IMAGINES: It Was Only a Matter of Time (Part One) (Part Two) What happens when you’re a gay girl with a boyfriend? You dump him. Then what? Well, it’s only a matter of time before you confess your love for your (also gay) best friend. Will it work out? Well, you’ll have to find out for yourself, ...
TAGS/WARNINGS: Soulmate AU - Shared Pain, Self Harm(!!), Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Adoption Trauma, Babypool!Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Special Guest Star - Deadpool Variant from X-Men Origins: Wolverine, Near Death Experience (Off-Screen.)
Synopsis: Being convoluted proves to be a hereditary trait. So do overprotective tendencies.
Link to Part 1!
It’s weeks later when he summons the courage to return to the mansion. He’s been keeping tabs on your recovery through Logan, and it seems you’re (mostly) back to normal, the Deadpool variant becoming your much-adored shadow.
He can see you from the foyer, squeezed between Ellie and Yukio. Your head rests on the former’s shoulder as you hug her arm, and your legs are draped over the lap of the latter. The gloves are back on. Your eyes are half-open. The bruises have faded. Your sleepy half-smile alone lights up the whole room.
Wade carefully approaches the living room, but his greeting of, “Hey, ladies!” rips through the quiet contentment in a way he didn’t intend.
You immediately sit up and get to your feet, glowering at him.
“You,” you nearly growl, and he recognizes that glare now, the one that alarmed him so much before. You look like his father when you’re angry with him, or maybe everyone who’s angry with him looks like his father.
“Hey, I know I-”
“She doesn’t know,” Ellie cuts him off. “We didn’t know if you were coming back. So, we didn’t tell her.”
“Tell me what?” you ask, turning back to the girls.
“That I’m…” He flounders for a few moments, looking to them for help, but Ellie just stifles an amused smirk while Yukio looks at him sympathetically. “Finally taking you up on your offer. Plainclothes. Outside. Neither of the refs. Let’s duke it out, now that you’re better.”
“You… Saw what happened to those guys at the facility, right?” you ask, laughing lightly. Your hand instinctively goes to your ribs, before withdrawing just as quickly. “Besides, I’m over it.”
“You didn’t look over it, like, two seconds ago,” he points out.
“You shot my adoptive father in the face and beheaded my dad. Am I supposed to be ecstatic that you showed up again? It usually means I end up getting yelled at by one or both of my soulmates.”
My dad.
You’re calling that thing your dad, and meaning it. You love that mute, feral monstrosity, that version of him that isn’t even supposed to fucking be here! But he tries to play it cool, he does:
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that little freak. Where’s he at, anyway? Last I heard, he was Sir Never-Leaves-You-Alone-a-Lot.”
What little was left of your smile dissipates.
“Don’t talk about him like that,” you reply in a deliberately neutral tone, but the way your jaw clenches afterwards gives you away. “And he’s busy right now. It’s none of your business.”
“You’re awfully protective of a guy who beat you half to death. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s not like you’ve ever known anything different,” he retorts, because that ugly part of him that always needs to get the last word, that can’t handle rejection, is surfacing quickly.
He’s jealous. Of course he’s jealous. He’d spent the last three weeks thinking of nothing short of you, you, you — debating with himself of what he’d say, imagining how you might react, stalking your social media profiles, waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares where that thing actually managed to kill you. That thing you think is him, and you love it even though it hurt you, maybe even because it hurt you.
“Hey!” Yukio protests.
“No, no, it’s fine. Not like he’s wrong,” you assure her, literally waving off her concern with a few flicks of your wrist. With an acidic smile that reminds him all too much of his younger self, you eagerly continue: “Besides, I have everything I ever wanted, and he has, what? A geriatric roommate, an ex-girlfriend he can’t get over that leads him on for validation, a cab driver he held hostage for a best friend, and a situationship with the literal worst version of a guy who was already kind of a dick in the first place. Letting him take his frustration out on me is basically charity, especially considering who my father was. So, come on. I can take my gloves off, if you wanna make more jokes about my scars.”
“He joked about your scars?” Ellie asks in a low, severe tone.
“It wasn’t a joke, it was an observation!” he squeals. Other Wade ambles in from the hallway, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling the top of your head before looking up at Wade and smizing smugly. That bastard knows exactly what he’s doing!
“What’s this?” you coo fondly, taking a folded piece of paper from his hand and opening it up. “Aw, Dad, you’re so good at this stuff. But don’t break the vase. It’s a Lalique.”
Other Wade rolls his eyes with a muffled sort of laugh-grunt. The other women finally stand up to look at the paper. Yukio also coos, and even Ellie is fighting a smile.
“What, uh… Can I see?” Wade asks before he can stop himself. You look up at Other Wade, who nods. You pass the paper over to Wade, and it’s a drawing of Other Wade shattering a green antique vase with one of his arm-katanas. It is actually pretty good, but Wade’s grip on the paper tightens a little when he looks up to see Other Wade mushing the lower half of his face against the top of your head.
“I don’t get it,” he says flatly, forcing himself to pass it back over before he tears it in two.
“Oh, uh, we were helping with the seasonal decor rotation — paintings, throw pillows, vases, and so on. I don’t wear my gloves when I’m handling fragile stuff like that, and, uh… Yeah. The vase had some pretty bad memories attached,” you explain with an embarrassed grimace. “And he’s doing art therapy, so…” You tilt your head back again to address Other Wade: “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it worried you that much. Ellie was able to grab it right away, I was fine. I am fine.”
Wade’s still stuck on the fact that his heart is walking around outside of his body, and not only that, but something as innocuous as an antique vase is a legitimate threat to it — to you. It’s the kind of thought that a darker part of his psyche speaks up in response to, whispering ideas about isolation and containment and restriction. He looks at you and Other Wade, and he sees it in that alternate version of himself, too; the way his arms could tighten around you at any second to whisk you out of whatever he defines as harm’s reach.
Which means you’re safe. You’re happy.
And isn’t that what he really wanted, when he came here? It’s not like he deserves you, even if he feels entitled to be the one making you feel that way by virtue of this being his universe. You’re supposed to be his, too. Other Wade huffs through his nose, loosening his embrace to steer you by the shoulders elsewhere.
Ellie scoffs, Yukio smiles fondly. This is already routine, only emphasized by the way Ellie deadpans: “Dinnertime.”
“Maybe next time. Guess this is probably how she felt before. Not gonna lie, it blows.”
“We could tell her?” Yukio offers.
“No, no, she’s… She’s… Well, y’know.”
“Yeah,” Ellie agrees softly, and the sympathy in her tone makes him feel worse. “Yeah, we know.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“I can tell just by the climate, and I can tell just by the style / I was born and raised on Venus, and I may be here a-”
It’s just a few days later when Wade picks up that call. He can feel it in his gut before Ellie even says anything that something’s wrong. Is this what paternal instinct is? It’s crippling.
“They took him away. The other ones. And she’s-” A pained gasp cuts Ellie off, and he can hear a whimper from Yukio in the background. “Missing. I know where she is- fuck, I know where she is, I just don’t know where it is.”
“It?” Wade echoes. “Why- How can she do this to you two?” You’re not sadistic, far from it, even if you have a spiteful streak. It’s the one part of you that doesn’t really fit in with anything else — your control issues are more than apparent, but you know your soulmates, you know who’s getting hurt when you do it, and he knows by now that you’d be willing to burn the world down for those you love; that, or let the world swallow you whole for their sake.
“Because she’s an addict. Because-” Ellie hisses, Yukio yelps. “...It makes her feel better. And, on the bright side, when she disappears like this, it lets us know she’s still alive. I’ve never been scared of the pain. I’m scared of the day it stops. She’s in her ‘workshop.’ It’s- Jesus fucking Christ, the sandpaper again, already? It’s somewhere in the woods. Maybe you and new-Logan can track it down. No one else has been able to, or maybe they just haven’t been all that motivated, considering it’s what makes her- Shit! So damn good at what she does.”
They wrap up the conversation, and soon enough Wade and Logan are trekking through the wilderness that surrounds the school, a tee shirt from your laundry hamper balled up in the latter man’s hand.
“So, the Deadpool Corp is still running around our universe, then. Can’t help but wonder if they’re gonna cause bigger problems than this,” Logan says, trying to start some sort of conversation about this, because if Wade stays silent any longer, he might actually have to worry about him.
“There is no bigger problem than this,” Wade mutters, wishing Logan would walk just a little bit faster. He keeps having to stop himself from charging ahead directionlessly.
Then, Logan’s nostrils flare.
“Shit,” he murmurs, increasing his pace to a light jog. “You might not wanna see this.”
But he has to.
There’s small logs— Fallen trees, or did you cut them down yourself? Imagining you in lumberjack getup makes him wanna squeal at the adorableness, in spite of everything —serving as a frame for your little hut, tarps folded over and strapped tightly against it to serve as walls and a ceiling.
It’d actually be kind of impressive, if it were for any other purpose. The door is a shower curtain, another rope threaded through the holes. Logan moves it aside just enough to halfway enter, maneuvering his body to block Wade’s view — his shocked exclamation negates that mercy:
“Fuck, kid, a sledgehammer?!”
“I- I was just thinking about it, alright?! What are you even doing here, anyway?!”
Logan snatches the hammer from you and tosses it far behind him. It lands about a foot in front of Wade with a thud that feels both too loud and too quiet against the dirt.
“You can’t be doing this, you’re-“
“You don’t understand!” you cut him off with a shriek of objection. “They took him from me! They kept saying he wasn’t mine, but he is! He is mine! I-“ You’re cut off by a sob, and your voice continues to wobble and splinter as you continue to speak:
“I did everything right, and everything wrong, too! I joined the task force, I did this, I helped so many of them, I neglected my soulmates, I pretended not to know him, and for what?! For them to take him away again?! And then- And then even though they hurt him worse, I get him back, and he loves me even though it’s all my fault, and he can’t ever hurt me, just for those fucking- It’s not fair! I just got him, I always needed him and I just got him; he’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine!”
You punctuate your rant with a snarl of a sigh, and Logan’s now backed away enough that Wade can see you: the way your shoulders heave, the way your arms are still bleeding, the wild look in your eyes not unlike the one Other Wade sported…
“Unless you’re here to help me get him back, go away,” you tell Logan, your tone lowered, before glancing at the abused skin of your arms for a moment, then back to him. “I don’t think I need to tell you what’ll happen if you don’t.”
“You got it, bub,” Logan says, shutting the curtain and sauntering back over to Wade.
“‘You got it, bub’?!” Wade hisses, shoving at his shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be- I don’t know, trying to be nice?! Better?”
“Being ‘nice’ and ‘better’ was listening to all that crap, instead of just knocking her out and dragging her back to the school,” Logan huffs with a shake of his head. “Nah. This one’s all yours, or did you not hear the shit-tillion times she said it?”
Wade exhales slowly. There’s no going back. He didn’t suit up for this mission. He carefully approaches the makeshift base, but he doesn’t open the curtain, not yet.
“Vestige,” he finally says, just outside of it. He’s actually proud of himself for being able to say it without crying at the thought of what he just saw, of what you’ve done to yourself.
“Oh, not you. You’re the last fucking person I need to see right now. Your fan club or whatever the fuck- You already know, I’m sure. If I have to look at that stupid fucking mask ever again, I’m not gonna be responsible for what I do.”
