#arms tonight fic

[jen-with-a-pen]

😂😂😂 this made me fucking snort when I got back to my hotel room.

Live Wade reaction of watching Logan's ass:

(In Your) Arms Tonight - 1/2

summary: Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

That's what he was taught in middle school, right?

pairing: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson / Worst Wolverine x Deadpool

word count: 1.3k

warnings: MDNI 18+, Wade's POV-ish, blood mention, knife mention, beer mention, Wade's fuckin horny and thirsty y'all, pining, cursing, claws, Wade is looking ✨respectively✨, crude humor and language, slight Deadpool and Wolverine spoilers, no smut (yet, sorry)

a/n: AUGH DONT LOOK AT ME (actually please do I cannot hold this in any longer.) currently part one of two parts. posting the first one now as I am currently traveling for work and won't be back until beginning of September and then part two will be out when i either A. Get home or B. Finish it and format it in between running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Please be patient with me! I will not tolerate "whEreS PaRt Two?¿??" when I literally just told you. Hope y'all enjoy one of the many products of my brain rot. More to come in due time ✨

Not beta'd. Written on my phone and edited via gdocs. Post formatted on mobile because I don't wanna use my work computer lmao

Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes!

If I've missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @tomshiddles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ❤️

My AO3 | My Masterlist

Read this fic HERE on AO3

❤️ Reblogs and comments are appreciated, as always ❤️

PART ONE | PART TWO

The abs are great. More than great, actually. In fact, they're all Wade thinks, dreams, and fantasizes about. All day, everyday, non-fucking-stop. The moment replays over and over in his fucked up noodle brain like a scratched record. He knows muscle memory is a thing, but what about salivatory memory?

Christ. He's gotta get a grip instead of getting hard.

But what about when Logan isn't flexing hard enough to rip his goddamn suit off?

Wade notices Logan becoming more relaxed around the apartment as the days pass. Adjusting to his new life, coming out of the bedroom earlier than he has to on days when he gets a turn to sleep on a real bed. It's Sofa City most of the time– which he really doesn't mind, he almost prefers it most of the time (since it's in clear sight of the front door) but Wade more often than not likes to insist they share his 'much-too-big-for-lil-old-me' twin XL mattress that's seen more stains than sex in the last year alone.

Logan's compromise is he'll take the bed and Wade the couch half the time. Alone. They're still working on the negotiations of said compromise, but the jury– Blind Al– is still out on recess.

Once he's more settled in, Logan learns that it's okay to kick off his boots and put his feet up. It's not often, but enough that Wade silently wishes he'd rest those big meaty calves on his lap instead. He's been needing a new weighted blanket and Adamantium-coated tibias and hairy legs are so in right now.

Logan doesn't know it, but Wade secretly plays 'ohmygodhetotallylookedatme' whenever he so much as catches a glimpse of Wade oggling at him in his peripherals. Wade can't help it when Broody and the Beast's ribbed white muscle shirt pulls taut against those deliciously plump pecs that he silently prays it'll burst off again. Or he'll rip it off. Or Logan will rip it off. For him.

A boy can dream.

It's especially hard to win at 'OMGHTLAM' when Logan accessorizes– AKA throwing on whatever flannel is in rotation out of the several he finds at the thrift store a few blocks over. Wade feels his throat tighten like his jeans do when Logan wears the forest green one. Really brings out his eyes.

And smile. And lips. And–

It's still summer, so on the hotter days, when sweat glistens on his brow and Wade desperately wishes to be the back of Logan's hand, the tank top comes off. All Logan's sweaty, gloriously muscular body has on is a wonderfully worn-in pair of jeans with the hem of black briefs poking out behind the denim waist.

Do they have AC? Yes. Because Wade would have to plan a funeral for Al if they didn't.

But when she's out and about, he likes to turn it off and let the New York heat wave run its course. Sure, it leaves him sticky and gross, but he'd rather be sticky and gross and hard when he can help it.

Luckily, Blind Al is gone for the whole weekend. Some girls trip or a drug mule job. Same difference.

Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

That's what he was taught in middle school, right?

With the push of a button and a sprinkle of patience, Logan is splayed out on the couch in a matter of hours with a lukewarm beer in hand while fighting his eyelids from dozing off to some random war documentary. Sweat beads on his temples and there's a slight sheen to his skin from his biceps to the lower V pointing down to between his thighs. He chuckles every so often, mumbling things to himself between swigs of beer and shaking his head when the narrator gets something 'wrong.'

Wade busies himself in the kitchen but his eyes are permanently glued to his roommate. He doesn’t miss the way Logan's stomach rises and falls gently, the rock-hard six pack softening into rolling hills of muscle with a layer of dark hair covering as much surface area as immortal-like hormones will allow. Grown out beard, chops, and messy hair really throw the whole look together; very 2000s, if you ask Wade. His pecs look just as soft as a pair of titties, if not softer, and Wade knows it. He'd do anything to lay his perfect little head on Logan's chest. Maybe lick it too, if he's a good boy. 

Logan perks up suddenly from the couch.

Oh God did he say that out loud?

"Wade?"

Wade doesn't hear him. Can't hear him. Half-refuses to hear him, honestly. Daydreaming takes up a whole lotta brain power and this show isn't running itself. Economy, budget cuts, unprecedented times. You know the shtick. 

"Wade."

Nothing but a bead of drool comes out of Wade's mouth. 

Suddenly, there's a crash right behind Wade's head and now he's awake. He whips around to the ale-spattered wall behind him and back to Logan, who's now standing with claws drawn and chest heaving.

Wade swears he's blushing. 

Eyes wide and brow standing up straight like his good little soldier, Wade looks down at the counter before him to find a bloodbath of a scene: one hand's on a knife while the other spews blood all over the yellowed counter tops; there's remnants of a carrot that was finished five minutes ago, followed directly by remnants of fingers cut down to the last fucking knuckle and slice marks beginning down the back of his hand.

Wade holds up his spurting stump, gashed artery doing a spot-on impression of Ol' fucking Faithful.

"Oh. Huh. Thought I smelled something," he says, staring at his now-tingling hand. Baby fingers for the rest of the night were so worth the staring contest with Logan's beautiful body.

"Fuckin' idiot," Logan mutters, sheathing his claws and striding over to the hall closet to grab a towel. Wade's already stopped bleeding, but just because they might be immune to bloodborne pathogens doesn't mean Al is.

"Gah– get back, damn mutt." Logan shoos Dogpool out of the kitchen to prevent her from lapping up her papa's bodily fluids. He throws the towel in Wade's face and goes to grab the bleach out of the cupboard under the sink. Logan learned very quickly where to find it the first time this happened a month or two ago.

"Sorry baby, Mommy's got a boo-boo and Daddy's just trying to help," Wade coos at Dogpool. "You're too good to me, peanut. Someone oughta wife ya up before I do."

Logan responds with a scowl as he tosses the carrots out and tries to keep the counter from staining. "Why th'fuck did you do that?"

"It was time for a new hand. Old one was so last season."

Wade mops up the blood from his arm and wraps the towel onto his head like he's just gotten out of the shower. Holding up his regenerating stump, he poses like a cover model for Vogue.

"Whatcha think, peanut?" He strikes another pose. "Is this doing anything for ya, big boy?"

Logan grunts as he tosses a wad of paper towels into the trash can. He turns to leave the kitchen, eyes flicking to Wade. It's the quickest once over ever, but Wade sees it. Commits it to memory while he pulls a Flashdance in a chair from the kitchen table and follows Logan's denim-clad ass as it sways off to the bathroom. 

"'M gonna go shower. Don't wait up,” Logan calls before shutting the door and locking it. 

Sighing, Wade looks down at his crotch, pants tent pitched higher and tighter than a first-timer on Everest.

Good thing he's ambidextrous.

[thefrogdalorian]

Sanctuary

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: It's one of those days when your emotions threaten to overwhelm you. Despite the horrible day you're having, you try your best to keep it together. A feat you manage, until a certain Mandalorian arrives home and takes you into his arms. Word Count: 1.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety/panic attack ✯ Author's Note: Seeing these gifs the other day broke something in my brain and this little fic was the result. I hope this gets you through a day when you really need a hug from Din Djarin 💕 ✯ My Masterlist ✯

On the days when your stomach churned and you were too upset to vocalise the war that waged within yourself, you were grateful to have someone in your life who seemed to know exactly what you needed. There was no doubt that Din understood you better than you understood yourself. It was unsurprising, given how meticulous and attentive he was in everything he turned his hand to.

You had been in each other's lives for some time, yet you still found yourself pleasantly surprised each time he shared such care towards you. You never doubted Din's kind heart once you got to know him, but you were nonetheless astonished by the multitudes he contained. It was astounding how tender and caring the man, who had gained such a fearsome reputation throughout the galaxy as a ruthless bounty hunter, actually was beneath his cold, hard beskar. 

