#had to soften him a little

[fanaticsnail]

When We Wake

Masterlist here

Word count: 1,300+

Synopsis: Blissfully waking within the arms of your lover, you are both struck with the thoughts of how precious you have become to one another. Whispering confessions of adoration to one another while the other slumbers, you are both completely overcome with such deep devotion.

Themes: established relationship, sir Crocodile x reader, gn!reader - non gendered descriptors, suggested nudity, kisses, confessions of love, sir Crocodile is soft for you, romance, romantic imagery, morning kisses, lazy kisses.

Notes: @carrotsunshine wanted a lovestruck Crocodile to read when she finished work today. I had no choice, my hands were bound and I stayed up past midnight again getting it done. While Croco is not one of the regular characters to write for, I did find myself falling for him a little in this fic. @since-im-already-here suggested the song, because smol-snail is a queen. Was written on my phone.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @i-am-vita

Song: Until I Found You - Stephen Sanchez, Em Beihold

Falling asleep, content within the arms of a lover is a luxury Sir Crocodile never knew he could afford. Although extremely wealthy, he deemed himself unworthy of such an exuberant opulence. For all his shortcomings in his youth, clawing with his right hand while grappling with his left hook to be within the lap of comfort all Berry could buy: this small slice of the heavens he carved for himself with you was priceless.

It was not so dissimilar for you. You had never known a love as passionate, as heated, nor as deep a connection as the one you shared with Sir Crocodile. He was your world, and you were his. These few moments together, before the world drew first breath and the symphony of birdsong would sing to welcome the dawn, you lay in complete syncronancy.

Your heartbeats would thump to the same rhythm, your lungs extend as you drew breath in the same soothing inhale before softly exhaling in unison. If one of you shifted to rotate, splayed fingertips would search in yearning to find each other's warmth within the night: shifting blankets to adjust the heat for one another accordingly.

If you fell out of rhythm together, after a night of sound, blissful slumber, and one of you woke first: the other would gaze fondly at the lover they had taken.

When Sir Crocodile awoke first, his right hand would rise from its position against your hip, slowly raking his fingers delicately along your skin. His calloused hand was coarse and rough, but his fingers were always soft and gentle for you.

Finally, as his fingers reach your shoulders, he massages your shoulder tenderly before raking his forearm over your body and tucking your slumbering form firmly secured against his chest. His eyes were half-hooded, gazing with the softest flutter of his lengthy eyelashes down at you.

“You are so precious to me, my moon,” he whispered into your hair, pressing a tender kiss softly against your hair, “A bright light that guides me through such horrors within my darkened past.” You barely stir within your sleep, unaware such deep, devoted confessions were being freely gifted from the smiling lips of your lover.

“You are the blood that swells my heart,” his breath tickled your temple as his scarred cheek nuzzled against the crown of your head, “It would be too simple a thing to kill for you, as it would be to die for you.”

Unconsciously, your body began to burrow into his chest within your slumber. A soft moan expelled itself from between your lips as you reveled in the contact of your bare skin against his own. His final confession was whispered like a prayer into your ear.

“You command my very soul, my spirit is yours to do with what you will,” he smiled as he felt you stirring within his arms, “Should you toy with me, torture me, or choose to trust me: either way, I am yours, and I will live my life for you.”

Upon hearing his words, your immediate response upon waking was to press a kiss within the hollow flesh of his jugular notch. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as a rumbled groan in bliss swelled within his chest.

“As I am yours, my beautiful Crocodile.”

Should you find yourself to be the first to rise, your breath would hitch as your eyes met with his face. Within his slumber, he managed to break away from your embrace. Lying on his back, his hair splayed down over his face, you notice the deep furrow of his brows and the soft shudder of a snarl.

Softly and cautiously, you draw up your hands over his broad chest to hover over his face. The bright lightning-sheen of his healed scar illuminated within the soft light of the morning. You slowly lean over him, your chest lying flush against his as you straddle his waist.

You splay your forearms over his chest, elbows barely reaching the shoulders of the large man as you lay your ear flush against his chest. The rapid beat of his heart began to slow, a deep, sleepy inhale of his breath sucked in through his lips and departed softly through his nose.

“You are the most precious thing to me, my beautiful Crocodile,” you confessed your deep devotion into his chest, “No gold, jewels, nor Berry could ever meet you as equal.”

Sweeping your cheek away from his chest, you brushed your nose against his chest before beginning a trail of soft and lazy kisses over his pectorals. For each kiss you planted, a confession was whispered into his skin.

“You are the greatest man I have ever known,” you pressed a deep kiss against his clavicle bone, “Your fierce devotion to me is only outmatched by my own to you.”

The swell of his chest beneath your body indicated he was beginning to stir within his deepest rest. He sighed as he raised his right arm to unconsciously pull you closer into his chest. You elevated your chin to gaze up into his dark, violet eyes that had barely split apart between the curtain of his eyelashes.

“You are my closest confidant, my most ferocious protector,” you pressed a lengthy kiss against his jaw before brushing the hair that shrouded his face from full view, “You are all mine.” His eyes were sleepily gazing down at you, feeling the shift of your body flush against his own.

“As you are all mine.”

But should you find yourselves back within that perfect synchrony, on very rare occasions, your eyelashes would flutter as the world around faded into view. The world, as both of you knew it within your souls, was within the arms of one another. The only world that mattered to you both in those fleeting moments, before obligation and commitments called to you; was only, and always, each other.

As your joint eyelids rose together, your glassy orbs found their peace within each others' gaze. You were always the first to smile, where he was always the first to reach out to pull your body against his.

It was always up for debate as to who uttered those sacred words first. The three sought after and holy words that bound you together as one life, one body, one heart, and one soul. Those simple words that had the most mighty and hardened soldiers stutter and stumble over them in their fluster.

Immediately meeting with your smiling lips, Sir Crocodile swooped down and captured them beneath his own. Always slow, the angle of his jaw would alternate with his chin extending down and rotating to depict his heated passion. The bridge of his nose brushed against your own, the rumble of his moan expelled within your mouth as yours fled into his.