“I’m in plain clothes. C’mon, it’s been years, but I’m still waiting on that fight you challenged me to. If you wanna hurt somebody, hurt me, yeah? I’ll go easy on you.”
“Y’know what? Sure. You’re probably the one living person I’d like to hurt most, other than myself. But easy? That’s the last thing I need,” you say, yanking the curtain open.
Wade stands still. Maybe time does, too. You certainly do.
And then you laugh. Not that there was ever any real doubt once he knew, but it’s only further confirmation: you’re his. Battered, bleeding, bruised, again, you’re his.
The rest still stings, though: a dial caliper with razor blades affixed to the jaws, a Nerf gun with pushpins glued to the tips of the foam bullets, a rusty bread knife, multiple grits of sandpaper… And that’s just scratching the surface (pun dreadfully intended) of your creativity, your depravity. You’ve lined the plastic walls with mismatched shelves, probably thrifted— Do those have bad memories, like the vase? Are they another way you’re hurting yourself? —and what you couldn’t fit on those sits in milk crates and five-gallon buckets.
Following his gaze sobers you instantly.
“I- I never wanted you to see this,” you murmur, backing away slowly, retreating further into this den of pain, of twisted comfort, that you’ve created for yourself.
“Figured as much,” he replies just as quietly, but he extends a hand to you, and you know it won’t hurt when you take it, but somehow that’s more frightening than if it would, right now. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hon. I’ll use alcohol, if that’d make you feel better.”
You launch yourself at him, and he braces himself for a blow— he did promise you a fight, after all —but that’s not what this is about anymore. You’re clinging to him for dear life, choking sobs wracking your entire body.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you whimper.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispers back at the same rapid pace, returning your embrace. “Shh-sh-sh-sh-sh, I gotcha, you’re gonna be just fine. I’m not going anywhere ever again, alright? But we gotta get you home. I’m not the only one who’s worried about you.”
That only makes you cry harder. You try to say something, but you don’t need to, so he doesn’t let you.
“They’re not mad. They know. They understand. That’s their job. They still love you.”
“But-“
“Who do you think called me and my situationship over here in the first place?”
“Oh, god, I’m so-“
Wade cuts you off for a third time: “It’s okay. I said worse things, even once I knew. All I want right now is to get you home. That’s all I’m asking for. You good to walk? Don’t care, actually. You’re getting carried.”
And so, just as easily as Other Wade, that rotten fucking bastard, did, he scoops you up and begins the trek back to the school — under Logan’s navigational guidance, of course.
More conversations will need to be had, on many topics: your birth mother, Francis, your adoptive mother, your phobia of driving, how you met your soulmates, dismantling the workshop… Too many to list.
But for now, it’s all about getting home, safe and sound. Even if it feels like you both already are.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You’re pouting.
He has a cigarette in one hand, and he’s tracing that spiral-shaped scar covering your palm with the other. It’s the new routine. Weekly visits at minimum, side-by-side rocking chairs when the porch swing is taken— which it currently is, your two soulmates watching him like a hawk as they sway with the summer breeze, as well as Yukio’s restless fidgeting of her legs —and the conversations that need to be had, even when you pout.
Your gaze, however, is intently fixed on the cigarette, neglected in his rambling, clumps of ash falling away from the end.
“Really? Y’know, most kids beg their parents not to do this. Impatient,” he huffs, before reaching over and promptly putting it out on the inside of your wrist in the usual spot, still raw from three days ago. His spot. You don’t even flinch.
Your only response is a content, closed-mouth smile. You’ve gotten a lot quieter as of late, or maybe you were always quiet and just had a lot to say to him specifically before. He resumes his tracing of the burnt swirl.
“It itches like crazy when you do that,” Ellie calls out to him, Yukio backing her up with a “Yeah!”
“Ignore them, it’s fine.”
“No can do, you know the deal,” he gently chides you, withdrawing his hand. That’s one of the new rules: if they say something’s a problem, even if it’s minor, it has to stop. You snatch it back, lacing your fingers with his. “Clingy.”
“You mind?” you ask, but you already know the answer. You just want to hear him say it. Is it possible to do anything less than indulge you?
“Not in the slightest.” And it’s true. He gets it. This is something you can’t have with anyone else, not without an onslaught of memories and emotions that aren’t yours flooding you. You rest your head on his shoulder. Nothing could be better than this. Not a single fucking thing.
So, of course, your phone goes off, as do Ellie’s and Yukio’s.
You lift your head with an annoyed groan, carefully rubbing the beginnings of sleep out of your eyes.
“Later… Dad.”
You’re more conservative in your use of the term with him than you were with Other Wade, but he can’t fault you for that. You don’t want to get used to it just to have it taken from you again, to have him taken from you again, no matter how many times he assures you that such a thing happening is quite literally impossible.
He watches you and your soulmates race inside the mansion to get suited up. He’s half-tempted to do the same, but it’s clear by now that he only gets in your way, distracts you. It tickles him pink, but it’s not sustainable. He hears the quinjet take off, watches it whizz through the sky to your next venture.
He ambles inside once you’re a speck in the distance, turning on the news to keep tabs on you. You’re not the only one who’s overprotective. But it’s not on the news.
…Not good.
So, he paces. He calls Logan, finds out Laura is also on the mission, so they end up pacing together. Upstairs, downstairs, circling the grounds. He finishes his pack of cigarettes.
And then you’re home. All of you are: Negasonic, Yukio, Little Miss Perfect, Angel, Talon, and, last but most certainly not least, Vestige — you, that is.
Little Miss Perfect— Mrs. Freeman, that is —glances at him, then looks away. She reaches towards you, starts to say your name, but Angel blocks her path. Ellie and Yukio are already ushering you elsewhere. Are you hurt?
“No. Not now. You and I have a meeting with the professor,” Angel says in a harsh murmur, blonde eyebrows furrowed sternly. His ice blue eyes cut over to Wade, and a smile splits his cold expression, though it doesn’t warm it up in the slightest. “You should join us, Deadpool.”
Meanwhile, in your shared room with Ellie and Yukio…
Once you’re back in plainclothes and sitting on the bed, your two soulmates revolve around you, pacing around the bed in semicircles in the opposite direction of each other, restless as always. Hovering, but not touching, not right now. They don’t know if you can handle it. They don’t know if they can.
“It was instinct. I’m fine.”
They both stop on opposite sides of the bed to stare at you in a way that says, but you could’ve not been, and then what? in their own ways: Ellie is glaring, Yukio has a sympathetic half-smile.
You roll your eyes.
“Angel caught me. I’m fine.”
Ellie breaks first. She always does. Her heart’s not built to handle the ache in your chest. She leaps right into bed with you and throws her arms around you, burying your face into her hoodie. The overpowering scent of years of her signature unisex cologne hits first, then her overwhelming concern, and the anger dwelling deep within her glowing brighter through the cracks. Most of all, though— and this is the best part —she loves you beyond words.
Her face is buried into your hair, soaking it with tears. You don’t need to be hugging her to feel the fear she felt. You felt it when you were falling, that sharp stab of panic between her ribs, the way her hands went achingly numb. You felt Yukio, too. You felt the way that scream tore through her throat before you heard it, the way her stomach dropped into oblivion with you.
You wonder if there was any relief. It’s the same thing that prompted her to hesitate at the last second, after all. You’re the embodiment of pain, the source of the majority of theirs.
Ellie’s emotional release prompts Yukio’s. It’s like clockwork at this point. She joins the embrace so that there’s one of them on each side of you, their touch screaming it: I need you. Don’t leave me. There’s so much left to say and do.
You’d once posited the theory that perhaps one of them was only the other’s soulmate, and the only reason they could feel your pain was because the other could, and vice versa to you. You were half-kidding, but their stricken expressions made sure you never said something like that again, and moments like this only disprove that theory further. You’re not sure what you did to deserve this, to deserve them.
“I’m fine,” you say again, but it’s no use. They can feel the uncertainty swirling in your gut, the sting of a truth you always knew deep down being confirmed.
The landslide was unexpected, a weak part of the cliff crumbling beneath you in the blink of an eye. The closest person was…
Mom. The only one you’ll ever have, the only one you’ll ever know. The only one reached for in that moment, and she flinched, and now everyone’s worried about you, well, except for you. You’re worried about her. The guilt she’s facing must be insurmountable.
“I should… Check on her,” you quietly suggest. Yukio shakes her head against your back. You’re laying down now, a cuddle puddle long overdue.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Not right now!” Yukio calls out to them, trying to sound like her usual bright, cheery self and almost managing it, but not quite.
“Not asking, just announcing,” Wade calls back, opening the door. His shoulders sag with relief at the sight of you safe, sound, and tended to. “Heard about Mommy Dearest. Remind me why I’m not allowed to shoot her in the face, too?”
“It’s murder,” Ellie huffs.
“That’s, like, a hobby for me. Try again.”
“It was reflex,” you pipe up. “You’d jerk away if someone pointed a knife at you, wouldn’t you?”
“Not with your life in the balance.”
You open your mouth to protest, but the thoughts are hard to string together into words, especially with them still up against you and throwing theirs in the mix, so you just close it.
“What? You’re seriously going to justify it?”
“Have you even met her?” Ellie groans.
“Yeah, had a rather enlightening discussion with her, Pretty Boy, and Wheels just now,” Wade retorts.
“She meant Y/N,” Yukio softly corrects him. The pinch of his hairless brows melts.
“Right,” he half-whispers. “Well… I’m gonna leave y’all to it… But… Dadpool’s always a phone call away, don’t you forget it!”
Notes: We are so back, y’all. The Yukisonic x reader relationship kind of takes a backseat in this one, to the point where I considered posting this on @dpimagines as platonic!WW & reader, but I felt like y'all here might appreciate it more.
Synopsis: You confront your father's killer and get a lot more than you bargained for.
Link to Part 2!
One moment, Wade has baited Ellie into a heated debate— literally, she looks like she’s about to blow any second —about astrology; the next, he’s trying to get one of his katanas back and somehow failing.
You match every blow, parrying with ease, and it occurs to Wade that you’re fighting exactly the way he would, so he does something he ordinarily wouldn’t do, to great success. You’re disarmed, the stolen katana knocked far from your reach; at least, in your current position.
“You’re good,” he chirps down at you, but you’re just looking up at him with nothing short of pure rage, burning so hot it feels cold. The look on your face, oddly enough, terrifies him for one blinding moment before he shakes it off. He could swear he’s seen it before, on someone specific, but at this rate, who knows?
You grip the blade of the katana he’s got pointed down at you without hesitation.
“No, you are,” you reply cooly, before forcing it back towards him hard enough that the pommel strikes him in the forehead, prompting him to release the weapon. You pick up both, blood still dripping from one hand. “I’m better.”
Ellie hisses your name, glaring at you.
“The mission is over,” she says firmly. “It’s a dead end. There’s no leads left.”
“Because of him,” you snarl, pointing one of the swords at Wade with confidence and ease, as if it’s yours.
“And so, on top of that, you’re going to hurt yourself, hurt me, because of him?” Ellie presses. That gives you pause. You take a deep breath and sigh it out.
“Plainclothes next time, Deadpool. No weapons, and no her. Then, we’ll really have some fun,” you declare, dropping the katanas to the hardwood floor with a clatter before storming off.
“That’s your soulmate?” Wade asks, watching you retreat to the staircase. “Who the fuck-?”
“Vestige, A.K.A… Y/N Freeman.”
Oh. Oh.