It was early in the morning when Din had left through the door and your stomach tied itself into knots as you heard his heavy footprints gradually fade into the distance. The sound indicated that you were now alone with your thoughts. Throughout the day, you had pushed your emotions to the deepest depths inside yourself. You had been trying to kid yourself, in his absence, that you could survive the day without breaking down. You told yourself over and over that if you could just make it until Din returned and then put on a brave face when he walked through the door, you would have survived the day without dissolving into pieces. The last thing you wanted was for Din to see how upset you were. The fear that you were weighing him down with your troubles or somehow holding him back from achieving greater things was omnipresent. Even though he had never given you a reason to fear such a thing, you were constantly terrified of being seen as a burden to him.

The familiar heavy footsteps grew louder; their rhythmic, even quality indicated they could belong to only one man. You took a deep breath and attempted to steady your racing heart, preparing yourself to keep it together upon Din's return.

The second you saw his figure in the doorway, you knew it was a lost cause. At the sight of the familiar outline of beskar shining in the entryway, you immediately knew that there was no way that you would be able to maintain your composure. You stood up immediately, rising off the chair you had been sitting on as you waited for him, to greet the man who owned your heart entirely. Instead of racing towards him as usual, you found yourself suddenly overcome with apprehension. Your steps faltered with uncertainty as you walked towards him on shaky legs, feeling your ability to stay strong evaporate just from laying eyes upon him. 

Din held his arms out to you without hesitation, beckoning you to come close to him.

“Come here, cyare,” Din whispered as you stepped into his orbit, his voice gravelly, “Let me hold you.”

As you closed the distance between you and Din to rest your head in the crook of his neck, you caught a glimpse of his mudhorn pauldron, glinting despite the low light of the cabin. Despite how terrible you felt, the ghost of a smile passed across your lips as you noticed the signet was so distinctively Din. Stepping into his arms felt like you were returning to safety. To your home.

You rested your head in the crook of his neck and nuzzled into his rough cowl, enjoying his familiar scent. It was musky and masculine, but not overbearing. You detected a faint hint of perspiration mixed with the floral scent you knew lingered on his skin thanks to the bottle of liquid he lathered across his tan skin in the 'fresher each morning. Din’s chestplate was firm against your body. Initially, you recoiled at the slight chill from the beskar, discernible even through your layers of clothing. Once you had adjusted to the temperature and new sensation, though, you felt nothing but warmth when you were in his arms.

As Din held you close and his hands rubbed comforting circles into your back with one strong arm holding you tightly around the waist, you appreciated the way your bodies fit together. It was as you were admiring how you seemed to be made for each other that you noticed how Din had wrapped his cape around your shoulders to further cocoon you into him. As though he was protecting you from all of the hurt that lingered outside of the sanctuary of his arms. From whatever was troubling you. There was no intense questioning, no expectations for answers. Only safety, love and understanding from a man who wanted to help you through your very worst days.

Something about nuzzling into Din’s neck and the care he had taken to raise your spirits rendered you speechless. You were overcome with emotion, powerless to stop the tears which started falling down your cheeks. At first, it was a solitary droplet, but then you couldn’t help yourself as more and more tears slipped from your eyes. 

At the first sound of your sniffles, Din pulled away from you. You felt your stomach drop in panic, momentarily afraid that you had upset him somehow. You looked up at him and felt the embarrassment settle somewhere low in your stomach, a physical symptom of the mortification you felt at your outburst. Then came the shame. You were dismayed that you had lost control of your emotions in such a way. Evidence of your loss of composure was evident in the reflection of your face in his helmet. You watched as your expression grew increasingly more distraught and felt your chest heaving as the panic rose within you, upset at your emotional state.

Fortunately, Din was nothing but understanding and caring. Before your thoughts could spiral anywhere darker, he began to use his soft leather gloves against your cheeks to dry the tears that were burning hot trails down your skin. It distracted you from your anguish, his tender touch providing instant comfort.

You relished the contact and melted into his embrace. Between his hand that lingered on your cheek, while the other rubbed your back and ensured his cape still swaddled you, your mood was instantly calmer. Din brought you back into his shoulder and returned his hands to your back, rubbing up and down as he held you close. You wrapped your arms around his waist, relishing the small contact you gained with the warmth of his flesh between the hard plates of his beskar. You stayed like that for a few more minutes, feeling your anguish dissipate with each second that Din held you.

Eventually, your breathing evened out and returned to a less frantic pace. Sensing that his embrace had had the intended effect on your fragile emotional state, Din pulled away once again and brought his hands to cup your jaw gently.

“How are you feeling now?” he rasped as he stroked your cheeks with his gloved thumbs. 

“Being in your arms always makes me feel better,” you smiled.

“I’d hold you for the rest of my days if you only asked me to, cyare,” Din vowed with a nod of his helmet. 

You smiled then, enjoying the way your face lit up with a smile and how your eyes had regained their sparkle thanks to the tight embrace of your attentive Mandalorian; your sanctuary.

[chisfics]

beach party

"Daniel 'with an e'! Come on and join us on our rides!"

"Sure thing, Johnny 'with an H'!"

[johnslittlespoon]

accidentally just created my own buckbucky college au oops (i love college aus tho, this was far overdue tbh) so here's like ~2k words of (semi–nsfw) drabble that i wanna turn into a oneshot/series :-)

thinking about modern au pre–established relationship buckbucky who meet in their first year of college because they apply to an ad to rent a two bedroom apartment near campus, complete strangers save for a few texts back and forth until move in day.

they become fast friends despite how opposite they are, john being a cliche frat boy type (but subverting expectations by majoring in something english–related? waxing secret poetry about his 'obvious as the sun to everyone but gale' crush on his roommate lol) and gale being a studious math/science major, no interest in parties or campus culture. pining aside, everything's just fine until:

john does something stupid a few months into the school year and ends up spraining/breaking his dominant arm– probably wipes out trying to ride his bike home to his and gale's apartment while drunk after a party. gale gets a call at midnight from a sheepish john asking if he can come drive him to the hospital, and of course he does, though after his initial concern when he picks john up at the side of some random street, he's fuming at john's idiocy.

"you could've rode into traffic, john. jesus, you're gonna give me a stroke one of these days, you gotta start using your brain more." and john's drenched in cold–sweat from pain as he cradles his arm to his chest, head tilted back against the headrest and trying not to curse out every red light as his head spins, but he still cracks a weak smile and says "c'mon buck, you'd be bored if i started using my brain." gale glances over and the stern look is enough to shut john up.

this injury leads to gale having to help him with certain tasks for a bit, like shaving his face, brushing his teeth, doing his hair, tying shoes, etc. john's stubborn the day after, independent to a fault, refusing to ask for help, and gale watches with mild amusement/hidden winces, not wanting to push because he knows by now it'll only make john dig his heels in. gale only decides that enough is enough when he's walking past the half–open bathroom door the next afternoon and suddenly hears a sharp inhale and a stream of profanities and pokes his head in to find john's cut his jaw trying to shave with his left hand.

the intimacy and domesticity of it all– john pretends he's inconvenienced, but once he realizes this means he gets to stare at gale's focussed face up close as he sits on the bathroom counter and gale stands between his legs carefully shaving away his stubble, he's a lot less reluctant to accept help. but being that close to gale's face and being able to unabashedly study his long lashes and the curve of his lips is dangerous for john's lack of impulse control, barely keeping his pining under wraps from the moment they'd met, let alone with this newfound proximity they have to fall into the routine of.

so john has fun being a shithead on purpose during these moments, both to distract his yearning brain and for his own entertainment, just yapping away while gale's frustratedly trying to grab him by his jaw and hold him still for five seconds. biting down on the toothbrush when gale's trying to do a proper job of brushing his teeth so gale has to wrestle it away like he's playing tug of war with a dog, being an asshole and jerking his shoe to the side while gale's doing up his laces for him, heart leaping at the thrill he gets from gale's touches getting firmer when he's fed up, or from being pinned by irritated blue eyes.

he has no idea gale's pining just as hard, because gale's a master of concealing emotions in thanks to a very different upbringing than john's, and because while gale doesn't hide his queerness, he's not as open with it as john is. but gale's losing his mind just as much each time john needs his help, and the way he feels his self control slipping scares him.

this little dance around each other probably comes to a peak when john's being extra difficult one day while gale's trying to tame his wild curls for him. gale's got john pressed back against the bathroom counter with a scowl, working his gelled fingers through thick dark hair, and john can barely think straight because oh, has he ever spent an ungodly amount of time thinking about gale's hands in his hair under very different circumstances.

john's got a grin so big it near splits his face in half as he purposefully leans out of gale's reach, pulling every annoying thing he can think of because if he focuses too hard on gale's motions, he's gonna pop a very inconvenient boner with no hope of concealing it from gale with the way he's pressed up against him.