Parting your lips, you sought out more contact with your body pressed firmly against your passionate lover. You hooked your arms over his neck as he braced his right arm and left forearm around your waist.

He rolled you over his chest, before using the propulsion of the swinging motion of your body to pin you beneath him. You squealed into his mouth in shocked joy, his lips never breaking their deep contact against your own. With your lover now between your legs, you clawed at his shoulders to tug him closer.

The deep furrow of his brow, and sharp inhale of breath through his nose, had you enchanted by his enthusiastic welcome to commence the day. Almost begrudgingly, he finally split contact away from your lips to smile down at your position beneath him.

Taking a moment to silently acknowledge each other, you slowly laced your hands within the ink-black strands at the back of his head just as he leaned down to press his forehead against your own. Your whispers were almost inaudible, this confession being so scared you both dare not present it to undesirable ears.

This confession was just meant for only each other, your lips brushing briefly as you both relayed your devotion in perfect, unified symphony.

“I love you.”

[atoriv-art]

older designs for my specialest guy

[babylemonart]

Grandpa Baul and his newts

[fave-fix]

hey guys do we realize that the main difference betwen how kai and midori developed is that kai was given the chance to learn what normal life and love and family was like by working with chidouins while midori was kept under asunaros thumb all his life. do we realize that just a few changes could have kai acting just as cruel and merciless as midori. do we realize that midori is a victim of asunaro too, and though that doesn't excuse his actions it does make them more tragic. do we realize this or are we all being serious when we say midori is the only character who isn't worth redemption.

[skitskatdacat63]

Hey, do you remember that really homoerotic scene from Skyfall? No? That's okay, here's a Vettonso version of it :)

- explanation & w/o text:

Hi hello, finally my weird psychosexual relationship with Casino Royale has come to fruition. Yeah this is directly based off a scene from Skyfall, but I def envision the vibe as being more like Casino Royale hehe. I can't believe I made that inspo board for this AU almost 4 weeks ago, and then ended up drawing a four panel "comic" about it. Ahhhh proud of myself, a bit, a tad. I think this took 20+ hours across the span of a week? God. Anyways I digress! The AU!!

First of all, their Bond song would be "My Way of Life" by Frank Sinatra. It's so toxic, codependent and obsessive, I'm in love with it. And it really suits Fernando and his motivations and outlook in this AU. Basically, MI6(in the context of James Bond) in this AU is an analog for Ferrari. It picks theses guys up, tells them that they're Ferrari MI6's most special boy, chews them up, and then spits them out when they're finished extracting all their talent and skill and life force.

Much like with Ferrari, Seb in this AU replaces Fernando after Fernando loses favor and becomes undesirable. Now Seb is the new golden boy, and Fernando has turned to a life of crime! Fernando resents Seb for this of course, but also becomes obsessed with him and the idea of him , and how they are connected. It's weird to watch someone else basically go down your exact same path and unknowingly make all the same mistakes(buying into the mysticism of it all too much, being overly cocky, having naive beliefs and goals, etc.) He is caught between wanting to doom Seb even more but also wanting to "save" him, by corrupting him and convincing him to work together.

Basically: He's both a Bond girl and Bond villain.

Fernando is in such a weird place in this AU. I think he's just very dramatic. Seb is just casually living his best 007(005?) life, and Nando is watching him with binoculars, whispering to himself: "DOESN'T HE UNDERSTAND THAT WE ARE NARRATIVE FOILS!?" Yeah he hates Seb, but like the song lyrics say, their lives and dreams are inherently tied up together. He would feel lost without Seb, because Seb basically, unknowingly, destroyed and then took over his life. Maybe he'll feel satisifed if he manipulates Seb into going down the exact same path a bit better.

About the drawings themselves. Still can't believe this scene is a real thing that actually happened, insane to me. But in this AU, after the events of these drawings, Fernando definitely kicked all his henchman out of the room, and fucked Seb in the chair. And then against the wall. And then on the floor. Hey man, Seb is already looking mighty delicious with his unbuttoned attire and being tied up.

I think the general plot would be that Fernando keeps trying to seduce him to the dark side, and Seb keeps making him think it worked, only to escape at the end of the encounter. Leading Fernando to just come up with increasingly more violent and kinky traps. Seb goes along with it(read: enjoys it), leaving Fernando satisifed, only to somehow escape and wink and make kissy faces at Fernando in the process. (Fernando smoking cigarette in bed: "How do I make him stay. Sigh.")

I like to think though that Fernando does win in the end, by realizing, ah wait shit I do need to actually explain my motivations to Seb. And Seb is so worn down by his job, not Fernando, and how he's being treated, that he listens, really actually listens, and realizes Fernando does really have valid reasons. And then they become evil crime husbands yayyyy. Wow you thought this was a espionage AU? Well it is, but just not the outcome you'd expect.

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

the gravedigger and the nightingale

[8x06eddie]

actually wait i need to confess something… my otp is puka shell necklace wearing buck and fight club eddie

[kashilascorner]

Oh ok. I get now why a lot of people didn't vibe with the ending.

All and all: excellent manga, overall very good final act, too rushed final 2-3 chapters but weak and honestly mediocre epilogue, which makes the high of the ending kind of leave a bitter taste. I think Noda had a good steed and suddenly he had to finish and had to rush all. So the ending in the sense of the final arc was good but the ending proper (final couple chapters) + epilogue......... Not so much

[sailforvalinor]

Do you think 10 would have had as big a connection to Rose without the foundation of Nine's background/relationship with her? I think they still would have been close, but I don't know if it would have gone AS fast or been AS open without Nine. just because he did love Rose so much and I think a lot of that carried over into 10. I mean 10's looks came about specifically because of how 9 thought she'd want her S/O to look!