“She’s not like him,” Ellie clarifies, rubbing her temples. “The opposite, really. Psychometry, to an extreme degree. That’s how she was able to, y’know…” Ellie gestures to his katanas, still haphazardly crossed on the floor between them. “Personally, I’m glad that he’s… I’m glad it’s over.”
Ellie unconsciously rubs at her forearms, a place your sweater sleeves covered.
“He hurt her?” Wade asks reflexively.
Ellie nods.
“She’s capable of the inverse. Making people feel things through skin-to-skin contact. Hurting her served a dual purpose: it made her stronger, and it kept her in line so she wouldn’t hurt him. She was the only one who could make him feel pain.”
“And I’m guessing she’s not too pleased that I robbed her of the opportunity, huh?”
“Something like that,” Ellie confirms with a nod. “You should know… Mrs. Freeman lives here, too. She’s a teacher. I don’t think she’d have quite the same reaction, but you should steer clear.”
“I think I can probably handle-”
“She’s perfect. That’s her, y’know, mutation. Perfectly symmetrical physically, never trips, all that. You think someone like Ajax could tolerate anything less?” Ellie asks with a scoff.
“The perfect woman and the man who couldn’t feel pain… There’s a joke in there, or maybe a poem.”
“Maybe, yeah,” she replies with a thoughtful frown that reminds him that this is his friend’s soulmate’s parents he’s talking about, before she heads off in the same direction you did.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The next time Wade sees you, it’s years later. You’re wearing a tee shirt and gloves that almost meet the sleeves of it. You smile at him, something shy and sweet and so very different from the last time he saw you.
“So…” he starts, and your smile falters.
“I’m, uh, I’m here to… Buy a car. I think. I’m very picky,” you tell him, shifting from foot-to-foot awkwardly. It hits him then that you have no idea who he is. He’d carried on with Ellie and easily befriended your later-discovered soulmate, Yukio, and he’d ask how you were on occasion, but you’d never actually learned his real name, never saw him without the mask.
“Oh!” he yelps, trying to play it off. “Right! Sorry, zoned out there for a sec and forgot where I was. What’re you looking for?”
You open and close your mouth a few times, eyebrows knitting just a little bit closer each time you do.
“Small, but… Decent trunk space. Maybe a… Coup?”
“A coupe,” he corrects you with a toothy grin.
“Right, that,” you concur, sheepishly smiling back. You’re actually kind of adorable when you’re not stealing his weaponry, or maybe he was just too pissed off to notice back then.
“But, if you’re wanting small with good trunk space, you’d be better off looking for a compact sedan with a hatchback, like a Toyota Yaris or a Chevrolet Spark. Luckily, we have a few of both!”
“A Chevrolet Spark… Are those the ones with eyeliner?” you ask.
“Eyeliner?” he echoes, squinting with confusion. A car… With eyeliner? You’re definitely weirder than he initially gave you credit for.
“The… The headlights, um…” you mumble, your cheeks only flushing more with the awkwardness of it all. “Sorry, that probably doesn’t make sense… Stupid.”
“Oh! Yeah, wait, no! I totally see that!” he realizes, now that he thinks about it. “Yeah, we’ve got a 2015 with only ninety-nine thousand miles, right this way.”
And so, you follow him, right that way, circling the car with interest, nodding when he uses technical terms that he doesn’t even understand.
“Wanna pop the hood?” he suggests.
“I’d have no idea what I’m looking at,” you admit, and it’s only a reminder to him that a woman your age should have someone in her life that she could call up to accompany on an excursion like this, typically her father. And he killed yours. Did Francis help you pick out your first car? No, he probably picked for you, if he let you drive at all. God, did Francis teach you how to drive? Did he sit in the passenger seat while you got your hours in, giving tips? The domesticity of it all clashes violently with, well, the violence in his own memories of the man.
“Me either!” he chirps after a silence that went on for far too long. “Wanna take it on a test drive?”
“Oh, um…” you start, fidgeting with your gloved hands. “Uh, yeah, sure, thanks.”
“I’ll go grab the key. Sit tight.”
But when he’s back, you’re gone, like you were never there at all. Probably some X-emergency, he dismisses it, but finds himself feeling oddly disappointed…
…Which is why he’s pleasantly surprised when, exactly one week later, you’re standing in the midst of the used car lot again, still in those gloves.
“Hey! Sorry about last week. Something came up. Uh… How about that test drive?”
“It sold,” he informs you with a grimace. “But… We do have a 2018 Honda Civic hatchback with only a hundred and twenty-eight thousand miles on it!”
“That… Sounds like a lot of miles,” you hesitantly point out.
“Not for the used car business, honey. C’mon, let’s go take a look at it,” he insists, subtly adjusting his hairpiece. “I’ll spare you the jargon this time, now that I know neither of us knows what the fuck I’m talking about.”
You bark out a laugh at that, nodding and following him over to the car.
“I like the color,” you say, nodding towards the flat gray known as Sonic Gray Pearl.
“Black interior, too,” he says, before he remembers that he’s not supposed to know about Ellie.
Thankfully, you don’t catch the subtle allusion, replying with a simple: “Nice.”
“If I go get the key, are you gonna disappear on me again?” he ribs you. You chuckle, shaking your head. As promised, you’re there when he returns, passing you the key. You stare at it with widened eyes, like it’s a foreign object, before clearing your throat and unlocking the car. He hops in the passenger seat and buckles in while you do the same in the driver’s seat. “Might wanna take those gloves off, grip strength won’t be as good.”
“Germaphobe… And I’m used to it,” you disagree with a more forced smile as you start the car. You pull out of the spot slowly, braking hard when you get to the outlet.
“Sensitive brakes,” he half-heartedly reassures you.
You join the flow of traffic, keeping the wheel in a death grip at 10 and 2. Your nostrils flare, your jaw is clenched. You’re also driving like a grandma, several cars passing you as you chug along.
“Relax, we keep insurance on these… I think. Is that legally required?”
“I think?”
“Eh, it’s a tax write-off if you total it, anyways,” he assures you. “Live a little. What kinda music do you like? This bad boy’s got Apple Carplay, or just plain ol’ Bluetooth.”
“Whatever’s fine,” you murmur, so he connects his phone to the radio and puts on some “older” music— radio hits from his youth, that is —commercially-friendly without being nausea-inducing.
Heaven is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle plays over the speakers, and you seem to loosen up a little bit. That is to say, you look less like you’re fighting the urge to scream.
“That’s the spirit! This is one of my favorites, too! Shh, don’t tell anybody.”
After a couple more songs, you make a U-turn and park the car back in its original spot.
“So…? What do you think?” he asks as the two of you get out of the vehicle. You quickly give him the key back, but he perseveres: “Is this the part where we start negotiating? Let’s be real, this car’s nice, but I think we can get ‘em down to twelve grand instead of fifteen-and-a-half.”
“We?” you ask with a snicker. “Isn’t it your job to tack on bullshit fees to get me to spend more money?”
“Yeah, but I dunno. I like you!”
Something about that gives you pause. Maybe you do know who he is. You dispel that passing thought with your response:
“Um… Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson, but I don’t think this is the one, and I’ve got to head out now. Same time next week?”
“Sure,” he says with a nod, his own smile becoming just as forced as yours. He’s not the best of used car salesmen, but he could’ve at least tried with someone else if you hadn’t shown up again.
But you keep showing up, and you keep test driving cars, and you keep telling him no.
Until, of course, he complains to Ellie and Yukio about it in the rec room. He’s wearing his suit— for the first time in a while, just to air it out, definitely not to keep you from finding out that the Deadpool you despise and Wade, the used car salesman you’ve formed an odd, tentative friendship with, are one and the same —and lounging in an armchair while the two women are snuggled up on the loveseat.
You’re on the other side of the rec room, standing next to a freakishly symmetrical woman just like Ellie described, the two of you teaching a handful of kids how to make what appears to be paper snowflakes in the shape of butterflies. Yours comes out wonky. It’s cute. The older woman’s eyes narrow with displeasure whilst Ellie’s eyes widen the more he speaks, until she eventually barks out your name.
You see him, and your eyes narrow the same way your mother’s did, with displeasure, if not downright detestation. You march over.
“Yes, dear?” you sardonically address her.
“Are you harassing Weapon X survivors?” she asks, and your eyes immediately cut back over to him. “No, uh-uh, you’re not gonna have another dick-measuring contest with him. For the millionth time, it’s over, at least for now. You’re not going to learn anything.”
“You have no idea what I’ve learned,” you snap back, before fully turning towards him and pointing accusatorily. “And you, you stay the fuck away from Wade Wilson, or I will find a way to kill you.”
You’re already halfway across the room by the time Yukio lets out a squeak of protest.
“Nope,” Ellie says, raising a hand to silence her other soulmate. “Just let her do her thing. Whatever keeps her from sneaking off and…”
“But shouldn’t we at least tell her-?”
“Nope,” Ellie repeats. “Honestly, at this point, I’m just impressed that she’s driving.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wade wonders.
“She’s fucking terrified of it. Like, an actual phobia. Look, can you just put up with it for a little bit longer? She’ll let it go once she realizes she’s not going to get anything out of it.”
“Do you even like her?” he can’t help but ask. Ellie’s petulant expression drops into one of guilt.
“I… I do. I just don’t like when she gets like this,” Ellie admits. “When she treats his actions like they’re her responsibility. She didn’t even know until she got put on that fucking task force. Neither did her mom. He’d always told them that he worked in… It doesn’t matter anymore. They thought he was helping people.”
“They told me that’s what they were doing, too,” Wade replies with a bitter scoff. “Well, I think the suit’s been sufficiently aired out. You two are still coming to my birthday party this weekend, right?”
He leaves once they confirm as much, and the next day, like clockwork, you appear at the dealership.
It’s different this time, though; or, rather, it’s the same as it was the first time. You’re shifty, uncertain.
“Someone reminded me that most of your income comes from commission,” you say in lieu of a greeting, before presenting him with an envelope. “It’s not much, but, uh… I’m sorry. And I won’t be coming back until I know exactly what I want.”
“I can’t accept tips,” he says, feeling rotten at the sight of this “kicked puppy” version of you. Whenever he senses that you’re unsettled or otherwise feeling down, it makes him think of Francis. How many times did he put that look on your face?
“It’s not a tip,” you say with a shrug. “It’s a gift. A parting gift. Hopefully by the time I’m back here, you’ll be in New York doing stand-up or something. You’re a funny guy, and you’re nice, too. You’ve got a lot more to offer the world than this, um, no offense.”
You continue to avoid eye contact… Then, he realizes, you’re not doing that at all — you’re looking for him. Not Wade-him, no, but Deadpool-him.
“Anyways, I’ll be out of your hair now,” you say with an airless chuckle, turning away and hopping back in the cab that brought you here. Wade cranes his neck, trying to see if Dopinder is the driver, but the tint of the windows is too dark.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The next time he sees you, you’re both in your super-suits. You’re not wearing your gloves, or long sleeves. The suit you wear almost reminds him of his old tactical suit, your arms fully exposed. They’re covered in a variety of scars: striations from different tools, burns in different shapes, cuts, places where stitches used to be…
“You look like a piece of forensic clay,” he remarks as the three of you deboard the quinjet and begin stalking through the forest, if only to cover up the fact that it sickens him. What’s worse? Some are fresh. It’s obvious that you took up the mantle of inflicting pain on yourself once there was no one left to do it.