but gale's got twenty minutes until his next class and it's a ten minute walk from their apartment, and he's at the end of his rope, so he finally snaps and without giving it a second thought he closes the last bit of distance between them to grab at the back of john's hair, and he pulls, hard.

the smile slides off john's face as his mouth falls open and his hips reflexively jerk forward and whatever scolding gale was about to give him dies in his throat because holy shit. there's a few seconds where both of them just stare at each other wide eyed with their hearts pounding, john internally spiralling because he thinks he's just fucked everything up, gale internally spiralling because oh my god, he hasn't been misreading john's behaviour around him.

gale whispers a "fuck" and, more impulsive than he's ever allowed himself to be, goes in for the kiss, hand still tight in john's hair, and john whines into his mouth and his hands fly to gale's waist and everything gets heated really quick– until gale pulls away with a gasp for breath, both of them panting, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy. and then gale's ducking out of the bathroom and grabbing his backpack from the entry way and all but sprinting out of the apartment.

john's left standing there harder than he's ever been in his life but also panicking because he's not sure whether he's fucked up or whether gale's just overwhelmed, because he knows gale well enough to know he likes his space when big things happen.

but gale also knows john well enough to know how big of an overthinker he is; they've probably had to work through some incidents where their communication styles have clashed over the few months they've been roomies. so after his hands stop shaking enough while he's walking to campus, he types out a message to john letting him know 'I'm all good. Sorry for running, was gonna be late for class and panicked. Talk later, yeah?'

and john sighs in relief, texts back a 'np. sounds good :)' and then promptly shoves a hand down his pants and comes embarrassingly quick with the sting of gale's hands in his hair still fresh in his mind.

they talk things out somewhat, blahblahblah plotting problem for future me, but they're both shy and awkward around each other for a bit, which is so out of character for john and how obnoxiously flirty and loud mouthed he normally is.

so maybe what finally breaks them out of this tiptoeing around each other after a few days is something stupid– specifically, john ends up pent up and frustrated because trying to get off with his left hand just isn't doing it for him. and he's one of those 'once a day minimum' guys, so this isn't something he can just ignore; finds his temper is shorter, and he can't focus as well, etc. drama queen.

either gale comments on it lightheartedly and john blurts out his problem unthinkingly, or john makes an offhand joke about it, and gale thinks john's lack of impulse control is starting to rub off on him, because after a beat of silence, he gets out an "i can help."

john's head snaps over to look at him so fast he feels like he gives himself whiplash, eyes comically rounded, wondering if he's heard gale wrong or if gale's making a rare flirtatious joke. gale blinks back at him, looking just as surprised, tips of his ears going a little pink, but he doesn't laugh or throw in a 'only kidding!'

mumbles a "y'know, if you want," second guessing himself as if what happened in the bathroom a few days before isn't in john's top three best things that have ever happened to him list. john gets out a "yeah– yeah, i want," uncharacteristically nervous, and gale nods, turning his attention back to his laptop. and john just stands there in the kitchen, flabbergasted, shifting uncertainly.

works up the courage to shyly ask, "like. now? or." and he feels like he's never fumbled the bag so hard in his life, unable to remember the last time he's felt shy when talking about sex–related stuff, realizes just how bad his crush on gale's gotten. beyond a crush, at this point. and it makes it worse that gale's so nonchalant now, humming to himself as if in deep thought before saying "later. i've gotta get this assignment done."

john loses his mind over those next few hours, trying to be patient and give gale space to focus, but he's half hard the whole time and can't think about anything other than what gale means by 'helping'. gale can sense his impatience from the other side of their apartment, and he can't help the way it makes him smile to himself, having fun teasing john without even needing to do anything, and without john knowing it's fully intentional.

unfortunately this arrangement, however it plays out, probably leads to a lotta miscommunication and repression of feelings, because they're both dumb boys who suck at communicating, neither one of them wanting to ruin a good thing (aka an inevitable friends with benefits situation) by bringing up their feelings for the other. but there's plenty of hot sex and light kink exploration in the meantime, and eventually they sort their shit out, likely by accident like every other situation they've stumbled into together.

and not to cliffhang pre–smut, but i'll leave it there because this is way too long and if i do turn it into a oneshot i don't wanna write it all out of my system into this drabble before it makes it into a fic loll <3

[thestarlightforge]

“COME WITH ME”

[fuwahua]

Day 17 - Raspberries

✮⋆˙ TKTober Day 17 - Raspberries

✮⋆˙ Tags: Yelan/Yanfei (Established relationship), bullying your gf cutely, tummy, raspberries, fluff!

“I love your stomach window.”

“Hm?”

Yelan turns to Yanfei with a raised brow, the fabric of her tunic stretching as she does. The thin black fabric over her stomach creases and straightens, subtly shiny under the sun, and Yanfei sighs. “It’s so sexy when you stretch like that.”

“That’s the point.”

“I love your uniform. I love your job. I love you. Can you hire me?”

Yelan snorts, coming around the breakfast table. She plucks the half-drunken cup of black tea from Yanfei’s hands with ease. “Teyvat to Yanfei—are you awake yet? I told you to get some sleep last night.”

Archons, she knows. It’s not that Yanfei doesn’t want to sleep but rather that she literally can’t these days: after accepting a domestic case that appeared absurdly simple for the client’s proposed payment, she found herself unfolding Pandora’s box. Both sides of the divorce case wanted to claim ownership of an old property they’d inherited from the wife’s side but only after extensive research in the Qixing’s folders had they discovered the house was built on Adepti reserved non-residential land. Then, to add to the complexity, it was never officially claimed by said Adepti, so right now the entire case (and her paycheck!) is on hold until they can determine who it belongs to, if it legally can be claimed by any party.

A nightmare. An honest and true nightmare made worse by the fact that they can’t make any breakthroughs until the Qixing return with official word from the adepti (apparently Yanfei doesn’t count due to conflict of interest) so she was going to get some actual shut eye yesterday, only to get jump scared by her girlfriend sliding in from the bedroom window and occupying her all night instead.

Hey, wait a second.

“You’re the reason I didn’t get any!”

Yelan whistles. Yanfei groans, face falling between her arms on the table. She’s so tired.

“Please tell me the qixing has responded.”

“You’d be the first to know if they did.” Another groan. Her only solace is Yelan’s hand ruffling her hair, stroking the area she likes between her horns before drifting down to pat her back. “Hey, up. It’s breakfast time.”

“Not hungry.”

“Aw, poor baby.” Yelan’s voice is teasing, near. Her arms encircle Yanfei in a half-hug, tugging. “Come on, up. Eat.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“You sure?”

Yanfei yelps as the hands around her waist pinch her without warning, eyes shooting open in alert as sleep leaves her at once. Yelan’s lips meet her ear, the sound of her kiss loud before she purrs. “Because if you don’t eat, you’ll starve. And if you starve, your sexy tummy I love is going to disappear.”

“Hehehey! Yelahahan, stop!”

“Don’t wanna,” Yelan mocks. Yanfei gasps, scrunching up her shoulders as Yelan traps her against the table, tapping along her sides. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of her hands on her scales, oversensitive and exposed under Yelan’s knowing fingers. Her knees jump and bang against it, causing the cutlery to jitter, when Yelan’s nails scratch her hips. “Careful, babe. Don’t want to spill the breakfast I worked so hard on.”

She squeaks as Yanfei’s hands spider up to her underarms before diving further low, sliding under her skirt and scratching her thighs. It’s terrible, maddening, made worse so by the memory of Yelan doing the exact same thing yesterday with very, very different intentions. Yanfei squirms, legs kicking in protest, but Yelan’s weight keeps her rooted to the chair. “AHAHALL YOU DID WHAHAS BUY YOUTIAO!”

“Mm, from your favorite vendor.”

“Leheheht gohoaha—wAH!”

She’d call her the worst if it wasn’t for the shriek she emits as Yanfei’s hands hook under her thighs and pulls her straight out of the seat; her head swings back only to be caught by a gentle hand before she hits the table. Yanfei pants, hair splayed around the countertop, eyes stuck on her ceiling (did she always have that crack there? Was that water damage?) before looking down to Yelan hovering above her hips. She shivers, scotting away, but Yelan’s hands rooted to her hips keeps her from absconding.

“Hehehe… come on,” Yanfei bargains, swallowing as Yelan’s nails tap on her stomach. “Let’s have the youtiao before it gets cold.”

“You can heat it back up again, can’t you?” Yelan coos, nuzzling her stomach. Her blue hair drags along the surface as she moves, spiraling the scales along Yanfei’s ribs and she giggles. “I just want to have a quick snack first.”

“S-snack? No, YelAHAHAHAHAN PLEAHAHAHASE!”