Oooooooh excellent question. Short answer? No, at least not right away—but their chemistry is just so electric that I feel like it would have gotten there, given more time. (Also I’M SCREAMING I knew people said that but I didn’t realize it was actually CANON AAAAAUUGGHH)

Long answer, it raises the question if Ten would even be the same person without Nine and Rose’s relationship. This is kind of dipping into my own still-forming opinion on how the Doctor’s regenerations work (as I understand it there are differing opinions on how it works in-canon anyway), but Ten was created by Nine sacrificing himself for Rose—Ten is almost quite literally a manifestation of Nine’s love for her, which is why Rose is integral to Ten’s identity, even when she’s lost. It’s her name that keeps him fighting. It’s her influence that informs his decisions, even when she’s not there. She’s his center of gravity.

Honestly? I’m not sure Ten would even be Ten without meeting Rose, even disregarding the fact that he probably wouldn’t have gone through all that character development and healing without her (or at least in the same way). Especially given what you mentioned about his appearance, I like to think that Ten is Nine’s love for Rose blasted through a megaphone. Tenrose without that foundation just doesn’t work.

[imminent-danger-came]

Sorry if you‘ve been asked this before, but since we know you‘re fav lmk characters, I was wondering what you‘re favorite duos and trios were?

And/or however many characters you wanna group together. Just in general, the character dynamics you find neat!

(My guess is that MK and Mei are somewhere on the top of the list- if not THE top)

One of my favorite things about lmk (of which there are many lol), is that you could throw two darts, and whatever two characters the darts land on are bound to have an interesting dynamic.

One of my favorite episodes is the Sandy and Huntsman episode (2x08), Tang and Macaque also have an intriguing conflict in 3x08, and Pigsy and Chang'e (3x07) have such a heartfelt shared passion that you can't help but enjoy their on screen time together.

I'm someone who wants a sort of Ne Zha and Yellowtusk "we reluctantly work together" arc, where even though Yellowtusk may have helped nearly bring the world to it's destruction, he ultimately helped save it, and he also happens to know a thing or too about keeping the Jade Emperor's power contained. I think it'd really fit in with lmk's "past mistakes vs making the right choices now" theme—in all honesty Yellowtusk has already paid his time with an eternity spent in the scroll—and now he can truly help make a better world. I think it'd be a neat way to keep him involved in the story, give Ne Zha someone to bounce off of (they both view power as sacred and a huge responsibility, unlike Wukong for example who is much more flippant with power), and would give some juicy drama ("You would betray your brothers?") between Peng and Yellowtusk later down the line.

Though anon you're 100% right, MK and Mei are at the top of my favorite dynamic list lol (They're whole motivation is to protect each other out of 100% platonic love. Obsessed with them). I'm also really partial for the MK, Mei, and Sandy trio that pops up here and there (1x03, 1x04, 3x04, 3x06). Traffic light trio is a treat, and the sunburst duo has my heart forever and always (I love seeing the way MK and Wukong's relationship has developed over the course of the show, both for the better and worse). Pigsy and Tang are always a delight (thank you 1x04, 2x03, 2x04, 3x05, 4x04, and specifically the line "Sometimes it's that little bit of char that makes for a more flavorful meat! Even if it is a bit tangy."), they're definitely at the top of my list. Obviously I like shadowpeach, and shadowpeach + MK (ooooo the monkeys are such delicious/tragic foils oooo), and I think Mei and Wukong have a really interesting dynamic (Wukong seeing Ao Lie in Mei, Mei viewing Wukong as someone who has hurt MK). Wukong and Azure's dynamic is also super interesting (Azure with his unrequited crush and heartbreak), so is LBD and MK's (could talk forever about these two), however I'll cut this off here since I could probably go on for a long while about this specific topic.

[ruelpsen]

Idrk what exactly is going on with me psychologically but the thing where I find my mind full of thoughts about my fave encouraging me keeps happening. I don't know if it's me having an active imagination or if this is some new-ish manifestation of my existing brain fuckery, but it is so wild... especially since there's sometimes an element of phantom physical sensation paired with it, which is so much easier to identify than wherever these thoughts are coming from. It'll take time to sort out exactly what's going on, but ngl I'm honestly really enjoying this. Just the idea of him encouraging me to stuff myself, him enjoying seeing me gain and belch, is so hot on its own. And oh lordy, whatever this is, it makes those thoughts all the more intense and fun!

[akkivee]

FACTS HAYAMA-SAN!!!!!!!! SO TRUE YOU ARE SO RIGHT!!!!!!!!!!

[aidanchaser]

Boulangérella - Chapter Two

Table of Contents beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer, and @aubsenroute

Chapter Two Ladybug

The small golden bell on the door of the bakery jingled its high-pitched, pleasant song. Its job was to alert the Dupain-Cheng family to a customer, but it was not a customer who rushed into the shop, panting as if she had just run a circle around the entire city.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng set her bag down on the small bench by the window of the shop and hurried into the kitchen. “Maman! Papa!” she called. “Maman!”

She found her parents where she expected them: cleaning up from a long day and preparing the ingredients for tomorrow’s breads and pastries.

“How did the delivery go?” Sabine Cheng asked with a raised eyebrow. It had been Marinette’s first delivery to the palace, and she was nervous for her daughter. Marinette was not especially light on her feet, but they had Marinette doing the deliveries more and more these days. She needed the income to pay for her apprenticeship in the tailor’s guild if she truly wanted to leave the bakery.

“Oh—er I did trip and lose a whole set,” Marinette said sheepishly, and tugged at one of her pigtails. She frowned and looked down at her hand, now sticky with strawberry filling. Tentatively, she licked it. “But it’s fine, I had the backup batch ready to go,” she added quickly when she saw her parents’ worried faces.

“We’re glad you’re all right,��� Tom Dupain said. He was a tall man, nearly twice as tall as his wife and daughter, with broad shoulders built from a lifetime of lifting sacks of flour and kneading lumps of dough. “But you should be more careful. If you had spilled a set in front of King Gabriel, he could have had you banned from the palace for life.”