“Fuck you,” you retort, but his orders (translation: desperate pleading from Yukio) are clear — he needs to look out for you.
“Clever!” he sarcastically chirps back.
“You two,” the new Wolverine cuts in. “Bickerin’ like old hens is pretty counterintuitive to a stealth mission.”
“Look, I’m never gonna apologize for what happened to your pops, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a truce,” Wade attempts civility.
“My- Oh. You think I’m pissed about Francis dying because he was my father?” you ask, punctuating the question with an incredulous giggle. “No, you fucking moron, there was information only he knew about the program that died with him. You didn’t just kill him. You killed hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent people, Deadpool. If I could’ve gotten my hands on him-“
“What, like you didn’t have the opportunity before? He was your dad.”
“He’d break a finger every time he caught me without my gloves. And if I ran out of fingers to break, well…” You raise a hand, a spiral-shaped scar swirling out from the center of your palm. The eye of a stove, unmistakably. “That’s when we really had fun.”
“Fuck,” Logan hisses. You grin.
“All good. Not saying it for sympathy points. We all know what we need to do, yeah?” you ask. “I’ll take point on clearing the place out until you two ahold of the… Other Deadpool, or whatever… And join me. Solid plan. Y’know, I wonder if there’s another me, too. Probably nicer.”
“Probably,” Wade concurs, but only to save face. You are nice. You felt so bad about potentially preventing him from getting commission that you gave him a thousand-dollar check that last day, and, true to your word, never bothered him again. Part of him is tempted to ask what you were hoping to glean, but based on your interactions, he gets the feeling that you mostly just wanted to know he was okay, safe, and maybe even happy.
“How did you know?” you ask quietly as you get closer to the coordinates given for entry to the bunker.
“Know what?” he asks.
“About Wade,” you reply, still looking forward. Wade shakes his head at Logan as soon as the latter man’s mouth opens.
“We, uh… We kept each other company back then. When we both got out, we stayed in touch. We’re friends,” he fibs. Your head whips around to look at him, your expression deadly serious.
“You’re… And he mentioned me to you? What did he say? Other than the whole harassing him at work thing.”
“Why do you wanna know?”
“Just tell me, asshole, you killed my dad,” you dodge the question as you turn away and continue to march forward.
“Fine, fine. He said you, uh, had that smart kind of humor where you didn’t even fully understand the joke until two hours later, and that you were awkward, but also patient and kind. Happy?”
You sniffle.
“Are you crying?”
“No!”
“Shh!” Logan shushes you both, pointing down to the hatch. You immediately jump to it, holding your hands on the wheel for a few seconds before twisting it this way and that— determining the way to unlock it via the psychic imprints of everyone who did before —then, fully turning it.
With the hatch open, you’re first in before either of them can say anything, and they scramble down the ladder after you.
Two guards are already waiting in this facsimile of a hospital — really, it looks just like a standard hospital, only… Dingy. Darker.
“Are those t-shirt cannons?” Wade asks incredulously. The guards fire said t-shirt cannons, but not at Wade or Logan. At you.
Every single shot lands on your exposed arms, or your head.
Their ammo isn’t exactly commemorative. You drag the bloodied hospital gown caught on your hair away, pulling it down to reveal a tear-soaked face, but also a wicked grin.
“Well, that was certainly creative,” you say with a chuckle, striding towards one of them while Logan goes for the other.
“That- That was supposed to incapacitate you,” the guard stammers weakly. You grab his face, and he howls in pain.
You let go. The guard instantly melts to the floor, still and quiet and undeniably dead.
You snatch the hand of the one Logan’s working on, and he drops, too.
“We don’t have time to play with these pawns,” you huff, charging forward with or without them.
“Fuck,” Wade hisses. “Slow down, Vestige.”
“No,” you say firmly. Your eyes are wide, your hands are shaking. “I meant what I said. We’re clearing this place out. Especially now that I know she’s here.”
“She?” Logan asks.
“Angel Dust,” you groan. “Goddamn it, why couldn’t you have killed her instead? Annoying little bitch.”
“Jesus Christ, didn’t Colossus turn her in?” Wade asks.
“And she got out. You think the government’s gonna investigate themselves and actually admit they did something as atrocious as this?” You chuckle bitterly. “No. No, the only solution is to get as much info as you can out of these people, then put ‘em down.”
“Do your soulmates know you think that way?”
You don’t respond, looking at some nearby signage to determine your next steps before heading left. Wade and Logan look at the same navigational sign to try and see not only where you went, but where the Deadpool variant might be:
↑ Pediatrics
↑ Cafeteria
↑ Restrooms
← Admissions
← Security
→ Imaging
→ Surgery
→ Rehabilitation
“Security,” Logan says. “Smart kid, but we’ll see how that goes.”
“And we both know ‘Rehabilitation’ is code for ‘trial by fire,’” Wade concurs. “So he’s probably the opposite way.”
They head right, finding the testing room with ease, but there’s no one there. It’s empty, there’s not even so-called doctors and nurses milling about the wide open space.
“Wait,” Logan says, pointing up to an elevated observation room, almost like a tech control booth in a theatre. Bingo. Wade can see a gaggle of lab coats hovering around Angel, who’s looking at something on a laptop screen and grinning.
Wade’s phone starts ringing as they begin mounting the stairs, a bubblegum-pop song for a bubblegum-haired woman.
He picks up at the same time that Logan glares.
“Kinda in the middle of something!” he scolds Yukio in lieu of a greeting. Yukio shrieks in pain, and he has to hold the phone away from his mask-covered ear for a moment.
“Where is she?! What’s happening?!” she asks through sobs.
Shit.
Wade’s head swivels between the door to the “Rehabilitation” department and the door he’s halfway up the stairs to, where Angel, where more vengeance is on the other side.
“I’ll circle back and get her. She was just supposed to be- It doesn’t matter, one of us’ll-”
“Then go!” Yukio cries out, and the line disconnects.
“Go!” Logan echoes the sentiment. “I’ll see what I can get out of them.”
Wade starts back down the stairs, but an all-too-familiar voice crackles over the intercom.
“Don’t bother. He’s bringing her back this way,” Angel announces, waving to him from the booth. “He’s really great. Everything you are and more.”
“So, why use him to take her down instead of using him on us? You guys were never into wasting resources like that.”
“You… You don’t know.” Angel’s laughter is manic, but she steadies herself before continuing: “You were never just Weapon 11, Wade. No… No, this was personal for Ajax. And now we can honor his memory by finally putting that wretched thing down.”
But when what must be the variant of him comes in with you slung over his shoulder, Wade can’t help but wonder which wretched thing Angel is referring to. He looks at his other self, mouth fused shut, eyes wide and unblinking, ink drilled into his skin in a strange design that follows the curves of his otherwise unblemished body…
“Wow. Gives butterface a whole new meaning,” Wade remarks.
“He’s perfect,” Angel says with a chuckle. “Someone finally figured out a way to shut you up. Not to mention, well, the chip in your brain makes you a lot more compliant. Doesn’t it, buddy?”
They can see from their position on the stairs that Angel is typing something into the laptop. Other Wade unceremoniously drops you to the ground, and your injuries are more apparent. You’re battered, bruised, and bleeding. Beaten to a bloody pulp, but still breathing, barely.
Before Wade knows it, he’s easing down the stairs, assessing every aspect of the environment, of the other him, of the way you’re not even writhing in pain. You’ve given up. You, the one who stole his katanas and had the audacity to say you were better than him, the one who told him you’d find a way to kill him if he laid a hand on just one Weapon X survivor, the one who had the pain of dozens shot at you as soon as you entered the facility and still marched forward…
You… Have given up. It can’t be. Not now.
Shnk.
Katana blades extend from the arms of the other him.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Logan hisses, right behind him, and the two race down the stairs. Other Wade is already on the defensive, disappearing into thin air and reappearing closer to block their path. They fend him off as best as they can, trading blows and slices and insane feats of strength and flexibility.
They somehow find their way back over to where you’re crumpled on the floor, and you grab his ankle. Not Other Wade. Wade Wade.
“Don’t…” you croak, your grip tightening with impossible strength, given your condition. “Don’t hurt him… It’s not his fault… It’s- It’s all my fault.”
“Your fault?! Don’t be ridiculous, this has nothing to do with you!” Wade cries out, parrying a swing from Other Wade.
Angel’s mocking laughter fills the room through the speakers.
“The chip,” you whisper, softer than air — he wouldn’t even hear if it weren’t for his superior senses. “Get the chip out. That’s all you have to do. Don’t hurt him.”
“Easier said than done, peaches. Now, let me-” He doesn’t finish the demand before you reflexively let him go to cough violently. Blood sprays over the tile floor.
Logan sinks his claws into Other Wade, holding him in place.
“Get him!” he shouts, and without hesitation, Wade cleaves his other self’s head clean off. Easy-peasy, now to fish out the chip and-
“What have you done?” you snarl, starting to drag your broken body up off the floor. Even as you wince with every little motion, you’re already on all fours.
“We can put it back on! Look!” Wade says. holding his hands out in a placating gesture before pointing to the way Other Wade’s body ambles around, aimlessly swinging his arm blades. “Stay down, okay?” He presses a gloved hand flat against your back, and that alone sends you down with a smack against the tile and a soft unph.
Wade’s already fishing around while Angel attempts to bark orders. If he had to guess, which he does, Other Wade’s chip is probably where they put the tracking chips in this universe, and his guess is correct. He fishes the chip out, plopping the head right back on the body. Skin knits together, and the other Wade’s eyes shoot open, pure panic in them before he scrambles over to you.
He cradles you in his arms, wails trapped behind his lips as he starts pushing your blood-soaked hair away from your bruised face.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you choke out. “It’s not your fault, it’s all my fault, I’m so sorry…”
Other Wade, fervently shakes his head, tears pouring from his eyes. He presses his forehead to yours insistently, still running his hands over your hair with muffled whimpers.
He looks up at the booth, his eyes glowing red before releasing beams of pure kinetic force, obliterating it.
“I did get some things done before he found me and beat the brakes off of me,” you remark, spluttering out more blood afterwards. Other Wade lets out an alarmed sound, lifting you up off the floor as he stands to his feet. “Get- Get the- The variant, and- And the survivors, okay? Wade and I can- We can head back up, radio for retrieval, backup. Get the records, too. Whatever you can.”
And so, they do, not bothering to correct the misunderstanding — not that they have the opportunity, considering Other Wade was off like a shot. They tear their way through lab coats, guards, and locks, and by the time everyone makes it out, Piotr’s there to inform him that you and Other Wade were the first to be flown back, given your condition and his variant’s inability to leave your side. They’re the last, but Wade doesn’t mind. It gives him time, for the first time since you opened that hatch, to think.
He tries. He pushes past the voices, past the blood he’s covered in, past everything but the brick wall of: why are you so protective of Wade Wilson, and why would a variant of him be what it takes to take you down? Not only that, but why would said variant be so distraught at doing so? Sure, you’re young, but you’re not an actual kid. You’re a grown ass woman, capable of killing someone with a touch!
A grown ass woman, capable of killing someone with a touch, who’s now in a medically-induced coma, he finds out upon his arrival to the school. He stops by the medbay to check in on his favorite sapphics, not to mention his doppelganger.
Ellie and Yukio are sitting at one side of your bed, appearing understandably shaken by the ordeal, while Other Wade stands guard on the other.