Her horns do bang against the table, the sound loud but no louder than the screech of her laughter as Yelan holds her down, lips vibrating as she blows raspberry after raspberry against her navel. Yanfei shouts, squirming, screaming, her legs kicking wildly in the air as incoherent pleas escape her with every shockwave running through her body, but the mischief glistening in Yelan’s eyes promises no quarter. It tickles so much, a vibration down to her core, and when she tries to beg for a break it dissipates into wild giggles until—

Clang!

Yanfei gasps, jolting, as Yelan’s body flanks her entirely. She’s flush between her body and the table, shivering with residual giggles, as Yelan’s shoulders blanket both sides of her head. A moment passes, then another, and it’s only when it’s clear that no intruder is in the house that Yelan relents with a sigh and pecks her cheek.

“You okay?”

“Yehehe,” she chuckles, leaning up and kissing Yelan on the lips. Her girlfriend smiles into it, the slant of her lips inviting, and she kisses her again. “What was that?”

Yelan snorts. “See for yourself.”

That’s never good. Yelan climbs off her with an outstretched hand before hauling Yanfei upwards against her chest. She points to a metal bowl on the floor, bag of youtiao fallen out of it, and teases. “You knocked that off with your squirming.”

Oops. Did she? Yanfei flushes, trying to picture herself laughing on the table, desperate to escape Yelan’s evil tickly mouth. Yeah, okay, she probably did it. Wait. “Hey! Who’s the reason for my squirming, hm?”

“Guilty as charged,” Yelan says. She bends down to deliver another kiss to Yanfei’s temple, then once more on her horn. Yanfei shifts, pleased, when Yelan pulls her up and delivers another on her lips. If this was the reward for catching guilty criminals, Yanfei would never retire. “Come on, I want breakfast. Someone kept me up all night and now I’m starving.”

Yanfei’s eyes narrow. “What happened to your snack?”

“Wasn’t enough,” Yelan says. “Unless it wants some more?”

She squeaks, ducking away to grab the metal bowl. “Nope! Get the soymilk, will you?”

Yelan’s chuckle echoes in the room, fond, as her hand graces Yanfei’s horns with a gentle tap. Pyro gathers along her fingers and it’s only a minute until the youtiao are crispy once more; she sets them on the table, rearranging the chairs, only to pause at the sound of a hum. She looks up, staring now, as Yelan traverses her kitchen with ease: she could arrange it with her eyes closed by now, familiar, the pop of her cabinets opening matched with the clatter of cups and cutlery, glass seasoning boxes and bamboo mats. Yelan’s hum is low, comfortable, and as she gets on her tip toes to reach the top shelf, her tunic flutters over her stomach.

Yanfei sighs.

“I love your stomach window.”

Yelan laughs. The soymilk spills slightly over the glass cup, and she cleans it with a smile. “I love yours too.”

[skoulsons]

She was keeled over the sink when she poured the chemicals on her arm, Joel finding her sweaty and crying as her knees shook, not knowing how to stop the pain.

He was so gentle. He held her against him, lowering her to the ground as he turned their tub on, keeping her arm under the steady stream of water as he gathered towels from the closet and found her a change of clothes.

She was sobbing against the side of the tub, gritting her teeth to try and suppress her screams. Joel was right there, his hand rubbing back and forth from the nape of her neck to the middle of her back. His other arm kept a hold on her forearm, keeping the bite under the water.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, Joel leaning his head against hers as she hiccuped.

“Why, baby? You had me scared shitless.”

“I didn’t- I wanted to- I fucking hate it-“

“What?” He glanced towards her under the water. Oh. “Your bite? Kiddo, we-“

“I hate it,” she pleaded, interrupting him. “Having to keep it wrapped up all the time. I have to look at it every fucking day. It reminds me of so fucking much, I wanted it gone-“ Saliva, snot, and tears were gathering in her throat, she could barely speak

He cut in, his thumb tracing back on forth on the underside of her burned forearm, right above her bite. “You should’ve come to me, Ellie. We would’ve figured something out.”

She looked down, avoiding his gaze. “I was afraid you’d brush me off.”

He let go of her forearm and grabbed her face, thumbs brushing away the wet streams costing her cheeks. “Why would I brush you off?”

She didn’t have an answer. She had no reason to believe he would; especially not now. They were together. He never brushed her off in the past and he surely wouldn’t start now.

But what if.

No, he wouldn’t. She knew he wouldn’t. But something…a small part of her said he would. And that’s all it took. That she still wasn’t family. That she was still cargo; a mere object he still had to get rid of.

He didn’t care.

He could see her eyes fading, growing distant. “Hey,” he called, voice gentle as he brought her back. “I would never brush you off. We would’ve figured something out, alright? Tommy and Maria would’ve helped.” He paused, combing a hand through her hair gently as he brought it back to her cheek. “We could’ve done something that didn’t hurt you, baby.” His voice started to shake, but only slightly.

He cared so much. A paper cut on her was enough for him to turn into a wild animal. Ellie never had someone to care for her like this and it was overwhelming sometimes. He came home early from patrol once after being radioed about Ellie falling. He always dropped everything to care for her; didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing. She was all that mattered to him.

“Alright, lemme see your arm.”

He dried the burn gently, wrapping a few bandages along her forearm to cover all the damage. “I’ll change them again tonight before we go to bed. Here,” he grabbed her extra clothes behind him and placed them in her lap. “You should change. Can you manage?”

All that came from her was a hesitant mhm as Joel helped her to her feet. He set the clothes on the sink, making sure she was steady enough to stand on her own. “I’ll be right outside the door, okay?”

“Yup.”

Their night was spent together, Ellie complaining about how much her arm hurts and Joel resisting the urge to make a backhanded comment to her about not pouring chemicals on your bare skin.

It was movie night and they watched Back to the Future, a favorite of Joel’s. Ellie wouldn’t stop trying to itch and scratch at her burn, so Joel held her hand, their fingers interlocked and resting on his lap. He tilted their arms a particular way, his forearm overtop hers so she couldn’t sneak an itch even if she wanted to.

Despite the burn only being hours old and their lack of painkillers to fend the pain off, the weight of his arm on hers was welcomed.

He traced circles over her hand and lightly tapped the pad of his thumb to the beat of Johnny Be Good, getting a few giggles out of Ellie in the process.

She nestled closer to him, her fingers adjusting in his grip as she held him tighter. His forearm covered any evidence of her bandages and, for a while, she could forget the pain.

Her hand was in his. He was all that mattered to her.

[butchsaint]

seeing gifs of eddie and conscientiously averting my eyes out of respect for my best friend shannon lastname.

[rabctrl]

oh no my poor sweet little boy

[steelycunt]

everyone get up and make some noise for sirius' vivienne westwood two cowboys with their cocks out shirt!! we're losing our minds over here for sirius' vivienne westwood two cowboys with their cocks out shirt!!

[youngpettyqueen]

Hi! I'm back and saw the bad injury prompts you reblogged. 👀 Could you please do "I can't feel my legs" with Julian saying it? ❤️

thank you for your patience!! its been. a wild week. but I finally have the energy to sit and get this written out. ive been pondering it all week hehe

I went through a couple ideas before I settled on doing a missing scene style of thing set in The Siege of AR-558. this is set after battle, but before the conversation we see between Sisko and Worf right at the very end. ive talked about it on this blog before but it makes me absolutely feral that Julian gets shot and just. gets up and keeps going. forever chewing on that but I digress ill save my insane rambling for the tags

I hope you enjoy! I like writing Julian and Worf a lot, and I hope you enjoy reading them <3

Doctor Bashir can be a very difficult man to find.

Worf isn't surprised. This is a battlefield in its aftermath, naturally a doctor would be difficult to locate, especially one as quick and efficient as Julian. He stops to ask a few people who look to have been treated, and they all give generally the same answer; that they just saw him, and he went over that way.

Worf follows the general direction of all the pointing, and he finds himself in a tunnel leading to another part of the caverns. He starts to walk through, figuring he'll find the elusive doctor on the other side, where other wounded surely lie.

Instead he damn near trips over him.

Worf thinks it's a rock, or a dropped weapon, at first. But then, as he's taking a second to regain his balance, he hears a low, quiet groan. He looks down, expecting to find a wounded officer, and that's exactly what he finds.

Except the wounded officer is none other than Doctor Bashir.

Julian is half-concealed by the shadows, tucked right up against the tunnel wall and lying flat on his stomach. One arm is outstretched, like he was reaching for the other side, while he has his face buried in the crook of the other elbow. Worf had tripped over one of his legs, which is bent at the knee, like he'd fallen mid-step.

Worf drops to a crouch beside him. "Doctor Bashir," He says, but gets no response, "Doctor, can you hear me?" He places a firm hand on the doctor's shoulder, in case the touch might rouse him.