Marinette decided not to tell her father that she had in fact spilled all the desserts in front of the king and instead skipped to the more important news. “The duchess asked me to tell you—er I mean, she told the king—or, I mean she asked the king and she asked me—” Marinette noticed the worried looks in her parents’ eyes and she hastily said, “The duchess is throwing a ball and she wants us to provide the desserts.”

“Oh my,” Sabine said. “A ball. We haven’t had a ball… well, I suppose it’s been since Queen Emilie hosted one. She always ordered with us. It’s nice of the duchess to ask for our help again. When is the ball, Marinette?”

“Er—in one month.”

Tom spluttered and his large, bushy mustache spilled out a cloud of flour as he did. “One month? That’s about how long it will take to fill a supply order and we won’t have much time to prepare… Is this a small ball, perhaps, just for the royal family?”

Marinette bit down on her lip. “Oh… no. In fact, everyone in the city is invited. Or at least the Duchess said, ‘all the eligible maidens,’ are invited.”

Sabine sat down on a barrel of molasses with a hard bump. “My goodness. That’s a lot of dessert.”

Tom scanned the supplies they had on hand. “Did she tell you what she wants us to make?”

“She said to surprise her, and she can approve the menu first thing tomorrow.”

“Well,” Sabine began slowly, “I suppose we had better start planning. We can place an order first thing in the morning. We’ll of course need to establish a quote—Oh, Marinette, will you be able to handle all of this?”

“Sure,” Marinette agreed readily. “I can help. Just tell me what to do!”

“The tailor’s guild will be swamped,” Tom said. “You’ll be burning the candle at both ends, Marinette. We know how unraveled you can get when you’re stressed.”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Sabine wiped her hands on her apron and eyed Marinette, who was still streaked with flour from her fall. “Perhaps we ought to hire an extra hand to help out. Is Alya still looking for work?”

Marinette pursed her lips, trying to remember the last conversation she had had with Alya about work. Alya had written a play for a local acting troupe, but it had not done well. Alya had said it was too “avant-garde” for the masses, but would be popular in about twenty to thirty years. Marinette had politely agreed.

“I think she’s available. It’s not too late; I’ll just go ask her.”

“Please do,” Sabine said. “Oh, let’s put a basket together for her family before you go.”

“And Marinette,” Tom said with a warning in his voice, “be careful. I don’t want you getting lost again.”

“Of course not!” Marinette promised.

Her father sighed heavily. He did not think Marinette was a liar in any way, but he rarely believed her anymore when she promised to be on time or available to help. In this last year, she had grown increasingly scatter-brained. She had always been clumsy, but now she was constantly getting lost in the very city she had grown up in. He did not think the problem was with her apprenticeship in the tailor’s guild—she had been doing that for several years now, and was nearly a journeyman—but something had changed in the last year. He often wondered if it had something to do with a boy, but he had not seen any boys hanging around the shop vying for Marinette’s time and attention, and he could not imagine Marinette would keep such a secret from them, or that she was capable of keeping such a secret. Marinette had never been a particularly adept liar.

Unfortunately, there was nothing Tom could do to help Marinette except to keep a close eye on her. He put a half-dozen biscuits in the basket Sabine handed to him, and Sabine added a set of cookies. Tom carefully wrapped the pink napkin around the warm, fresh pastries and handed it to Marinette to give to the Césaire family.

“I’ll be back soon!” Marinette promised.

She hurried out the door before remembering her bag. She rushed back inside, dropped a cookie into her bag, then grabbed it and headed back out into the night.

Her father’s worries about Marinette were well-founded, unfortunately. Not about a suitor, but it was true that Marinette had become more and more absentminded in the past year, forgetting appointments and deadlines in ways she had not before. Still, she was not quite as scatter-brained as her parents feared. And she never truly got lost.

Marinette knew this city as no one else did. She had run its streets since she was a little girl, first helping her parents deliver pastries, then delivering finished fabrics, dresses, and suits for the tailor’s guild. And now, in the last year, she had begun to learn the city from a new angle—its rooftops.

Marinette, however, did not take any rooftops on her way to Alya’s. It was not far, and it was not terribly late yet. Shop windows were still lit and a few people waved to Marinette as she passed. If people did not know her for her parents’ bakery, they knew her for her kindness. She often stopped to help a cart caught on a loose stone, or a child whose cat had gotten stuck on a rooftop. Yes, Marinette was clumsy, scatter-brained, and forgetful, but she was also kind to everyone who came across her path.

She arrived at the Césaire’s home just a few moments later and knocked on the door before walking straight in. She was always welcome in Alya’s home, and knocking was just a show of courtesy.

“Hello!” she called. “It’s Marinette!”

She was greeted by a loud chorus from the apartment above the restaurant. The deep voice of Alya’s father, the singsong voice of Alya’s mother, the high-pitched squeals of Alya’s younger twin sisters, the low melody of Alya’s older sister, and of course Alya herself were all familiar tones to Marinette.

There was a new tone in the chorused greeting, however; it was not exactly unfamiliar, but it did not belong to one of the Césaire’s. As Marinette reached the apartment above, she found Nino Lahiffe seated at the table with the Césaire family.

Before she could ask how the family was doing, the twins swarmed Marinette and wrapped their arms around her knees.

“Oh! She brought food!” one of them shouted.

“Sweets!” the other echoed, reaching up for Marinette’s basket.

Marinette lifted the basket up out of their reach and handed it to their mother, Marlena Césaire. Marlena greeted Marinette with a kiss on her cheek.

“Welcome, Marinette. We have just finished eating. Shall I get something for you? There’s plenty more.”

Marinette’s stomach grumbled, and she realized she had not eaten anything since before her trip to the palace. She had walked—and run—quite a bit since then. “Yes, please, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

Soon, Marinette was seated at the table with her best friend eating what she believed to be the best food in the city. Marlena’s cooking was hard to compete with. The only reason she was not the palace chef—she had been asked several times—was because she wanted to stay close to her family. She had no desire to be at the beck and call of someone else’s family when her own daughters demanded so much of her attention.