“Do we, um… Do we know what his deal is?” Yukio asks Wade, gesturing to the man.
“He’s the one who put her in this condition.”
“What?!” Ellie exclaims, rising to her feet.
“Easy! I don’t- Look, maybe you guys can help me put the pieces together. Angel was there, and she said I- What they did to me, it was personal for Francis. That I was made like this to kill her. And she kept telling me, even when was- Even as she was coughing up blood and could barely move, she was telling me it wasn’t his fault. That it was her fault. That I shouldn’t hurt him.”
“Oh, no,” Yukio says, getting choked up. “Oh, god, she thought he was you. And you’re- Oh, no-no-no-no-no…”
“What?!” Wade snaps. “Spit it out!”
“She’s adopted, Wade!” Ellie barks back. “Her mother died in childbirth, no one knew who the father was, and Ajax and LMP adopted her. When she was originally put on the school’s Weapon X task force, she found out what he was doing, and that her biological father was one of the test subjects — specifically so Francis would be able to sic him on her, not to mention the psychological damage of it all. Relatives of mutants with psychic powers usually have some level of immunity. You killed Francis before she could find out who her father was, or, I guess I should say, is. She, apparently, found out some other way, because of course she did, because that’s what she always does.”
“So, what you’re saying is… He’s- I’m-”
All those times you opened your mouth like you were going to say something, then closed it. All those times you stopped in the middle of a sentence, and finished it in a way that didn’t sound like what you’d planned to say when you first started speaking. All those times you smiled a little bit more genuinely when he let a casual term of endearment slip out. All those times he’d share some tidbit about his life, and you’d give him your undivided attention.
All those times you test drove a car, when you’re terrified of driving.
It was all for him. You were gathering the courage to tell him the truth, but instead, you gave him a check for a thousand dollars, some words of encouragement, and a promise to not come back until you knew exactly what you wanted. He was the reason you gave up. In the fight earlier, and in the attempt at reunification before that. It was him.
“Shit,” he whispers. It’s an underwhelming response. He should have a million things to say, he always does, but that’s all he can think right now. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
And then he does what he does best, when his heart drops and his stomach curdles.
He leaves. This time, he is the one to walk away from you.
I'm really glad you don't mind me being so detailed, I'm always scared that I'm too much cause of how much stuff I put into the reqs, but I'm happy it's not a burden lol
And trust me, when I get home from college, we'll finish the DP movies (cause we left off at the second one), I might come back with another req. <3
- 🦝 anon
I don’t mind one bit! Your requests are always so unique and engaging.
Don’t even get me started on the ideas I had after the 3rd movie… Okay, I will anyways… Reader-pool while the reader in the main universe died young. Ellie is d i s t r a u g h t. Alternatively, all the Deadpools having a Y/N (whether they’re a sister, gf, wife, daughter, bff, mom, there’s always a Y/N) while Deadpool has not met his Y/N yet, only to ask around and find that she’s actually a big fan, much to Ellie’s chagrin (perhaps Ellie and Yukio agreed to pretend to be girlfriends to keep Wade from bothering their REAL girlfriends)! maybe some babypool!reader for angst???* It’s 🧑🍳💋, so many fun ideas with the multiverse taken into account. (Or reader secretly pining for Ellie, her bff who’s taken, and Negasonic-pool drooling over reader openly, only for Ellie to realize she’s wanted the reader the whole time just as she’s abt to lose her to… Herself.) I just can’t seem to get the scenes I picture in my head while listening to Glee covers and Hamilton totally bitchin’ heavy metal or super cool indie music (all of the above, really, + phonk) to link together.
Thank you as always, 🦝! 🖤💥
*EDIT: I’ve been toying with this some more but I fear if I ramble about it too much I’ll spoil it if I end up actually doing it 🤭
OK, party people! I may or may not be writing "(Or reader secretly pining for Ellie, her bff who’s taken, and Negasonic-pool drooling over reader openly, only for Ellie to realize she’s wanted the reader the whole time just as she’s abt to lose her to… Herself.)" — I have an important question: which Ellie do we want the reader to end up with? 'cause I kind of want to write smut or implied smut of the reader with Negasonicpool but I don't want things to be weird if there's a HEA between OG Ellie and reader. Maybe two different endings?? That might be a little ambitious for me lmao
EDIT: Wait. I’ve got it. The answer to a love triangle is always a threesome. DUH! But we can have multiple endings too
EDIT2: Okay. Maybe no smut. I'd rather go to that ~drama place~
REQUEST: Idk if your requests are out so it's kool if you ignore this but would you be willing to write something for Ellie x reader who suffers from really bad anxiety and panic attacks? Maybe she has dangerous abilities and is terrified of hurting someone and it triggers something? Idk, sorry if this is a sensitive topic. Either way, your an amazing writer and thank you!
WARNINGS/TAGS: Implied Past SA, Reader Has Anxiety, Reader Has PTSD, Reader Has a Panic Attack, Canon-Typical Violence/Swearing/Etc., Established Relationship
SYNOPSIS: You have the ability to make yourself completely imperceptible — not just invisible, but imperceptible. After a mission gone horribly wrong, you’re stuck in this state. Not physically, but through trauma. One day, though, after years have passed… Someone sees you.
NOTES: I did play with this a little bit, hope you don’t mind. This request is years old at this point, so you probably don’t even remember putting it in; that is, if you even still follow me. Oops. :) This takes place post-Deadpool and Wolverine. Everyone is 20+ as per usual. Might do a P2 with a babypool!reader reveal if anyone wants it.
You thought it was a fluke, the first time. You were hanging out with your usual friend group — Yukio, Ellie, and a recent addition, Laura.
At first, you thought he was just keeping an eye on Laura. The three had filled you in on the details of Deadpool’s coming out of retirement, and you were happy to join your girlfriend and your shared best friend in taking Laura under your wing, though you couldn’t be of much help beyond leaving encouraging notes tucked into her pocket and building her a study guide for her GED test.
…But he seemed to be looking at you, the whites of the mask squinting just so and his head tilting to the side curiously when you opened your mouth to say something, only to remember that they wouldn’t be able to hear you.
Still, though, you dismissed it. You’ve never met Deadpool, never even gone near him, at Ellie’s insistence. Even Yukio, bright and lively and energetic as she is, was in agreement that he’d be “too much.”
Too much.
It’s the nicest way to say that he’s not the kind of person you could handle being around after what happened. It wasn’t always this way. You weren’t always this way. But it’s bad enough, apparently, that they pose as a couple to keep him from asking questions, from finding out you even exist... Not that he’d have many clues.
The second time it happened, you still weren’t sure. You told yourself that you were being paranoid, and later on, Ellie had agreed.
This time, you were chatting with her the only way you can these days, at least out in the open. She’d say something, you’d write a response, and she’d know it was written only when you dropped the pencil you were using, letting it clatter onto the coffee table to get her attention.
She’d read it, smile to herself, and respond.
“What’s going on here, my favorite little islander?” he’d asked, and she rolled her eyes with a short, irritable huff. She’s adorable when she’s annoyed, so you can’t really blame him for doing it so much.
“Fine, I’ll bite: why are you calling me an islander?” she asked in response. A masterful tactic in avoiding the question. That's your girl.
“Uh, hello, you’re a resident of the Isle of Lesbos?” he replied, and you found yourself sparing a brief chuckle at that, even if it wasn’t that funny. He seemed to look in your direction for just a second, proud of himself, but you ignored it. There’s no way he could see you, let alone hear you. No one can. “Really, though, what’s up?”
“Nothing. Just hanging out. What are you doing here, anyways? Don’t you have some babies to steal candy from or something?” she retorted with a nose crinkled in distaste. So. Freaking. Cute. One of the few perks of being permanently imperceptible is that you can openly fawn over her — fix part of her quiff that’s out of place, coo at her adorable facial expressions, and longingly stare all day long, and no one would ever know, not even her.
He looked at you again. No. You can’t believe it. You won’t. You’d left Ellie a note later that day expressing mild concern, but she assured you that he was probably just looking at a hallucination or something along those lines, which only made you feel guilty for the fear you’d felt.
That brings you to now. Third time’s the charm, isn’t it?
“So, what’s her deal, then?” he finally asked. This time, it’s you, Yukio, and Ellie, huddled around and sharing a massive vegan froyo sundae, loaded with hot caramel and shredded dark chocolate.
“Her?” Yukio asks in a chirpy, inquisitive tone. Ellie’s face; however, falls. You weren’t wrong, you weren’t confused, and all of her efforts to conceal you were for naught. Her expression only darkens as he elaborates:
“Yeah. Her. The one in the hoodie that has seen much better days who’s always following Jelly Ellie Belly Bean around like a little stray kitten. Always grooming her, mewling, staring at her ass like she’s got a piece of salmon in her back pocket, all that. Her,” he says, pointing right at you.
You feel the blood leave your face as spots dance in your vision. Your lungs feel like they’re being squeezed, like no matter how much you breathe, you can’t get enough air in. He sees you.
heseesyouheseesyouheseesyouhe’s gonna hurt you
heseesyouheseesyouheseesyouyou’re done for
heseesyouheseesyouheseesyouyou’re not getting away this time
heseesyouheseesyouyou’re practically dead already
heseesyouheseesyouheseesyouheseesyouHE CAN SEE YOU.
You’re not sure when you took off, when you got back to your room (or of anything, really, at this point) but the next thing you know, you’ve locked yourself in the closet. You keep a hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your desperate gasps for air and your hitching sobs. If he can see you, he can hear you. Didn’t Ellie say he has an enhanced sense of smell? Didn’t Yukio say he has superstrength? Didn’t Laura describe him as relentless?
Even in here, you’re not safe. He’s going to find you. He’s going to get you. What are you going to do? Who can help you? Did Ellie and Yukio say something? Do something? You don’t remember anything but running after that red-gloved finger pointed straight at you like you were something on display that he wanted a closer look at, to know more about.
Too much, Yukio had said. And she was right.
There’s a soft knock at the closet door.
“Hey, babe,” Ellie says softly. “It’s just me. Can you come out?”
“No,” you croak, but it’s of no use. She can’t hear you. Even if you wanted to, you’re far too frightened to make yourself perceptible right now — after what happened, she’s the only person who you’ve been able to let sense you in years. It’s something sacred between you at this point, promptly shattered by that pointing finger, by those looks you’d convinced yourself were nothing.
After a few beats of silence, she sighs.
“Okay,” she whispers, and you can hear in the way her voice shakes that she blames herself for this. She blames herself for what happened before, too, and she wasn’t even there. “I… I don’t know what to do right now. This is so… So different from the other times, with the triggers and the flashbacks and the… Well, you know. Of course you know, what am I even…? I don’t know why he can see you. I could tell you that he wouldn’t hurt you. I could tell you that, as much as I hate to admit it, he’s a good guy. I could say a lot of things. But I know you, and I know you have a good reason for hiding, as much as I wish you didn’t. So… I guess I’ll just say that I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“He’s a good guy?” you ask softly, not sure she’ll hear it even if it is perceptible like you’re trying to be. The next round of quiet is long, the only thing filling it being stilted breaths, yours and hers.
“Yeah,” she hoarsely replies. “Obnoxious? Undoubtedly. Insensitive? A hundred percent. But… Good. The kind of guy who’d probably burn that entire place to the ground with them inside if he knew what happened, then demand a chimichanga in payment and only eat, like, half because while he likes the sound of the word, he actually doesn’t like the food that much. Or maybe that’d just be a flimsy excuse to stop eating, since he’s not fully comfortable with how he looks.