Julian flinches under his hand. Then he stirs, and he lifts his head, trembling with the effort of it. "Worf...?" He looks up at him, eyes squinted in the dark.

"Yes, Doctor," Worf replies, "What happened? Are you injured?" He questions.

Julian's head drops back against his arm, but he keeps it turned so that he's still facing Worf. "'Fraid so," He grimaces, "I was... I was shot. My side..." He manages to give a weak, indicative nod.

Worf nods. "I will assist you," He tells him. He gets a hold of Julian and, carefully, he maneuvers him onto his back. Julian grabs onto his arm, and there's a surprising strength to his grip. A strangled sound of pain escapes him, grinding out through tightly-clenched teeth. Worf can feel him trembling still, so he pulls him a bit closer, supports the doctor's weight against his own body, "Try to hold still. I must see the wound."

Julian nods wordlessly. He faces the pain well. It's difficult to make out, in the dark, but there's just enough light from the tunnel's exit for Worf to be able to see the large hole burnt away from Julian's uniform jacket. It's burnt right through, both jacket and undershirt gone, leaving raw, angry skin exposed to the dusty air of these caverns. He can see the glisten of blood, can feel it saturating the jacket as he places a bracing hand by the wound.

It's bleeding badly. Julian will have already lost a lot of blood, he needs to slow it until he can get him to one of the medical officers. He shifts his hand over and presses it firmly against the wound, and he keeps a firm grip on the doctor as his entire body jolts with the action. Julian continues to face the pain bravely, turning his face into Worf's chest and screaming against his teeth.

There's a part of him that threatens to get very, very angry at seeing Julian wounded. There's no honour in harming a healer, even some of the most bloodthirsty Klingons he's known would spit at the idea. It's an instinctual reaction, one he has to bite back. He has to remind himself that Julian was here not only as a doctor, but also as an officer. He was wounded as a warrior on the battlefield.

"I don't- I don't think I like that look, Commander." Julian wheezes, his weak voice drawing Worf back out of his thoughts. He's managing a small smile, teasing and boyish even in agony, but it's clear that he's struggling.

"The wound is severe," Worf replies. He doesn't see the point in trying to soften that information, he's sure that Julian, as a doctor, is all too aware of his current condition, "Why did you not seek medical assistance?" He asks.

"Didn't realize it was... this bad," Julian rasps, "My brain does this... funny thing, where I'll see people who need me, and... and nothing else really matters," He rests his head against Worf's chest, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He looks nauseous, his brow pinched tight and sweat glistening on his forehead, "I hardly felt it till I collapsed." He manages to finish.

"I fail to see how that is funny," Worf gruffs, "Your dedication to your patients is admirable, Doctor. But now, it is you who requires assistance. Are you able to stand?" He asks.

Julian shakes his head. "No, I... I can't," He replies honestly, "I'm... afraid I can't feel my legs, Commander." He admits.

"Then you will be carried," Worf adjusts his hold, gets an arm under Julian's knees and pulls him against his chest. He pushes himself up with ease, the doctor's weight inconsequential as he cradles him securely, "Hold on, Doctor." He instructs.

Julian's arms come up to wrap around his neck. His head drops against Worf's shoulder, his face half-buried in his neck. He can feel Julian's shallow, quick breathing against his skin. He doesn't have time to waste.

Worf sets off, ducking out of the tunnel and moving into the next open cavern. With the injured doctor in his arms, he makes a brisk pace as he seeks out the first medical officer he can find.

[jen-with-a-pen]

Jo you just made my whole week that's one of the best compliments I could ever receive 😭😭😭😭🫶🫶🫶🫶 thank you so muchhhhh aahhHHHH

(In Your) Arms Tonight - 2/2

summary: Wade tests out his previous hypothesis with great success. Might experiment more later.

pairing: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson / Worst Wolverine x Deadpool

word count: 3.6k

warnings: MDNI 18+, Wade's POV-ish, blowjob, itty bitty blood mention, slight angst, nightmares/PTSD, pining, cursing, claws, crude humor and language, fluff, touching, *cue start of something new from high school musical*, Wade's a little shit, cum drinking bc i guess that's what happened, deepthroating, lowkey face fucking, bad flirting but it's kinda reciprocated, wade is the throat goat next question, wade kissed his roommate and they both liked it

a/n: here she is :') thanks yall for the patience and all of the magnificent love and comments for part one ❤❤❤ means the world to me, especially since it's my first time stepping out of stucky territory as a whole. also got a little away with the tags 😅 hope yall enjoy this !

Not beta'd. Half-written on my phone, edited and revised in ellipsus + gdocs. Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes!

If I've missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @tomshiddles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ❤️

My AO3 | My Masterlist

Read this fic HERE on AO3

❤️ Reblogs and comments are appreciated, as always ❤️

PART ONE

Wade forgot to turn the AC back on. 

It's his turn to sleep in bed tonight and he's got the worst case of swamp ass you can get this far from a fucking swamp. He's already thrown the covers, sheets, pillows, and his boxers off; he swears if he gets up there will be a sweaty version of a goddamn chalk outline on his mattress. 

He stretches. Notices he can feel both hands now, fully grown and everything, fingernails and all. Smirks to himself as he flexes his new fingers before reaching over to the nightstand– it's actually a really sturdy cardboard box, but it works just as good– for his phone. The screen responds with a bright 3:02AM overlayed on a photo of him and Vanessa. 

There's a pang in his heart for a moment. The same type of twist and pull he felt when Logan got up to leave after their big adventure (AKA saving their universe.)

“See you around?”

Wade tried to swallow the hard lump of desperate hope that had been bubbling inside of him the entire time they ate their shawarma. Hopes it wasn't obvious in his voice. Not a total cry for help, but definitely more of a solemn whimper and puppy dog eyes.

No matter how many times he was used to it– the people he loved leaving or dying or what have you– it still stung like a bitch. 

“Probably not.”

And Logan didn't mean for it to come out so harshly, but that's what happened when– and if– he got too close. To anyone. To everyone. 

With that, Logan rose from the bench, gathering his cowl and TVA jacket up from the place on the bench separating him and Wade and started walking. Dogpool whined and scratched at Wade's arms to chase after him. 

Wade had to do something. Anything. He couldn't let this one– this Logan. His Logan– walk off into the sunset.

No.

Not without him. 

“Logan!” 

And then he turned around. 

And now they're here. 

He feels a similar yank and tear elsewhere in his body– lower belly, groin area– whenever thoughts wander back to that glorious time in the Honda Odyssey; Adamantium stabbing in and out of his chest cavity, puncturing his lungs and literally taking his breath away. The tight feeling of multiple seat belts holding him down to the second row passenger seat and the sickeningly happy grin adorning Logan's face when he tied the last knot. Wade remembers smiling just as bright under his mask.

That one definitely got filed into ye ole spank bank for safe keeping.

Sighing, Wade remembers he's sweating like a hog and drops his legs over the edge, planting two clammy feet onto the creaky floorboards. He throws on his previously discarded pair of boxers just in case Logan has a case of insomnia. Gotta take a man out to dinner before you show him your dick, like a gentleman. 

Wade peaks his head out into the living room, TV glow assaulting his pupils like a flash bang. The door creaks open wider and Wade steps further out. He doesn't want to wake either furball– you'd be surprised how grumpy Dogpool gets when she doesn't get her beauty sleep– as he tiptoes out in front of the couch. 

His breath catches in his chest. 

Logan lies propped up on the couch, head resting on the arm with a throw pillow behind for support, arms crossed over a bare, hairy chest rising and falling slowly. A sheen of sweat coats his skin that reflects the changing colors of the TV. Half a snuffed cigar smolders on the coffee table ashtray. The semi-permanent crease between his brows is softer, perfect pink lips parted as he snores quietly.

And to top it all off, he's in his fucking boxers; his jeans are discarded on the opposite end of the couch, kicked off in his sleep to beat the heat.

Wade can't breathe. He can't help but stare, committing the heavenly scene to memory. A knowing smile slowly spreads across his chapped lips.

He's happy. Happy at how peaceful his roommate looks. Happy that Logan is finally feeling safe enough to sleep here. Genuinely. Wade knows first hand what it can be like to be constantly on the run, chasing peace and release, rest and safety. 

Tip toes make way to the thermostat, Wade presses the 'on' button to the AC when there's stirring behind him. Head turning slowly, he catches the tail end of Logan mumbling something in his sleep. 

“...Wade, please.” 

Wade freezes like a carjacker caught in an impound lot. Surely he didn't hear Logan, his roommate Logan– The X-Man, The Wolverine– fucking whining Wade's name in his sleep. 

What were the symptoms of heat stroke, again? 