“What brings you here tonight, Marinette?” asked Otis, Alya’s father.

“Oh,” Marinette hastily swallowed the stew Marlena had given her, “well, Maman and Papa were wondering if Alya wanted to help out at the bakery for the next month or so. They just got a big order for the palace, and they’ll need some extra hands, especially since I’ll be busy working for the guild, and—”

“What’s going on at the palace?” interrupted Nora, the oldest of the four sisters. She worked as a palace guard, and was usually the first to know if something was going on in the city, since the palace was often the hotbed of local gossip. “I haven’t heard anything from the other guards.”

“Oh, Duchess Amelie decided this while I was there serving dessert because—”

“You served dessert at the palace?” Alya asked in shock. “Did you actually serve the duchess?”

“Yes, the duchess and the king and the princes too and—”

“You met the princes?” Nino interrupted. “What are they like?”

“Oh, um Prince Adrien was very nice…” Marinette’s face grew hot, and she knew she was turning red. “And Prince Félix—well, he didn’t say much. I don’t know.”

A wicked sort of grin split Alya’s face. “Prince Adrien was nice, was he?”

“I want to meet the princes!” Ella and Etta, the youngest twins, chorused at once.

“Why don’t we let Marinette finish her story?” Marlena suggested. “What is it you were saying about an order from the palace?”

“Oh, right. Duchess Amelie wants to throw a ball.”

“No way,” said Nora. “If there was a ball, I would know about it.”

“She sort of decided it right then and there,” said Marinette. “She was talking about marriage and convinced King Gabriel to hold a ball so that Prince Adrien could find a bride.”

Alya pursed her lips. “Hasn’t Prince Adrien been engaged to Chloé Bourgeois since like, before he was born?”

Nino grinned and elbowed her. “You always know everything that’s going on with the royals.”

“I don’t like secrets.” Alya tossed her head and her reddish-brown hair cascaded down her back. “I make it my business to know everyone’s business.”

Marinette, for once, had more knowledge than Alya, and she was eager to share it. “Duchess Amelie said that Adrien should choose his wife, and that was the whole reason for the ball, so that Adrien could pick from any eligible girl in the kingdom.”

The entire family stared at her.

“Any girl?” Nino squeaked.

Alya rolled her eyes. “Babe, I’m not going to go to some prince’s ball so he can line up all the pretty girls and pick out the cutest one.” She took Nino’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Besides, I’m not eligible anymore. I’m promised.”

Nino blushed and a very silly grin split his face. He kissed Alya on the cheek.

“Ew!” protested the twins.

“Oh?” Alya raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s gross?” She made a show of very sloppy kissing noises, all pressed against Nino’s cheek.

Ella and Etta shrieked and hid under the table.

Marinette stuck her head down and grinned at them. “I thought you two said you wanted to meet the princes. What would you do if one of the princes tried to kiss you?”

“I would say ‘No, thank you,’” said Etta.

“I would tell him that’s gross!” said Ella.

“That’s right, girls,” Nora said, and pulled her younger sisters out from under the table. “No prince kissing for you.”

Marinette hit her head against the table as she struggled to sit back up. She rubbed the bump ruefully.

“What about you, Marinette?” Alya asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“What would you do if one of the princes tried to kiss you?”

Marinette laughed too high and too quickly. “What are you talking about, Alya? I wouldn’t—they wouldn’t—”

“You said Adrien’s nice,” Nino prompted. “What makes him so nice?”

Marinette buried her face in her hands and groaned.

“Don’t embarrass her,” Otis scolded. “You know how shy Marinette can be around boys. Remember how she was with you, Nino?”

“She was only half as bad as Nino was,” Alya laughed. “You two were the weirdest couple when we were kids. You stared at each other’s hands like they were going to bite.”

None of this helped Marinette’s embarrassment. And, honestly, none of it mattered. Marinette would never see the princes again—she certainly wouldn’t be serving any more dishes at the palace herself after that royal embarrassment. And there was no way she was going to the ball. She would be busy hemming dresses or baking treats or running along the city’s rooftops, making sure everyone was safe.

“Oh, we’re just teasing, Marinette.” Alya nudged her in the ribs. “Anyway, you were saying your parents wanted me to help out at the bakery?”

“Yeah.” Marinette pulled her hands away from her face, setting aside her embarrassment. “If you’re not doing anything, that is.”

Alya hummed and looked at Nino. “What do you think? It might take us a while to get our new thing off the ground.”

“We’ll need clients first,” Nino agreed.

“What are you talking about?” Marinette asked.

“Nino and I are going to start up an investigation business. People pay us to find their stuff, or anything they’re missing, or even people they’re missing. Nino has a lot of connections, and we’re both good at getting information out of people. We thought we could put it to good use. But it’ll take us a while to get going. Do you think there’s work for both of us at the bakery? We could both work there for a bit, and let people know about what we’re doing, too.”

“Oh, maybe,” Marinette said. “I’m sure my parents would love to have Nino, if they can afford it.”

“I don’t like this job plan of yours,” Nora said in a warning voice. “It sounds like you could run into some dangerous people.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Alya rolled her eyes. “Besides, I’ll have Nino to protect me.”

Nora looked disdainfully at Nino’s thin frame, buried in a blue tunic that was just a little too big for him. “Just leave the helping people stuff to Ladybug, little sis. She’s the real hero.”

Alya did not take her sister’s criticism to heart. She merely rolled her eyes, and Nino jutted his chin out, but he did not argue with Nora. She was easily twice his size and had put him in a chokehold too many times to count.

“I actually thought we might work with Ladybug,” Alya said. “She could help us if we needed it, and we could get her information she might not have otherwise. It’d be a good partnership.”

“We just don’t exactly know how to ask her,” Nino said. “She’s hard to find, since no one knows who she really is.”