They’re closer than she let on, you think, and it’s like another stab to the heart. You thought she was protecting you from him, because that’s what she and Yukio said, but was she embarrassed of you this whole time? Were they both?
Like a little stray kitten, he’d said.
Is that what you are? A stray begging for scraps, tugging at her sleeve, utterly pathetic and useless?
And cowardly, your self-hatred chips in. There’s no point in denying that.
“I’ll be fine. Just… Go,” you whimper. Damn it.
“What?” she asks, already acutely aware of the different kind of hurt in your voice.
“Nothing, just go,” you insist. “I already ruined everything, there’s no point in staying here and trying to fix something that can’t be fixed. Just go try to salvage the night, I’ll be here when you get back.”
You hear some commotion on the other side of the door not long after you respond, mild protests from Yukio, who must’ve just entered, as well as Ellie, though the latter’s aren’t quite so mild and are peppered with expletives.
“Hey, invisi-girl! Invisi-woman, I should say! Working on the misogynistic microaggressions, mostly thanks to your lovely and explosive girlfriend! What’s the deal with that, by the way? Are you really that scared of me? Did I kill a friend or family member? I’m lost.”
“I told you, Wade, it was our idea,” Yukio stage-whispers to him. “We didn’t want… This. For you to overwhelm her.”
“Well, I’ll just whelm her, how about that? So, come on. What’s your fucking problem?” he asks, kicking the closet door — not enough to make it budge, just enough to make you jump with an involuntary, sharp gasp. You hear Ellie’s fist connect with his leather-clad shoulder. “Okay, okay, just figuring out the limits here. I know I made a bit of a production at your expense earlier, but I can’t stand to see a cutie pie cry, especially if it’s my fault. I’m physically incapable of apologizing, so deal with it… But I, like, at least feel kind of bad about it? I’d feel worse if I knew what this doom spiral was all about, though, so, let’s make things even, yeah?”
“It’s none of your business,” Ellie damn near growls.
“Whew! Your girlfriend is smoking hot, literally,” he remarks. “But really. I’m gonna start singing R. Kelly if you don’t get to it. Come on, give me the TLDR, at least. Am I using that right?”
“I think so!” Yukio confirms, and you can practically see her optimistic half-smile.
“Something bad happened to me, a few years ago. I have the ability to make myself imperceptible, and after what happened, the only person who I’ve even been able to make myself perceptible around is Ellie. I don’t know why you can see me, hear me, or even know I exist. I don’t want you to. I don't want anyone to look at or even think about me ever again, especially not a- Someone so imposing. Happy now?” Can he just go? All you want to do is curl up in bed, with or without Ellie, and be immersed in this feeling so that, hopefully, you can let it go and move on.
“Oh,” he blurts, but the mild tone he takes on might be the quietest he’s capable of being. “I… That totally tracks. And I’m a fucking idiot. Jesus Christ. Yeah, uh… Yeah. I’m gonna… Go now.”
“Me, too,” Yukio squeaks. It’s the first time in a while you’ve been this blunt about your feelings in front of someone other than Ellie. You’re not sure if it’s progress or not, given the circumstances.
You hear the bedroom door close, and finally open the closet door to see Ellie, her eyes still rimmed red with unshed tears. You’re not sure if she can see you or not until she pulls you into her arms, tangling a hand in the hair at the base of your head.
“I need this,” she murmurs into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry if it’s too much, I’ll let go in a second, but for right now…” She inhales deeply, taking you in like it might be her last chance because she knows it might always be her last chance. It wasn’t until a year after what happened that you could even bring yourself to let her see you. If you hadn’t made any progress at all in your healing, you probably wouldn’t be letting her see you now, though the ‘letting’ of it all makes it sound like a choice when at this rate, it’s really not. “I need this. I need you. You know that, right? That I need you? Love you? Won’t let anything happen to you?”
You hum affirmatively, hugging her back.
“Good,” she breathes. “Good. I… I really am sorry.”
“It’s, um…” You take a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”
It’s not her fault, but here she is, apologizing and on the verge of tears, because you are so fragile, and she knows she’s what’s holding you together. She can’t allow herself to fail, and yet, she has. Someone saw you. Someone scared you. And at home, of all places.
“Please,” you softly insist. “Please just go try to have fun. I’ll be okay.”
“How can I possibly have fun?” she asks, her sculpted eyebrows furrowing with righteous fury. “Would you? Could you?”
You shake your head.
“Don’t go,” she says suddenly, holding you tighter. Had she almost lost you? Had you almost lost yourself? “Couldn’t feel you for a second,” she quickly answers the unspoken question, one of her many specialties. “Just give me a little more time, okay, babe? Just a little bit longer?”
You nod into her, the floodgates re-opening as you cry into the top of her head, holding onto her for dear life just like you always do.
She sighs deeply, but there’s the hint of satisfaction in it that there always is, because she’s the only one who gets to have you this way. She keeps you in that compressive embrace that does wonders for your unsteady frame.
“I hate being this way,” you sob. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get better. Are you really gonna put up with this forever?”
“And always,” she murmurs into your neck, pressing a chaste kiss there. You can feel her lips move against you as she continues, “I don’t mind. You could still be doing this every day and I’d still want you. Need you. You’re not just my girlfriend, you’re my best friend. You’re my everything. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” you whimper. “I just feel like- Like such a burden. Especially for you.”
“I’m not gonna lie and say this is easy... But good things aren’t easy. We wouldn’t appreciate them if they were,” she insists. “It’s not like you do it on purpose, and you certainly don’t do it for attention. You ran. You hid. I sought you out. And I’ll always do that, too. Find you.”
“I know,” you whisper back. “I do.”
“Always,” she says again, even softer this time, like she’s swearing it to herself just as much as she is you. Your embrace loosens, but you don’t part, breathing each other in for just a little while longer. “There is a question I have to ask…” she starts, the pitch of her voice lowering with slight discontent.
“Yeah?” You pull back just enough to see her expression. Her eyebrows are furrowed and a thoughtful frown tugs the corners of her black-painted lips downwards. Her gaze meets yours, and she sighs.
“Why?”
“Why?” you echo. She knows why you’re like this, so that can’t be-
“Why can he see you?”
Oh. You hadn’t actually given that much thought. You shrug, and she sighs.
“I mean, Logan could. Can, now that we have the other one. But… Wade’s bones aren’t plated with adamantium. I’ve heard that other people with telepathic abilities have trouble getting through his, y’know…” Ellie removes her hand from your waist and waves it at her forehead in reference to his jumbled thoughts, his illness. “But that’s never been an issue for you. The crazies are your specialty, if anything.”
You nod in agreement, feeling your own eyebrows furrow to mirror hers.
“Well, who knows? But be prepared to be invited to all the ‘family’ events from here on out,” Ellie playfully warns you, making you cringe a little. “He really is harmless… Well, to someone like you, at least.”
“Reassuring,” you remark with a scoff. Ellie brings the hug back to its original snugness, and you let yourself relax this time, not needing to cling as tightly as before anymore… For now.
Guess what, I came out to my family two days ago 😁 I was really scared but they were supportive. My mom said she had a feeling I was a lesbian but they all accepted me, and I was so happy. My dad might be a little bit meh about it cause he was like 'it is what it is, we cant do anything about it but it doesn't change anything' but he's overall accepting. It's so surreal and unusual but I really am happy.
- 🦝 anon
FUCK YEAH!! 🎉🎉🎉 I’m so happy for you, 🦝! Coming out can be such a scary thing, you should be very proud of yourself!
I'm really glad you don't mind me being so detailed, I'm always scared that I'm too much cause of how much stuff I put into the reqs, but I'm happy it's not a burden lol
And trust me, when I get home from college, we'll finish the DP movies (cause we left off at the second one), I might come back with another req. <3
- 🦝 anon
I don’t mind one bit! Your requests are always so unique and engaging.
Don’t even get me started on the ideas I had after the 3rd movie… Okay, I will anyways… Reader-pool while the reader in the main universe died young. Ellie is d i s t r a u g h t. Alternatively, all the Deadpools having a Y/N (whether they’re a sister, gf, wife, daughter, bff, mom, there’s always a Y/N) while Deadpool has not met his Y/N yet, only to ask around and find that she’s actually a big fan, much to Ellie’s chagrin (perhaps Ellie and Yukio agreed to pretend to be girlfriends to keep Wade from bothering their REAL girlfriends)! maybe some babypool!reader for angst???* It’s 🧑🍳💋, so many fun ideas with the multiverse taken into account. (Or reader secretly pining for Ellie, her bff who’s taken, and Negasonic-pool drooling over reader openly, only for Ellie to realize she’s wanted the reader the whole time just as she’s abt to lose her to… Herself.) I just can’t seem to get the scenes I picture in my head while listening to Glee covers and Hamilton totally bitchin’ heavy metal or super cool indie music (all of the above, really, + phonk) to link together.
Thank you as always, 🦝! 🖤💥
*EDIT: I’ve been toying with this some more but I fear if I ramble about it too much I’ll spoil it if I end up actually doing it 🤭
MY GOD YOURE FAST. You're so amazing, that was absolutely perfect!! Thank you so so so much, I love it! 🫶🫶 The shapeshifter touch was absolutely beautiful 🙌
I have an exam tmr and I had a bit of a breakdown today (#uniiskickingmyass) so I really needed something cute and you delivered! I rly love it sm. Thank you again, you're the best ever. <333
Love ya sm 🥹 sending hugs and love and good wishes
- 🦝 anon
I had some free time (severe Vitamin D deficiency + mental illness + ??? = random days where I can’t function) and it tickled my brain. I really appreciate how detailed your requests are, you outline what you want really clearly while still giving me enough room to sprinkle in my own ideas. It makes it so fun to write!
Sorry about your exams, I hope they go well. My fiancée is about to graduate and I’m so ready to stop hearing about college BS 😭 (I myself dropped out of high school and got my GED later. I’m not really passionate abt anything so I didn’t feel like wasting the $ on a degree.)
Thank you so very much for requesting (and the outpouring of compliments, eek! You make me blush!) Love you, too, 🦝, and you know where to find me the next time you wanna give me a brainchild.
(Edit: BTW I called it Blessed Snow because that’s what the name Eirwen means and I couldn’t think of a title lmao)
request (paraphrased): reverse trope prompt “really nice person who only hates you” + The Fake Baby Assignment + ovulation antics + reader has a princess wand ;)
warnings/tags: GNC!reader, shapeshifter!reader, (Lighthearted) Enemies to Lovers, Roommates to Lovers, Reader Has a Penis
notes: this came out surprisingly un-smutty, but I hope you still like it, 🦝!
synopsis: You’re a kind person who Ellie burned (not literally) in the past. The two of you have maintained civility in spite of that, but your ability to get along is being put to the test with the arrival of a robotic baby you have to take care of together. It seems you two will learn about more than how to take care of an infant… Maybe you'll even learn how to get along.
This is a disaster, to say the least.
But, on the other hand, to call this a disaster would discredit the actual disaster that prompted this.
A newly-triggered mutant had unintentionally wreaked havoc on their small town, and in the chaos, a mother and her baby were separated by the rubble of the partially-destroyed apartment building they lived in. Thankfully, the squad that was addressing the issue were able to retrieve the child… Only to pass it around like a hot potato until the mother could be located.