Wade shuffles back over to the couch. Feels like a creep watching his fucking roommate sleep, waiting another moment to see if he needs to take a power drill and give himself a DIY lobotomy or not. 

“Mm… No, Wade…No, please, don't–” Logan murmurs softly. Struggling, brow furrowing, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Ngh… Don't hurt ‘im… please.” 

Logan begins to shake. His head whips from side to side against the pillow, hands dig into the couch cushions, grunting, fists clenching as his claws itch to defend from the phantom threat. Muscles tensing and chest heaving, his breathing grows harder, faster, more frantic. 

He's having a nightmare.

Wade recognizes the signs immediately. He knows where Logan's at: some distant memory with talons and sharp teeth assaulting his brain without him knowing. Hell on earth on the worst nights, a light ego beating and insomnia on the better ones.

Wade knows– his stopped two months ago. When Logan came home.

Without another thought– one in which he probably should’ve given– Wade climbs onto the couch to straddle Logan’s hips in the most non-horny way he can make it. Hands press into the center of Logan's chest. He gently calls his name, preparing for the sharp stab of Adamantium through an appendage and/or organ. Nothing he isn't used to at this point, but he secretly prays it isn't something totally major.

“Logan. Peanut, hey,” Wade whispers. He presses further into Logan, heat radiating off rough, hairy skin into Wade's tingling fingers. “Logan, it's me, Wade. You're having a nightmare, you’re scaring the kids–” 

SHNK. Intestines. Ten or fifteen points, depending on if it's big or small.  Wade's thankful it wasn't a kidney or his stomach– those are a bitch and a half to grow back.

“Okay– that was maybe warranted,” Wade grunts. Both sets of claws penetrate straight through his lower abdomen as Logan jolts awake, sitting up as much as he can while pinned under Wade. A gnarled scream catches in his throat. White-hot knuckles graze the skin of Wade's stomach, who is really, really trying his hardest not to get a boner right now. 

“Th’fuck's goin’ on?” Logan slurs, face inches from Wade's bare chest. He blinks. Once. Twice. His brow returns to its permanent crease as he adjusts to the scene before him: bright TV glow contrasts with dark shadows Wade casts over him.

Wade is on top of him and his claws are inside of Wade.

Face scrunching– not inherently in disgust, Wade hopes– claws retract with a muted grunt. Wade can breathe again while his body begins repairing itself. His hands are stuck to Logan's heaving chest, fingers fanning out over each delicious pec. Thick arms rest on either side of him, elbows bent and resting on Wade's thighs.

Wade swallows, praying the man currently underneath him either A. doesn't know where his hands are at the moment or B. this is going exactly the way he wet-dreamt it a few weeks ago. Completely unprompted too, by the way– he's no stranger to the sick side effects of PTSD, he wouldn't knowingly exploit that in order to get into his roommate's pants. He's got more class than that.

Well, most of the time, that is. Again, completely unintentional. Coincidence, if you will.

Maybe he does need that DIY lobotomy.

"Where th'hell am I?" Logan asks, voice less threatening and more alert. His eyes flick from the TV and travel up Wade to meet sympathetic chocolate eyes already on him. Wade peels each finger off Logan's chest and sits back on his knees. Gaze softening, hands fall into his lap inches above the chiseled V pointing to down under Logan's boxers. He doesn't dare move a fucking muscle.

His pinky finger twitches.

"You're okay. You're here, in my world, Peanut. Twenty-first century. New York. We use fifty-cals now, not muskets. You were having a nightmare–"

Wade's throat hitches. He's not gonna cry, no– he's not that much of a fucking empath, for chrissake– but what he wants to say versus what he probably should say get lodged together on the way down to his mouth from his brain.

"I– I did the pressure thing Dogpool does with me, sometimes. Except I thought you'd wanna wake up to this pretty face 'nd not one with drool."

Logan looks skeptical, searches Wade to see if he's actually telling the truth for once, features relaxing once he mulls it over in his head. Wade's gnawing at the inside of his cheek when Logan's thumbs subconsciously start rubbing slow circles over the toughened skin of his upper thigh. Upper-outer, to be exact, but right now Wade doesn't really want to dwell on the minute details.

"So," Logan starts, "you woke me up… 'cause I was havin' a nightmare…?"

"Well, not exactly because you were having a nightmare, no." Wade runs a hand over the top of the couch, distracting himself. "Al really likes this couch. Antique, actually. Vintage find. Be a shame if some man with claws–"

Logan's palms press into Wade's thighs. A warning.

"Mouth."

Wade sighs. Hands fall into his lap once more and he is absolutely not fighting to gawk at Logan's V that lights up like a road work sign pointing to a detour. The semi-hard abs just above definitely do not make him want to run his fucking tongue across them like a cheese grater.

He looks back to Logan, clears his throat. "Look I– I've been there. Am there, honestly. Didn't want you t'be alone whenever you woke up, but I also know how hard it is to wake up. So," he shrugs, voice lowering, "thought I'd help. Help you come down from it, I mean."

Logan stares back in response, eyes trained on Wade like a hunting dog and a downed fox. Wade swears the corner of his lip twitches along with the meaty hands on his legs.

He's gotta get the fuck out of here.

"So!" Wade starts, "Seems everything's in working order. The doctor will be in soon–" Wade starts to scramble off before realizing Logan's holding him down. Sharp claw stubs poke into scarred skin and a deep growl rumbles out of Logan's chest. Not necessarily threatening, no, more of a 'you're not goin' anywhere.' Wade gulps, hands raise up jokingly, forcing his racing mind to think of a naked, cross-country skiing Al to stave off the blood violently rushing to his stubborn cock.

Logan sits up, closing the space between him and Wade. Hazel eyes study wide brown ones. Logan takes a breath, shaky but sure.

"Don't want y't'go. Not– not yet."

It's hesitant. Unsure but curious, quiet enough Wade thinks he's hallucinating again. Wade mulls it over, leans forward with hands back on Logan's chest, skin and muscles taught underneath with tactile tension.

Wade sucks in a breath, moves his hands higher to Logan's collarbone and it's grossly apparent how tense Logan is. Hostile to any sudden movement, untrusting of touch to the point his fists shake against Wade's legs. A slow, tender hand inches up Logan's throat and onto his cheek. Wade feels through the rough facial hair and unkempt stubble, a thumb finds the shaved spot at the point of Logan's chin and strokes gently. Fists start to unclench, but there's a hesitancy still lingering in the air, under Logan's skin. Wade thinks it smells like fear. Inches away, face to face, breaths fan eachother's faces.

There's a shift in the air and Wade leans forward.

Logan doesn't stop Wade from connecting them together, lips touching lips in the softest manner possible. Almost feels like there's nothing there, Wade's too gentle. Nobody moves, breathes, at first; they're each trying to make sense of what the fuck exactly is happening. Logan isn't saying no, isn't sawing through Wade's skull and Wade isn't pushing himself on Logan.

Okay, maybe leaning in to kiss his roommate might be pushing himself on Logan to the logical bystander, but in the moment it just felt right.

To Wade's surprise, Logan's the first to move.

His lips start molding into Wade's. There's pressure, a little pushing, chapped skin and the remnants of tobacco on his breath when his lips part and his tongue pokes ever-so-slightly through. Wade pushes back, hoping his breath isn't as abhorrently delicious as leftover cigar. He tilts his head, nose poking into Logan's cheek as his does Wade's, and lets his tongue explore a little more. Logan allows him in, meeting him at the tip and hungrily welcoming him. Breaths turn heavy, panting, while hands begin to roam, more comfortable now that they've crossed the line into 'spit swapping' territory.

Wade drinks him in. Greedily swallows the choked-back groans Logan keeps holding in his throat that come out as muted mewls. Fingernails wantonly dig into one another and leave temporary marks that disappear under rapid replacement cells.

It feels like forever when Wade finally comes up for air, unable to focus with the growing hardness digging into his thigh.

"I–fuckin' shit– I think I have an idea." Wade pants like a dog in heat– and fuck, he might as well be at this point. Logan pulls back with lidded eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

"'s that?" He's hesitant. Hands tense slightly over Wade's back, his whole body stiffens.

"Do you– do you trust me?"

Wade holds his breath.

Logan only nods. Adam's apple bobbing, lips part in anticipation and curiosity.

Wade strokes Logan's cheek in reassurance, shoots him a wink before shimmying down his body to the other end of the couch, keeping Logan's legs in between his thighs. Fingers hook around Logan's boxers, in turn causing Logan to jolt up immediately. A set of claws unsheathe an inch away from Wade's throat.

"Th'fuck are you doin'?"

Wade only smiles, taking a hand away and kissing the tip of the middle claw, gently pushing it back into Logan's fist and coaxing him to lay back down. What he's about to do would be easier with an in-tact esophagus.

"Relax, Peanut," Wade coos, "'m not gonna hurtcha."