“Er—no one can, right?” Marinette said. “It’s important that her identity stay secret so that she can keep protecting the city from Hawk Moth’s curses. If Hawk Moth knew who she was, he could target people that she cared about.”

“I could take down Hawk Moth,” Nora said, slamming one fist on the table. “If he ever showed his face, I’d have him pinned in an instant.”

“I’m sure you would, sweetheart,” Marlena said, and kissed her daughter’s cheek.

“I certainly would not mind a chance to tear him apart myself,” Otis grunted.

“If anyone is going to stop Hawk Moth for good, it’ll be Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Alya said confidently. She, Nora, Nino, and her father all had, like many others in the city, been victims of Hawk Moth’s curses before. And, like many others in the city, they had been rescued by Ladybug. Her magic was more powerful than his, Alya was convinced, and she trusted her city’s hero to save them every time.

“Chat Noir is a wanted criminal,” Nora said. “If I saw him on the street, I’d arrest him and collect the bounty.”

Nino, though he did not like to challenge Alya’s much-older-and-much-bigger sister, managed, “Really? I’d buy him a drink. He’s a hero just like Ladybug. It’ll be both of them together that take down Hawk Moth.”

“He’s a thief—”

“He’s never stolen from us,” Alya pointed out. “He only has that bounty because the wealthy like to complain when they misplace a brooch or a painting.”

Perhaps sensing that a conversation about the ethics of thievery and vigilantism was not the best evening conversation for toddlers, Marlena announced, “Bed time for the little ones.” And though the young twins protested, Marlena and Otis each picked one up and took them to bed.

“I should probably go, too,” Marinette said, and got to her feet. “Thank you for the meal Monsieur et Madame Césaire,” she called after Alya’s parents.

“Nino and I will walk you down,” Alya said hastily and Marinette groaned. She knew that Alya only wanted to press her for each and every detail of her trip to the palace.

About thirty minutes later, Marinette was still standing in the doorway and Alya was laughing so hard that she had to lean against the wall for support. Nino, at least, had the courtesy to look stricken.

“You could have been banished from the palace forever,” he said.

“I know,” Marinette said into her hands. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s pretty bad,” Alya wiped the tears from her cheeks. “What did you call Prince Adrien? His Royal Fineness?”

“Something like that,” Marinette mumbled, and Alya broke out into another fit of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Alya gasped between giggles, “I love you so much, girl, but you’re really bad when you like a boy.”

“I don’t like Prince Adrien—”

“You have a crush on His Royal Fineness!” Alya protested. “Admit it.”

“How can I? I don’t even know him.”

“Doesn’t always work like that,” Nino said sympathetically. “Sometimes you just fall for someone.”

“It’s like destiny,” Alya said. “It just happens.”

Marinette shook her head. She might have a destiny, but it certainly did not involve marrying a prince.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” she said, eager to be done with this conversation.

“Bright and early,” Nino promised.

“Dark and early,” Marinette corrected. “The baking mostly happens before the sun comes up.”

Nino frowned at this news, but Alya grinned. “We’ll be there,” she said, and kissed Marinette’s cheek. “Have a safe walk home!”

“I will,” Marinette promised, but that wasn’t entirely truthful. Marinette would not be walking home, and she might not be safe, either.

As soon as she was out of sight of the Césaire’s home, Marinette ducked into an alleyway and opened up her satchel.

The cookie she had dropped inside had been reduced to mere crumbs and a small ladybug crawled up the side of the bag and into Marinette’s hand.

“Hi, Tikki,” Marinette whispered. “Ready to work?”

The ladybug grew in size until it was large enough to cover Marinette’s palm, and its shape changed, too. Its head became twice the size of its body, and its wings extended out from their shell. The black of the ladybug disappeared into the red, and soon Tikki was staring at Marinette with bright purple eyes and a warm smile.

“I’m always ready, Marinette,” she chirped in a high voice.

Marinette grinned back. “Tikki, spots on!”

Marinette had found Tikki in the Forest of Fay just over a year ago, or, more accurately, Tikki had found her.

When Queen Emilie had fallen asleep and the Duchess’ husband had disappeared, Marinette’s master had said that he needed a very specific flower to create a unique dye for the Duchess’ mourning attire, and he had sent Marinette out to get it. The flower was not grown by florists nor herbalists, for it could not survive in captivity. How the flower knew the difference between a pot, a garden, and a wide, uncultivated space was beyond Marinette’s scope of knowledge. She knew flour, not flowers. So when her master had told her that the flower only grew in the Forest of the Fay, Marinette had valiantly fought off her fears of curses and sought the flower out.

But Marinette had not learned the paths of the forest as she had learned the roads of the city and she had soon gotten lost. It was just days after the winter solstice, and the shadows had grown long and dark quickly. She had found a few blossoms, deep violet, and she expected they would make for a rich color suitable for a royal gown, but that would mean nothing if she could not find her way back. Perhaps her Master had been wrong to send her; perhaps she had been wrong to go.

Just as she was beginning to despair that she would never find her way home, a ladybug had landed on the back of her hand. It had flitted off to a tree, then returned to Marinette, then flown back to the tree. It had taken a few more tries for Marinette to understand that, for some bizarre reason, this ladybug was asking her to follow it. Nervously, Marinette had followed the bug as it flitted from tree to tree until they had reached the edge of the woods, where the ladybug had begun to shift into a strange red creature with small wings and a large head. Marinette had shrieked and tried to climb the nearest tree to get away.

“Careful!” the creature had said in its high voice. “You’ll fall!”

And Marinette had fallen, right out of the tree and onto the ground, landing on her arm. She heard the crack and she had one moment to wonder if that crack had been her bone before the pain set in.

“Oh! Ow!” She had shrieked and curled in on herself, clutching her broken arm to her chest. It hurt, but she had been glad it was not her hands. If she had lost the use of her fingers, she would never have been able to sew again.

“Oh, this is my fault,” the strange creature had said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I forget how easily frightened some humans can be.”