Both the mother and the child were ultimately fine, but the squadron’s cluelessness (and at certain points, carelessness) was captured on live television, spawning a mixture of public outrage, concern, and, of course, memes.
And so, all X-Men— unless they already have a child or are able to prove experience with them in the form of younger family members or confirmed prior babysitting gigs —are now required to participate in a rather… Unorthodox training exercise, mostly paired off as roommates regardless of couplings, given that the majority of roommates are in the same squad.
A baby.
Not a real baby, mind you, but a disturbingly realistic one. One you are currently balancing on your hip while you teach Upcycling, one of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters’s newest electives. Today’s Friday, so all the students will be working on their junk journals in class — a year-long project that they can present to the group for extra credit at the end of the semester, or just share with you to be graded for effort. Most of their weekly or monthly projects are more practical, but these journals are a great way to show the artistic side of the hobby.
Right now, you’re presenting the newest page in yours as an example.
“I went to see a movie with friends on Wednesday night, and I was able to hold onto our ticket stubs. The popcorn bowl had the movie poster printed on it, so I saved that and cut out the parts I liked, flattening them under books. I also found a review of the movie in yesterday’s paper, so, this morning-”
The baby starts to cry, prompting some of the students’ babies to cry, which prompts some of the other student’s babies to cry, until all you all can hear is the electronic wails of robotic infants filling the room.
“You guys get it, right?” you call out to them over the noise with an awkward chuckle and a grimace. They nod weakly, all trying to calm their babies. “Let’s take a walk around the courtyard and calm our kids down!”
The students rise from the crafting tables in near unison, all of you abandoning the classroom to weave your way through sparsely-populated halls (class is in session, after all) out to the courtyard, many of you with diaper bags hanging on your shoulders. Some settle down right away, but yours is taking longer. The diaper isn’t 'dirty,' and she just ‘ate’ a little while ago, so you’re not really sure what prompted her crying this time.
“C’mon, Eirwen, it’s okay…” you coo, rocking and bouncing the baby, humming to her. She starts to settle, just a little.
“You named it?” someone pipes up from behind you, their voice alone filling you with dread.
“Ellie,” you address your roommate, your partner in this project, turning around. “Yeah, I did. A lot of the kids named theirs, so…”
“Irwin?” she asks now, her face scrunching up with skepticism.
“Eirwen. AYR-wen,” you correct her emphatically with a glare.
“What are you doing outside, anyways?” she asks, changing the subject already, dismissive and flippant as ever. You sigh, already annoyed. Why should I have to justify myself to you? you think.
But you do it anyways:
“She wouldn’t stop crying, and the kids were having the same problem.” You continue to rock Eirwen, and when Ellie reaches out for the robotic infant, you recoil.
“What? It’s my job, too,” Ellie says. “I know we don’t really get along, but-”
“But you only want to do this enough to get by, and only on your terms,” you cut her off. “Fuck me if I need to shower, or eat dinner, or go see a movie, or work.”
That was a detail you didn’t bother to share with your class — that movie you saw, Wednesday night? You weren’t even halfway through when Ellie called, demanding you come home to calm the baby down because she’d tried “everything.” Everything except for burping it, changing its diaper, turning down the TV, or… Anything, really. All the things you had to do when you came home early.
“You’re just… Better at this, okay? I’m trying. I can’t bring it- Eirwen to work, okay? You know that,” Ellie argues. “And try not to swear in front of her, I heard they’re gonna dock points for that, and then we’ll have to do this shi- stuff all over again.”
She sighs sympathetically at your beleaguered expression.
“Look, my six o’clock canceled, so I’m home for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I’ll take her now, and I promise, I’ll really try not to bother you. Take the night off,” she insists. As much as you hate her, you can’t resist those big brown eyes — they’re the ones that got her in trouble with you in the first place.
It was ten years ago, at this point. You were both new to the school. You’ll never forget how she made you feel when you first met. When your gazes met for the first time, you’d subconsciously shifted, your eyes suddenly becoming identical to her own, even some of your other features changing slightly to mirror hers. You couldn’t help it. They were so beautiful, you wanted them for yourself. She was so beautiful, so unlike anyone you’d ever seen before, a striking mix of cherubic roundness and harsh edges that intrigued you like nothing else.
…And then she called you a freak, in the one place you’d been promised no one would ever call you that again.
You’ve despised her ever since, and yet, you often find yourselves put together, by coincidence or by the hands of well-meaning mentors.
“Well?” she prompts you, and you realize you’ve been staring at her in silence, lost in thought.
“Yeah, sure,” you agree, passing the baby that is the peak of the uncanny valley phenomenon over to Ellie. Eirwen immediately starts crying, but Ellie just takes the diaper bag off of your shoulder and leaves without a word. You didn’t even realize how much of a burden it was, how sore you were, until she took it all away.
You wander around the courtyard, helping the rest of your students calm their babies down before returning to the classroom just in time for them to leave for their final class of the day.
The next class comes with minimal interruption, and, unburdened by your tiny robot daughter, you’re actually able to get through the whole class, assisting your students with their kids (and junk journals!) in peace. You feel an odd sense of anxiety, though. Is she really taking care of it, or has she buried it in the laundry hamper like she did the first night, robotic cries muffled by her vintage band tee shirts and your sweater vests?
Over time, your mild concern swirls into a vortex of anxiety that you can feel in your chest. As soon as the bell rings, you don’t even stay to lesson plan for next week. You bolt out just as swiftly as your students do, making your way up a couple flights of stairs to the adult dormitories and bursting in.
As you suspected, Eirwen is being fussy, but Ellie’s… Singing? When she notices you there, she stops abruptly, her eyes going wide before she casts her gaze down to the floor. You don’t say anything, reaching for the baby with a sigh. It’s her that pulls away this time.
“No. I said I’d take care of it,” she sharply insists, rocking the baby some more. You sigh again, settling down at your desk and turning on your computer. You don’t even know what to do with yourself. It’s been a week of non-stop caretaking. Your hands hover over your keyboard, and you eventually settle on pulling up Tetris.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Ellie knows it’s her fault.
She sees the way you interact with other people. Younger, peers, older, friends, strangers… You’re a kind person; sweet, even.
Not to her, though. Never to her.
And Ellie knows it’s her fault. She didn’t mean to be mean that day. She honestly thought you were making fun of her, until you… You kept doing it. Not necessarily with her, but every time you see someone you admire, you take a little piece of them and incorporate it into your own look, whether that’s their style, their hair color, the shape of their nose, or even, she once noticed, a set of freckles in the shape of Orion’s belt, right on your shoulder.
And now you’re all grown up, and beautiful. Impossibly beautiful, literally.
She’s puttering around the tattoo parlor she rents a booth at, hoping for a walk-in at some point to keep her busy before her six o’clock appointment this evening, but when that person has to reschedule due to illness, she says “Fuck it,” and heads home.
You’re outside with your second-to-last class of the day, all of you consoling the stupid robots Xavier’s making you all take care of after the sheer humiliation that idiotic squad exposed the X-Men to.
You look even more incredible holding her kid a kid, you’d be an excellent mother. You just… Get it. Could she say what it is? No. Because she doesn’t ever feel like she “gets it” in much of anything. She always assumes the worst, she always pushes everyone away, and she just can’t ever seem to let herself be happy, not like you can. She ruins things before they can even start, and for the most part, she never regrets it.
Except for you. Ellie regrets that, ruining her friendship with you before it could get a chance to start.
It would’ve been more. Could’ve. No, would’ve, she thinks, watching you with the baby, seeing how caring you are even for an inanimate object, a hassle, a punishment for an infraction you never would’ve made. It almost… Turns her on, seeing you like that.
Her phone buzzes — it’s her period tracking app, letting her know she’s at peak ovulation.
Definitely don’t want a real one anytime soon, she thinks as she starts to approach you. But at the same time…
“There, there… C’mon, Eirwen, it’s okay,” you croon, even humming under your breath. It seems to soothe the baby, but all she can think at the moment is what she blurts out:
“You named it?”
She hates how harshly that came out, especially as she watches your posture become rigid. You turn around, leveling her with a sexy smolder cold look that stops her in her tracks.
“Ellie,” you say stiffly, grimacing. “Yeah, I did. A lot of the kids named theirs, so…”
So, you made yourself relatable to them by doing the same. Because you get it. What the hell was that name, though.
“Irwin?” she asks curiously, not sure what to make of it. Maybe you just really liked the TV show… You do like animals, after all.
“Eirwin,” you correct her pronunciation with a roll of your eyes that really shouldn’t do things to her. Part of her likes that she gets to see this bitchy irritable side of you. No one else does. “AYR-wen,” you say again, slower.
To avoid barking back at you, Ellie decides to steer the conversation another way. All she can come up with is a question that has an obvious answer, but she asks it regardless.
“What are you doing outside, anyways?”
“She wouldn’t stop crying, and the kids were having the same problem,” you explain with another roll of your eyes. What I wouldn’t give to make those eyes roll back for a different reason, she thinks, before blinking out of her less-than-pure thoughts. She notices then that you look a little tired, so, without a word, she tries to take the little monster off your hands, if only for a little while. You jerk back, instinctively protecting it. That should not be so hot.
“What? It’s my job, too,” Ellie says, feeling more than a little bad that you’ve been the one saddled with most of Eirwen’s care. “I know we don’t really get along, but-”
“But you only want to do this enough to get by, and only on your terms,” you cut her off, sharper than you’ve been with her in a while. “Fuck me if I need to shower, or eat dinner, or go see a movie, or work.”
As tired as you clearly are, Ellie didn’t think you minded this much. She only feels worse now, but a part of her can’t bring herself to apologize — it’s not like you communicated your need for a break. How’s she supposed to know?
“You’re just… Better at this, okay? I’m trying. I can’t bring it- Eirwen to work, okay? You know that,” she tries to reason with you. “And try not to swear in front of her, I heard they’re gonna dock points for that, and then we’ll have to do this shi- stuff all over again.”
When you don’t respond with some snarky comment, instead biting your lip in that far too tempting habitual way of yours, she sighs, seeing for the first time just how dark the bags under your eyes are, and the way your shoulders sag with the weight of the mechanical baby and its diaper bag.
“Look, my six o’clock canceled, so I’m home for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I’ll take her now, and I promise, I’ll really try not to bother you. Take the night off,” she insists. You stay silent, your eyebrows furrowed at the exact angle that lets her know you’re on the verge of a headache, still unconsciously rocking the baby. After a few beats of tense silence, she speaks up again: “Well?”
“Yeah, sure,” you finally admit defeat, passing the baby over. It immediately starts crying. Of course it does. Why would anyone— even a robot —pick her, when you’re around? She pushes her self-pitying thoughts aside and takes the diaper bag from you, heading back to your shared room in the adult dormitories.
She doesn’t know when the little robot last ate, so she tries that first, using the toy baby bottle it came with to feed it, burping it once that’s done. It helps for a little while, at least, but by the time you’re back, it’s fussing again. If that weren’t embarrassing enough, you caught her in her last ditch effort to get it to calm down. She started singing.
She stops, of course. When you reach for the baby, already looking so disappointed in her, it's her turn to deny you.
“No. I said I’d take care of it,” she insists, rocking the baby some more. You sigh again, looking… Lost. It seems you’ve already gotten used to the routine of taking care of her baby the baby.
