is moral/justified/deserved or some such

and they will LITERALLY look at the scene where that guy shot wwx and wwx flung the arrow back and killed him and be like “umm well he tried to kill wwx so obviously wwx is allowed to try to kill him back. it’s not like it’s wwx’s fault that he actually succeeded uwu”

and then turn around and go “jgy was so horrible and cruel to kill nmj completely and entirely unprovoked!! how conniving and bloodthirsty and power hungry!!! he only did it because he would benefit!!!!!!” (idk maybe it’s just me, but if i’m looking for opportunities that benefit me, “you won’t be murdered” is kind of setting the bar real fuckin low)

anyway

[rigginsstreet]

Going to see Halloween ends despite all the bad reviews lmao

[butchyena]

just picked up my meds and the woman literally apologized about me not having insurance

[ckbookish]

I’m so ill. Moving across the world (again), starting a job immediately all while looking for a place to live and buying a car and getting over jet lag and trying to do all this things that come with a million new things, has done me in. It’s not even 8 pm and I want to go to bed and maybe not wake up for a month. But sadly I’ve got court tomorrow and who knows what other appointments.

They really were like “great you’re here, don’t worry about learning how we log the case notes. We need you to pick up this girl and take her to a hearing, oh and also this other person is being released into our custody so it would be great if you could transport her to the safe house. Oh and…”

[jackieblockcat]

Me: Hey [secretary at my work] I’m not gonna be in on Monday. I have honors college orientation. I can’t skip it but you can schedule me for a different day. Thanks! :)

My work:

[venomnyx]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stryker worse.

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

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

“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then suit up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”

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

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

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

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

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

You could stay here forever, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You with the mouth? To fix things?”

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

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

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

“Wade.”

He twists towards you comically slow.

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

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

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

“Technically he’s not dead—”

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

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

He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even yourself?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should’ve warned me.”

“Are we good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Him, on the other hand…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Waited long enough for this.”

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

“Logan…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you know how that story ends.

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

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

“You motherf—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grimaces.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

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

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

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

“You got no idea, lumberjack.”

You hated killing.

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

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

You hate killing. Especially this up close.

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

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

You should have meditated more.

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

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

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

Logan. Of course, it’s him.

“Leave me alone, prick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quit your squirmin’.”

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

“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, no— before that.”

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

“If… they can fix your world?”

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

Your eyes widen.

“What do you mean: if?”

“That’s what Wade said—”

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

“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”

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

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

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

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

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

“You made… an educated fucking wish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to hurt you now.”

He snorts. “Oh, are you?”

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

“That all you got?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen with recognition.

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

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

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

“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”

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

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

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

The result of a painful reunion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.

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

He then turns to address Logan directly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you—” she says your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hadn’t realised you were being followed.

“It’s not safe here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”

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

“I gotta leave, baby.”

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

You don’t say it back.

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

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

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

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

“Quit hogging the fire then.”

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

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

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

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

His hand runs up and down your back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go for a ride.”

“What?”

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

“But Charles said—”

“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”

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

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

“’Course, you don’t understand.”

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

“Since when did you start smoking?”

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

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Although probably just as stupid.”

A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.

“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”

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

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

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

“What, you like it?” He grunts.

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

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

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

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

“Did you love him?”

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

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

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

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

“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”

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

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

He hums resignedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were you—?”

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

Logan takes a moment to catch himself.

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

“You never liked hurting people.”

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

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

“You know, your accents thicker.”

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

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

“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep that to yourself.”

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he whispers.

And you believe that he does.

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

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

“Wade!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus. Pull yourself together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”

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

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

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

“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.

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

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

He rubs his jaw. “Right.”

“I’ll… see you around?”

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

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

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

You know, though. Of course, you know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The red string knots.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He ticks an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blush. You hadn’t known that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Legs up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

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

“I can take it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you—”

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

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

“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”

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

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

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

“Where’s that mouth gone?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s alright. It’ll make for an interestin’ story,” you retort, fanning yourself with a hand. You both let out a shared laugh, mostly from the relieved delirium of it all. After a beat, you lean into him, massaging a hand across his belly. “So. We really doin’ this?”

His face softens. “If you’ll have me.”

You cup his face and kiss his cheek. “I’d take any version of you I could get.”

divider credits: @/vysleix and @/cafekitsune tag list: @bearwithegg, @uhlunaro, @sseleniaa, @jxssimae, @autumnsymphony

[rhys-is-puffs]

How’re you going to tell me to write an essay on what I got from the bajillions of readings each week and then tell me I’m wrong 🤔🤔