Marinette had hardly heard her through the pain, but she managed to squeak, “I’ll be okay.”

“I can help,” the creature had promised. “Let me help, please. I promise I won’t ask for much—just some sugar, perhaps?”

And Marinette had agreed.

Pain and sickness were no longer things that Marinette worried about. She had been given the gifts of creation and luck in a pair of earrings in exchange for sweets.

Ladybug soared over the rooftops of the city. Marinette had been serving as Ladybug for over a year—named for the favored form of the fay who had chosen her and for the red and black spots that decorated her dress. Well, it was not a dress, exactly, at least not a complete one.

A red mask marked in black spots covered her eyes to hide her identity, and long red ribbons trailed from her dark, curled pigtails. Her chemise was black, tied tight at the collar, and covered by a red dress detailed in gold and red ribbons. The sleeves were slashed at the shoulder and elbow, revealing the black chemise underneath.

The fabric and ribbons were far finer than any she might have owned as a baker’s daughter, and it glittered with the magic that had woven it. It might have been appropriate for a ball if her legs were not entirely exposed. The chemise covered hardly half of her thighs, and the dress over it split at the waist into a back shaped like the wings of beetle she was styled after. But her legs and the red tights that cloaked them were left visible to the night. It was not especially appropriate for a woman, but it allowed her to move easily across the rooftops and, should the situation call for it, move quickly in a fight.

Ladybug hoped that there would not be a fight tonight, but as she ran, she caught a flicker of light reflecting off of something quick and silver. She hopped from one tiled rooftop to the next, in search of the silver flash.

She found it—or rather him—dropping down from the rooftops of the closely-knit city shops and apartments and approaching the gates of one of the manors on the edge of town.

“Naughty Chat Noir,” she chided as he scaled the manor’s gates.

He froze, hands still around the gates’ iron bars but feet only halfway up. He finished his climb with a quick scramble and, once safely perched on the edge of the wall, turned to look at Ladybug.

Like Ladybug, Chat Noir wore a mask. He also wore a black jerkin and tights, styled with silver ribbons rather than gold, and at his waist he carried a silver baton, fastened to a long leather belt that dangled like a cat’s tail. His hands and feet, too, were tipped in silver, pointed in the shape of a cat’s claws, which made it far too easy for him to scale sheer walls and slip into the homes of the city’s wealthiest.

He leaned back and lounged lazily on the manor wall. His reflective green cat eyes glittered in the moonlight, and his blonde hair was tousled from his run across the rooftops. But his black cat’s ears were unruffled, perched perfectly on top of his head. He had let Ladybug feel them once, and they felt no different from the leather of his belt—decorative, really—but she was certain that she had seen them twitch towards sound on more than one occasion, like a real cat’s ears.

“Looks like you caught me, my lady.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I suppose you’ll just have to take me in.”

“Have you stolen anything yet?” she asked.

Chat Noir sighed. “No, but Lady Rossi has a lot of lovely pendants. I’m sure she wouldn’t even notice if I borrowed just one. And really, it’s her fault for leaving her house empty nine months out of the year.”

“Give it up and get over here,” she smiled. “We have work to do, you know.”

Chat Noir stood, but he hesitated. His long belt swished behind him and though Ladybug knew it was just the wind, it was easy to imagine he was like a real cat, swishing his tail before he pounced.

Then he jumped—into the yard of the manor.

Ladybug sighed. She and Chat Noir were heroes of the city, defenders against Hawk Moth’s curses and protectors of the vulnerable. They were supposed to wield their magic not for their own gain, but on behalf of the people. Her trickster partner, however, often forgot that.

Before Ladybug could jump down and go after him, however, a series of loud barks filled the night, and suddenly Chat Noir was back up on the wall and leaping for the safety of Ladybug’s rooftop. He misjudged the jump and the edge of the roof caught him in the stomach. With a loud wheeze, he pulled himself up to stand beside her.

“Why are the Rossis’ hunting dogs here?” he asked ruefully, and examined the edge of his lengthy leather belt. “They nearly got my tail.”

Ladybug tipped her head and listened to the dog barks. It was odd; the Rossis rarely spent the winter in the city. They traveled often, and usually only returned for the king’s annual summer hunt in the Forest of the Fay. She wondered what had called the family back to the city in the beginning of winter.

“If you keep using your gift to be a thief,” Ladybug said, “you’ll just have to suffer the consequences.”

“What about you, my lady?”

“What about me?”

“You’re a thief, too.”

Ladybug spluttered and her face grew hot with indignation. “I am not a thief!”

“But you’ve stolen my heart.”

He grinned a wide Cheshire grin and Ladybug could not help but laugh.

She hid her joy, though, by leaping onto a neighboring rooftop, following her familiar patrol around the edge of the palace, and Chat Noir followed.

“You’re particularly out of sorts tonight, buginette,” he said.

“Buginette?” she quirked an eyebrow. “You’re the one in rare form, chaton.”

“I’m not quite at the top of my game,” he agreed, careful to time this as he leapt on top of a chimney before jumping back down to keep pace with her. “I should have seen the dogs.”

“And what would we have done if you had been bitten and one of Hawk Moth’s monsters had shown up?”

“My lady, I would defend you to my last breath, bites and breaks be damned.”

Ladybug skidded to a stop just before reaching the palace wall. Chat Noir perched beside her.

As irritating and inconvenient as his thievery could be, he was as loyal as any friend that Marinette had. He had stood with Ladybug, bites and breaks be damned, and helped her defend the city from Hawk Moth’s monsters. She would have died several times over this past year without him at her side.

But she was off tonight, as he had pointed out. With the ball just a month away, it would be hard for her to make time to be Ladybug, to make time for Chat Noir. She was afraid to tell him, afraid of how it might hurt both of them.

Chat Noir’s playful green eyes softened as he took in Ladybug’s slumped shoulders and the pensive curve of her red lips. He twisted his silver ring, studded with green stones in the shape of a cat’s paw, once around his black-gloved finger. She wondered what it was that had him out of sorts tonight.