Logan stares at Wade. Eyes pinch, still suspicious.

"…Promise?"

A sharp pang ripples through Wade's heart.

"Promise."

Logan hesitates, relaxes, gives another go-ahead. Wade's fingers curl once again around the waistband of his boxers and slowly, but surely, pull them down and off him. He can't help the immediate salivatory reflex upon seeing Logan in all his glory; the deep V lights up like a fucking Vegas sign pointing straight to the jackpot.

Logan's big– like, big big. Biggest Wade's ever seen (and Wade's seen a LOT.) An automatic response, Wade's asshole clenches, mistakenly preparing to take Logan. Wade forces himself to relax– that's not happening tonight. He promised Logan he'd go slow, no surprises, no whipped cream or leather cuffs.

Not yet, at least.

His own cock weeps happy tears through his briefs. He cannot believe how perfect– how beautiful– how fucking huge Logan is.

"What're you gonna do?" Logan whispers, hesitant eyes hooking on Wade and every little movement he makes.

"If it's alright with you, 1972 Burt Reynolds, 'm gonna suck every ounce of tension out of your perfect, hairy body and make you feel the best you've felt in a looong time."

Logan scoffs a laugh, brow furrowing as he shakes his head slightly. "Don't know who–"

Wade shushes him. "Don't worry, baby girl. I'll be your Sally Field."

Wade smirks at Logan's confusion and mentally makes a note to his future-self to show Logan the glory that is Smokey and the Bandit.

A gentle hand steadies the base of Logan's cock while another slowly wraps around his stiffness, standing at attention and beginning to cry, begging for Wade's touch. Heavy breathing and bitten-back grunts fill Wade's ears. It's a heavenly symphony he's lucky enough to have a front and center seat for. Free ticket, too.

"Ngh– Red, whatever you're gonna do– ah–!"

Wade presses his lips to the base, bush of hair tickling his nose and lips while he kisses his way up to the head, tongue poking out to lap up the precum. Before siccing his lips around Logan, Wade looks up once more, mostly searching for permission to help him feel pleasure for once instead of pain.

Logan reads Wade's mind and sends a small nod in response.

With a shit-eating smirk, Wade welcomes Logan into his mouth, flattening his tongue and curving his lips over his teeth so as not to scratch the sensitive, velvety skin. Drool spills out the corners of Wade's mouth and swallows a gag when Logan jams into the back of his throat, digging into his uvula. Squeezing the base and cupping the balls, Wade begins to bob his head to the rhythm of Logan's mess of 'fuck's, 'shit's, and–

"Mmm–Oh–oh, my god," Logan moans. A calloused hand runs over Wade's bald head, scars and grafts rippling under his touch while another hand grips tightly onto the side of the couch. Wade slurps up every drop of precum, relishing in the sweet musk of Logan's scent, head bobbing and tongue swirling in tandem. Logan's hips buck up into Wade, fucking his throat without meaning to. No amount of lozenges or peppermint tea will be able to cure the sore throat Wade knows he'll have come morning.

"F–fuck, Wade, baby– shit– that feels so–!"

Another lengthy dive down onto Logan hits the very back of Wade's throat, pulling a long, strenuous 'fuck' from the deepest part of Logan. He bucks harder into Wade who stalls, choking on Logan's cock while his own strains against his briefs. Another swipe of tongue, another gag and seeping drool, and Logan is officially done for.

"F–fuck! Motherfucker! Oh my, god, Wade–!"

Curses and chants and shaky breaths fill the living room as Logan spills into Wade with an 'O' on his lips and a hand on the back of Wade's head. There's a sharp shngk and a sting at the tip of Wade's ear as red warmth drips down onto Logan's thigh; his claws unsheathe into the couch this time, not Wade, who slurps and sucks every last drop of mutant cum from Logan's softening cock like it's the Fountain of fucking Eden.

He comes up for air, finally, lungs gasping against a swollen, fucked throat. He sits back panting on his thighs and Logan's legs underneath, a mix of cum and drool and the slightest bit of blood running down his cheeks and neck. Wiping away the mess with the back of a hand, blurry vision focuses back into reality and onto his roommate.

His roommate. Logan. Wolverine. Who's dick he just sucked the ever-living hell out of.

Well this is awkward.

Wade swallows, offers a crooked half-smile to the man who he just sucked, fucked, and milked dry.

"How 'bout them Yankees?"

Logan barks a laugh. A real, genuine laugh, one with teeth and spread lips and legitimate amusement. Wade preens.

"That was–" Logan wipes beads of sweat off his brow, "Fuck it. That was fuckin' amazing, Wade." He stuffs a hand behind his head, blinks a couple of times to recalibrate. "Didn't know that mouth did anything else 'sides talk."

Wade shrugs cutesily. "It impresses me sometimes, too. Helps when I have a willing participant. Just hope you signed the paperwork."

Logan shakes his head. Arms reach up to grab onto Wade, pulling an ear to Logan's lips.

"Now how 'bout we take care of you next, baby? Hm?"

\|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/

Morning sun and a weight on his chests wakes Logan from probably the most peaceful sleep he's had in… well, ever, honestly.

There's a wetness and mix of smells wafting into his nostrils that make him stir next; combination of what feels like a tongue on his cheek making way towards his lips, dog breath, and the sweet smell of something cooking in the kitchen. Eyes fly open when a whine vibrates on his chest, finding himself greeted by Dogpool wagging her rat-tail with eyes bugging out of her little head.

"Gah– get off me, mutt," Logan scolds, sitting up and gently shoving Dogpool onto the couch cushion next to him. He runs a hand over his face and into his hair, the crick in his neck a little less noticeable this morning.

"Gooooood morning, sunshine!"

Logan looks up with tired eyes still adjusting to the morning light to find Wade in his robe covered in flour with a mixing bowl cradled in his arm as he stirs. Last night comes screeching back to Logan as soon as he locks eyes with his roommate, mouth going dry and dick twitching in his boxers.

Wade only smiles, not at all hiding his obvious glance at Logan's crotch. "You want chocolate chips or blueberries in yours?"

Logan shakes his head. "In my what?"

"Pancakes, Peanut. In your pancakes."

"Oh. Yeah." Logan blinks, then scoffs a laugh to himself. "Yeah, Mouth. I'd, ah– blueberries. I'd like blueberries."

[comma-souptra]

AO3 adding extra spaces around my italics I will attack you with my hands

[leavesdriftinginthewind]

First/Last Sentence Tag War

I have been putting off my turn in this game for quite a while because my writing motivation was in the gutter for the last week and a half BUT Hunter's Instagram post tonight has, ah... inspired me.

Tagged by: @wednesdayandherhyde (x4) @writerrose1998 (x3) @therulerofallpotatos (x2) @anotherbluesunday @cosmic-lullaby @ablatheringblatherskite @chaoticstupiddm @galpinlvr (x2)

Both my first and last sentence today are from a so-far-untitled WIP I just started tonight that may or may not see the light of day. The Wyler 18+ Server knows what this is meant to be... 🤭

First Sentence

The entire day had been torture.

Last Sentence(s)

Planting Wednesday on a beach full of noisy patrons on a bright summer day in July was like dropping a polar bear into the Sahara and expecting it to thrive—it shouldn’t be done.  But for Tyler, she figured she could endure eight hours of suffering.  She just didn’t anticipate the sexual frustration.

Tagging back all those who tagged me and also throwing @nouklea @badmoodbatflowers @persephoneed @realmermaid333 @suchaladyy into the mix!

[lilbittymonster]

asking about the 5.5 battle instances 👀

(so I had to scroll back to find what I had even tagged this with for context and YEAH LMAO THE 5.5 INSTANCES I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT THE 5.5 INSTANCES. I think about them a normal amount.)

So we've all done the patch 5.5 battle instances where they split the party of Scions to fight off the different primals and they do the really cool cinematic battle table mini simulation? Yeah? Okay.

So the final party is us, Estinien, and I think Alphinaud fighting Ifrit. And at the last fucking second Estinien does his draconic replicant thing and singlehandedly one shots all nine of the infernal nails with Stardiver.

I have massive fucking brainrot about the Stardiver dragon double thing with him and Kitali because the first time we see him do that is on the Final Steps while he's still 'Hogged and trying to kill her, and then the next time (in my canon at least) is when he saves her out from Elidizenos' blade in the Ghimlyt Dark. And then the third time is a last ditch effort to protect both her and Alphinaud from this pseudo-primal.

And it's very much a running theme of Kitali being far more comfortable using her draconic abilities than Estinien because hers were gifted and freely accepted while his were the result of a hostile takeover. And he had also spent probably at least a decade under the influence of the Eye, and having to train himself to be under full restraint at all times, so big bursts of emotion are not something he's used to. And Nidhogg's whole self determined creed was to be the protector of the star, and now Estinien has taken it upon himself to continue carrying that mantle of guardian. He always walks at the back of the group like a shepherd protecting his flock. He is the Great Pyrenees of the Scions.