After a little while, you sit at your desk, still seeming a bit out of sorts, like you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your hands hover over your keyboard, and you eventually settle on pulling up Tetris, a game Ellie has noticed you’re surprisingly skilled at.
You get lost in the game quickly, adorably so. Interestingly enough, over time, the baby seems to calm down at your rapid-fire tapping of the keys and the quiet little beeps and chirps of the game. She feels its mechanical imitation of breathing slow, and soon enough, it’s… Asleep. She sets it down in the bassinet between your beds, and it doesn’t feel fair after all the struggle you’ve gone through. Noticing that your eyes are still glued to the computer screen, she slips out to do something else: grab dinner for you both.
When she returns, she checks on the baby, still asleep, thank goodness, before sliding a bowl onto your desk. Your favorite pasta. You look down at it, and up at her, with equal skepticism, letting your game end. A score of over 230,000 and it doesn’t even make your top five.
“Jesus Christ, you’re good,” she hisses, and you shake your head.
“No, I… I’m okay. But… Thanks. And for dinner, thank you, you really didn’t have to-”
“I wanted to,” she interrupts you. It’s the most clearly she’s been able to articulate the way she feels about you, and it seems to surprise you. Those pretty eyes of yours (she kicks herself for the way she so callously discouraged you from keeping hers all those years ago) widen slightly, and your head tilts to the side just so with your confusion.
The thought, God, I want your babies, flashes in her mind before she can even, well, think, and she takes a step back.
“Eat up,” she says awkwardly. “I’ll grab the bowl when you’re done. I think… Eirwen likes it when you play that. It- She fell asleep right away,” she continues, forcing a tight-lipped smile to assure you and making sure to use what seem to be your preferred terms for the little robot.
You nod slowly, clearly still taken aback, before returning your gaze to the screen. You put your headphones on, popping on a YouTube video while you eat. She’s partially tempted to tell you to let it play over the speakers— she likes that channel, too —but she doesn’t want to risk waking the baby.
Once you’ve finished your dinner, she slinks over, taking the bowl away without disturbing you. This could be your life one day. Her life. But… How? She still doesn’t… Get it.
Ellie takes the dishes downstairs to the kitchen, sticking them in the half-empty dishwasher before scrambling back up. Now that she knows how much it bothers you, the last thing she wants is for the baby to wake up while she’s away, for you to be stuck taking care of it, again. No. Tonight is all about you.
When she returns, thankfully, the baby is still asleep, quite possibly for the night. It’s already past 7, after all. You’re still engrossed in your game, of course. Ellie feels a fond smile spread across her face as she watches you, and, knowing she’s going unnoticed, lets it.
Fascinating as everything about you is to her, she does eventually grow bored, and sits on the edge of her bed, scrolling through various social media timelines and occasionally looking up to check on the baby, then you. Both of you are exactly as you were the last time she looked up.
A meme about ‘supporting a gamer partner under the desk’ crosses her feed, and she finds herself looking at you again, her heart only pounding harder in her chest, faster. Before she knows it, she’s stood up from the bed, inching closer to you. She stops in her tracks.
What am I even trying to do? she thinks, her fists clenching and unclenching. What I need to do, she resolves herself, continuing to creep forward until she reaches your desk, but she stops just before tapping your shoulder to get your attention. Maybe it’d be better to get forgiveness than permission.
With that thought, she sinks to her knees before crawling under your desk and reaching up to undo your slacks. Your chair rolls back immediately, and you push your headphones down around your neck.
“What are you doing?” you ask, but there’s no anger in your expression, only confusion and a hint of… Fear? Concern?
“Something I want to do,” she bluntly replies, her hands now resting on your inner thighs, spreading your legs to make room for her. “You deserve it.”
“You- What?” you ask, your eyebrows only furrowing more and your eyes only getting wider. Your cheeks turn such a lovely color that she can’t stop herself now.
“You heard me. I’ll stop if you really want me to, but I doubt that. It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?” she presses, and you sigh.
“Yeah,” you admit in a near-whisper, nodding. “You really want…?”
She nods without hesitation, nearly hitting her head on the underside of the desk.
“Okay…” You take a deep breath. “I have a- Right now, I have a- Do you want me to shift real quick? Down there? I usually have a, um… Y’know. But I can have a vulva instead, it’ll just take me a minute.”
Ellie’s not sure what to think of that. She’d overheard you alluding to having a penis in the past while you were chatting with friends — for convenience, among other reasons, but she honestly thought you were kidding. She mulls it over for a few moments before shaking her head.
“No. You’re fine just the way you are, however you’re most comfortable,” she confirms just as softly, not wanting to wake the robotic baby over in the bassinet. Despite her confidence in her decision, she does start to feel a little shy when she asks, “Can I… See it?”
You nod, unfastening your slacks yourself and pulling down your boxer briefs with them, down to your ankles. It’s kind of cute, actually, half-hard already and growing to a moderate but respectable length. You’re watching her carefully, and this time, the fear in your eyes is undeniable.
“I’m sorry. About that day. Really,” she murmurs, looking up at you from between your legs. “I didn’t mean to make you feel ashamed of yourself. I didn’t know what a big compliment it was, coming from you. I- Honestly, I thought you were making fun of me.”
You gasp softly, shaking your head.
“No. I- You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” you admit. “I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve held a grudge like that for so long.”
Sweet as this conversation is, it’s not really in Ellie’s nature, and she needs you, now.
“Shut up and let me suck you off already; then, we’ll call it even,” she remarks. Your breath hitches, but you nod. She takes you in her mouth, feeling your thighs clench up and hearing you gasp shakily.
“Oh, god,” you whimper, tangling a hand in her short black hair. You don’t pull it, nor do you force yourself deeper into her mouth. You just… Hold her hair, almost like you’d hold her hand, if it were available to you. For something to cling to. For comfort. “Fuck, Ellie…”
She rubs her hands along the outsides of your thighs soothingly, feeling you continue to harden in her mouth. Having this power over you… She likes it very much. Loves it.
Loves you, she realizes, her eyes going wide for a second, and that second is enough for you to pull back.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, but she shakes her head.
“Nothing. Didn’t I tell you to just let me have this?” she insists sharply. Have you always been this resistant to being taken care of? How did I not notice? she thinks. “And be quiet, or you’re gonna wake that thing up.”
“Right,” you whisper. “As long as you’re okay.”
She nods, taking you into her mouth once more. You let loose sighs and soft moans, occasionally stifling your hips as they try to buck forward. She grabs your other hand, putting it in her hair, a wordless “It’s okay,” that she hopes you understand.
You shudder, your legs spreading a little wider as you gently guide her head with your mouth. She looks up to see your expression: your whole face is creased in pleasure, your eyes scrunched shut while your mouth has fallen open to let quiet sounds of ecstasy escape.
“Ungh, I, oh, Ellie, I- Mmn, gonna… So… So good, so close,” you whine softly. “You- Is it okay if I-? I’m gonna- Ah, I can’t- I’m- Oh!”
She swallows every last drop of your seed, not letting up for a second, until you’re completely soft in her mouth. You’re still panting when she pulls away.
“Holy…” you breathe. “Are you gonna explain what the hell that was for, now?” you ask, still bewildered that this is even happening at all.
“You’re good with the- The baby.”
“And you decided to suck my dick about it?!” you ask incredulously.
“So what if I did?!” she retorts.
The mechanical baby chooses that time to interject, electronic wails filling your shared room. With a sigh, you pull your pants back up as you roll the chair back to let Ellie out from underneath the desk. You start towards the bassinet, but she shoves you down onto your bed on the way there, charging ahead.
“I meant what I said,” she insists, feeling her expression continue to harden as she picks up the robo-baby and begins rocking it. “You’re taking the night off. I- I really didn’t know it bothered you that much, okay? You’re good at putting on a smile. You don’t complain. I’m not like that, so I didn’t know… I thought you liked it, for the most part. That you didn’t mind.”
“It’s- I mean, the situation is a little annoying, but it’s not that I actively dislike it,” you reassure her, your eyebrows knit together in concern once more. “I just would prefer… Equal contribution. Okay?”
“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding. Finally, the baby settles again, and she puts it down, but you don’t go back to the computer. Instead, you’re just staring at her intently, your expression unreadable. “What?” she hisses.
“Equal contribution,” you reply quietly. “Lay down. If that’s what you want, too.”
Ellie finally gets it. And she does, in fact, want it, too.
how have you been? i hope life has been treating you well.
ik youre probably super busy and ik you probs have wip fics alr, but me and my fam are rewatching the dp movies again and my ellie fever came back and i got this idea and i wanted to share it with someone and i know you love her as much as i do, so i thought why not?
i partially got some inspo from that reverse trope writing prompts you reblogged, and its like ellie and reader are roommates and r (gp, cause what else) is really nice, but she doesnt particularly like ellie that much cause when they first met, ellie said something mean (but r still finds her insanely fine), but ofc she didnt mean it! we all know how she can be sometimes.
anyways, lets say the infamous baby project is present at xaviers school, maybe under the explanation of 'making sure they know how to handle a baby if a mission needs it' or some shit like that. point is, they get paired and have to take care of this freakishly realistic toy baby who keeps crying and wailing unless theyre actively rocking it. (the professor claims they got paired cause theyre alr roommates so itd be easier to cooperate)
but all the assignment does is make ellie, who is actively ovulating and is very hormonal and horny, get some baby fever upon seeing r taking care of the toy so well. so she wants that cookie baddd. and maybe they finally manage to put the baby to "sleep" and its finally quiet. r takes the chance to sit down, game a bit and relax. ofc ellie decides to be helpful, gets under the table and starts sucking her off. r is ofc incredibly surprised, cause wdym her roommate (and maybe crush, hello?) is giving her head while shes playing???
maybe after they sit down and talk, clearing up the whole 'hatred' between them too.
that was all lol. anyways, i love you and wish you the best <33
-that one anon who requested the last fic and keeps coming back to the goat (aka you) for ellie crumbs
ok hello 🦝! I’m well (kind of, I’m out sick today but mostly just because of a vitamin deficiency that is severely impacting me, oop.) I hope you’re doing well as well!
Thank you for giving such a detailed request (and the compliments, flattery will get you a lot of places with me 🤣)! I will see what I can do, I think this is a really fun idea and would work well with another idea I’ve had bouncing around in my head abt a shapeshifter reader 🤍
What’s so crazy is that I think of babypool!reader fic ideas a lot and then I’m like ‘oh but they must be so sick of that by now’ only for it to occur to me that I don’t actually finish let alone post like 60% of what I’ve written. I number my works in my docs and my most recent one was 112. 🫣
first off, thanks again for doing my req last time. and now i have another idea.
im not that big on valentines day (forever single life </3) but i just got this idea of reader having a crush on ellie and wanting to ask her out on valentines day but knows that she doesnt like all those overly cheesy, romantic stuff, but still wants to do something. so she stresses over what to do and eventually comes up with something, maybe a mixtape or something that she knows ellie will like.
hope youre alright :))
love you.
(also can i be 🦝 anon pls. if its not too much trouble)
Hi!! No problem, it was fun!
Are you inside my brain? I literally have an unfinished WIP that’s incredibly similar to that, but with an established relationship — they agree to do handmade gifts because Ellie doesn’t want the reader going overboard. You can absolutely be 🦝 anon. Thank you, 🦝!
P.S. I am mostly alright. Recently started medication for my hypertension and it’s helping me a lot :)) Now to get my new (and first) PCP to take my joint pain seriously 👀