And so every time he has a huge burst of Must Protect My Loved Ones and uses the big Nidhogg guns I go a little feral for it (I am STILL. NOT. RECOVERED. FROM THE 6.5 POST TRIAL CUTSCENE. HOLY FUCK. LAHFOLSHS I'M SO FUCKING GAY anyways-) OH AND THE FUCKING CANNON THING IN STORMBLOOD I FORGOT THAT WAS ALSO STARDIVER.

So yeah four times he's done that, and three of them were to protect Kitali. He is full of love and guardianship. I am so very incredibly normal about this man and my wolship they give me immense psychic damage (affectionate). Thank you for indulging me lmao.

[starsignchaser]

hello everyone and welcome to the March 2024 edition of emily's fic recs! If you saw my post this weekend you know that I bookmarked 57 fics this month... yeah idk how that happened but just know that this is gonna be a bit of a long one.

this month's list contains Jegulus, Wolfstar, and Drarry for a total of 28 fics. there are some all-time faves in this list (march was a good month) so I hope you enjoy!

without further ado, lets dive in :)

Jegulus

blue and yellow skies by alarainai, salmon_says (142k, 27/27, rated M)

Quidditch Rivals turned Quidditch Lovers. That's what the world sees them as, at least.

Too bad Regulus hates James Potter's guts, and James? Well, it doesn't matter what he feels about their definitely fake, definitely emotionless relationship.

just cute quidditch boys who love each other

i fell hard (in your arms tonight) by grimjobs (17.9k, 9/9, rated G)

Regulus didn't know he was touch starved until James started touching him.

cute boys and silly misunderstandings

i've got my eye on you by artiest (10k, rated M)

James and Regulus are friends with benefits except they're both ridiculously in love with each other.

this one was so good I had to give it an instant reread as I was putting my list together. angsty happy in-love boys

Many Happy Halloweens by SnarkyMagpie (7.6k, rated M)

Monsters come out on Halloween, but Regulus Black will gladly fight any horror, whether it's a dragon or anxiety, to protect his family.

Jeggy dads!!!!!! Technically single dad James with Harry and then Reggie joining their family <3333

stuck by you (and the glue) by cleargreen (4.7k, rated G)

The two most important people in James's life finally meet. This is how it goes.

baby harry has a crush on his dad's boyf reg

Whoops. by my_castlescrumbling (2k, rated T)

Regulus is a TA for Professor Monty Potter and Monty keeps trying to set Regulus up with his son. Regulus always refuses, of course. But what happens when, at the end of the term, he goes to the Potter Christmas Party?

yayyy happenstance!!!

a little death by noasmirrorball (1.6k, rated E)

James wakes Regulus up with a little surprise.

this is just straight up porn

heatwaves by regscupid (1.5k, rated E)

With the exit of May, James quickly came to realize he could not deal with what June brought with it. June meant hotter weather. Their flat didn’t have air conditioning.

reg in crop tops makes james' brain go mush

Wolfstar

wading in waist-high water by colgatebluemintygel (82k, 9/9, rated E)

Remus is a PhD student and hobbyist baker who finds himself adrift following his father’s death. On a whim, he enters the Great British Bake Off...

ONE OF MY FAVES OF THE MONTH!!! a wonderful balance of funny moments, bits of angst, and mostly just a lot of love between these two boys

Like Real People Do by third_crow (36k, 3/3, rated T)

Or, Remus works as a barista and Sirius comes in every morning with the world's cutest baby, and man, these two just wrote the book on mutual pining, huh?

I LOVED THIS FIC!!! there is so much angst but it is so worth it because these two are meant to find each other every time

To Be Alone With You by Shay_Fae (16.6k, 4/4, rated M)

In the summer of their sixth year, Remus Lupin tried to kill himself.

MAJOR TW for this one (as you can see from the description) but also such a beautiful take on Sirius's love for Remus and their dynamic

my castle crumbled overnight by YellowLark23 (9k, 2/2, rated T)

Sirius deals with his parents’ abuse while at school, but he never realizes just how dangerous the game they're playing is.

This fic is more black brothers focused but there is sweet background wolfstar hurt/comfort :)

i've got diamonds in my eyes (for you) by crushofdoves (6k, 2/2, rated E)

Sirius and Remus are in big, soft, filthy love.

this is so hot and also just feels so real for a sex scene like they literally stop to have a grilled cheese in the middle it's perfect

Remus' Impromptu Study Break by ravenclaw_with_no_friends (5.6k, rated E)

“Sod off Pads, I’m mad at you,” Remus decided his best way out would just be to go have a shower. He got out of the bed, picking up his pyjama bottoms to hold in front of his crotch.

wolfstar smut with sirius making the first move hehe

i was sinking and now i'm sunk by crushofdoves (3.9k, rated E)

The air between them felt electric, crackling with intention and Sirius hoped they were on the same page.

bookstore employee remus having his way with sirius in the back room

Ways to be Gentle by Quietlemonhush (3.6k, rated E)

Sirius has a bad day. Remus reminds him what softness feels like.

sad sirius being given all the love by his moony

Drarry

A Dented Old Street Sign by orphanghost (27k, rated M)

Draco knows they aren't the only students who will be completing their NEWTs this year, but they are the only ones whose home fireplaces were disconnected from the floo network by the ministry.

At least, Draco assumes as much until he sees the light falling out from the front door of one of the other rickety old houses in front of them and the three figures cast in its warm glow.

the golden trio and returning slytherins are neighbors in Hogsmede for 8th year. tension, hijinks, and love ensues

With Great Yawns and Stretchings by sugar_screw (22k, rated T)

The coffee is very good. Really. And the cats are so cute. That's why Harry goes so often.

ONE OF MY FAVES OF THE MONTH!! just sweet boys who love cats and grow together and kiss!!!

Cascade by Avonne (18.7k, rated M)

Harry wants to touch, and Draco wants to be touched. If only they could figure it out.

I want to take every 8th year fic in hold them close in my arms because these boys are so sad and fucked up but they keep finding each other and making it work. one of my faves!

Sourdough by academicdisaster (17k, rated M)

Draco writes romance novels and doesn't leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.

read tags before reading!!! contains some off screen heavy angst but sooo good. Again, you will always catch me at the scene of a weird little draco fic

Magical Menagerie by DorthyAnn (16k, 7/7, rated T)

Convinced by Hermione to get a new pet, Harry goes to Magical Menagerie and finds it's now owned by Draco Malfoy who has changed since the war… in a good way, a really good way.

sweet weirdo draco you will always have my heart

Said and Unsaid (or, The Value of Knowing When to Stop Talking) by bryoneybrynn (14.8k, 3/3, rated T)

When the Interrogator asked if he had anything to say on his own behalf, Draco shook his head, his lips pressed tight in a thin line. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

again, love me an 8th year fix-it fic

Slow Show by Avonne (14.7k, rated M)

Harry doesn't know the kind of love that isn't forged in pain. He doesn't understand slow and calm and easy. He can't trust unconditional. After all, how could Draco love him if he's not allowed to sacrifice himself for it? Draco shows him.

I just can't get enough of harry being a self-sacrificing idiot and Draco being the one who can consistently cut through his bs and be like "hey!!! stop that dummy, we all love you (but me especially)"

I'll keep you (safe and sound) by arminaa (13k, 4/4, rated E)

Harry takes temporary custody of Teddy while Andromeda's comatose at St Mungo's after an accident, and Draco, his something-with-benefits, shows up unexpectedly to help.

two awkward boys who don't know how to tell each other they like each other (with baby Teddy!)

Title of Their Sex Tape by Cibee (12k, rated T)

Undercover! Heists! Draco pining for Harry! Harry being oblivious, but also can't help noticing how good Draco smells! Banters and jokes! That's about it.

Brooklyn 99-esque fic with v sweet will they/won't they moments. also the line "“I confess,” Draco said quietly. “That I had hope ... you would choose me this time.”" !!!!!!!

By Any Other Name by dracognition (8k, rated E)

A botched love potion makes it so that everyone in Harry's vicinity is madly in love with him—everyone except Draco, that is.

everyone is in love with Harry, INCLUDING Draco!!! hehehe

Swipe Right by mee4ever (2k, rated G)

Or then one where Harry swipes right, and it turns out Draco does too.

I love their banter/flirting in this one so much!!!

Harry Potter Gets a Job [ART] by dustmouth (106 pages, rated M)

Harry returns home from Romania to find Arthur Weasley has a new apprentice, and there's an extra place set for dinner.

I love this art style and the story is just so perfect, def suggest checking out more by dustmouth if you enjoy this