“Did you know that we’ve nearly reached the one-year anniversary of our partnership?” he asked.

“Er—I hadn’t realized. I’m not sure if it feels longer or shorter.” She searched for the answer that would encourage him best. “Part of me feels like we’ve always been doing this.”

He smiled, but his usual humor was lacking, as if he perhaps already knew what she was going to tell him, that their nights like this would be limited for a while. “It feels like it’s been forever,” he agreed, and pushed himself to his feet. “If you’d like a bouquet to celebrate, I know the castle gardens have a lovely bloom of hellebore every winter.”

“Do not steal from the castle gardens,” she laughed. “I can’t help you if the king takes your head.”

“The king would never. You and I are heroes.”

“Most of the time.”

“I cannot speak to what you do without your mask on,” Chat Noir shrugged. “What must you get up to when I’m not here to keep you in line?”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed and he grinned with pride.

Chat Noir loved Ladybug. He had said it a thousand different ways in word and deed, but none of it seemed to matter to her. She simply did not love him back, and there was nothing he could do about it. He did not think he had fallen in love with her at first sight—not the very first sight, at least, when she had caught him slipping out of the Bourgeois manor with a pair of wedding rings.

It wasn’t that Chat Noir needed to steal. When he took off his mask, he had more money than he knew what to do with. Really, he simply needed to prove to himself that he could. He needed to know that he truly had the freedom to move in and out of someone else’s house undisturbed. He had told this to Ladybug, but she had rolled her eyes and simply demanded he return the pair of rings he had lifted from the Bourgeois family. He had done so, but he had known it didn’t matter. André and Audrey Bourgeois never wore their wedding rings anyway.

He had never told Ladybug the second reason he liked slipping in and out of homes, partly because it was embarrassing but partly because he did not think she would believe him. One of Chat Noir’s favorite things to do when casing a home or slipping into it unseen was to simply observe the way people lived. He did not want to know where they kept their valuables, not really. He wanted to know what they valued and what their routines were and how they lived their lives.

But more than anything else, more than thieving or heroing, he liked sitting on a rooftop with Ladybug, listening to the sounds of the city around them and watching people go about their day. He liked observing people. It allowed him to imagine that one day, maybe, he could be a part of it. Maybe even be a part of it with Ladybug.

Someday he might tell Ladybug about that dream, but he was afraid it was too close to the truth of who he was, and she had made him promise never to tell her his real identity, just as she had sworn never to tell him her identity. It was necessary to keep their loved ones safe from Hawk Moth. Chat Noir did not think Hawk Moth could hurt his family, but he had agreed all the same. He would agree to anything that Ladybug asked of him.

Well, almost anything. It really was hard to stop stealing. He had an impulse for chaos that was not entirely his own, and it had to be fed somehow.

He wondered how she would take the news that just one month from now, he would have to give up his contract with his fay, that this past year was all he had to give her. He meant it when he had said bites and breaks be damned, but he did not see how he could keep up this life and the future that loomed before him.

As Ladybug and Chat Noir sat on a rooftop, taking in the lights of the palace, they did not know that in the center of the city, a heart was breaking.

But Hawk Moth knew. When he stood in the hidden loft he had built to avoid prying eyes and activated the magic of his own fay companion, he could sift through the emotions of each person within the city.

It sounded like the sort of power that might overwhelm a lesser man, but he had no trouble wading through the feelings of thousands. It was not much different from the weight of bearing a kingdom. For the most part, the people’s emotions were mundane, nothing more than a gentle river in the height of summer and easy to navigate. But every so often there was a tug, a dramatic pull to something all-consuming, a surge in the river’s flow. Hawk Moth was careful not to let that current pull him under. He held fast to his own grief as an anchor and watched the currents, waiting for the right one.

His gift of transmission allowed him to grant magical abilities to those in heightened states of emotions. When he had first found the creature, it had spoken of courageous soldiers turned to heroes and of panicked parents granted the strength they needed to rescue their children, but Hawk Moth had found a more effective use for this creature and its gift. He could turn agony and anger into abominations.

So he waded past currents of courage and jolts of joy in search of swells of sorrow to manipulate for his own mission.

His fingers tapped the lavender butterfly broach at his throat as he felt agony rise from a familiar place.

Xavier Ramier was a man prone to strong emotions, though it was not always sorrow that swelled from him. Monsieur Ramier took pride in his pigeons, felt extreme joy when a new chick hatched and nearly burst with courage when he entered his birds into competitions each summer. But he was also easily overcome with heartbreak when a bird passed on, or a snide judge critiqued the sheen of his new brood, or, as it happened tonight, a few rowdy teenagers got it in their heads to throw rotten eggs at his coop.

With the power of his fay, Hawk Moth cupped an ivory butterfly in his hands and whispered his dark incantation. The creature, now filled with his power and colored in deep violet, took off through the open window of the loft in search of the indignation that it could add its strength to.

[superas1an]

thank you for putting a name to the exact thing i’m writing out right now. bless you and all those you love and cherish. now to go back to writing a heart breaking story about clint and ali…

People should make more doomed by narratives siblings relationship.

Like with lovers you can just sever it and not have it related to you ever again but with siblings how could you?

You grow up with them you raise them or they raised you you both know how unforgiving the world is to both of you? You would die for them but will hate them for doing the same and yet none of you would regret it and both of you know it. They could be the person you loath the most and miss the most cause you still remember how they sneaked a candy into your hands. You can sever the tie but you can never look away at what you've lost, at whom you've lost because fate doesn't allow you to be together, eating dinners in quiet peace, if only there's another life, another time, where i can make you another plate of pancakes i would im sorry im sorry im sorry —

[toyogamii]

something changed - t.fushiguro

"hey did you-"

"get the apple juice for megs? yeah."

"what about-"

"yes, i also helped him pack his book bag."

toji furrows his brows, unable to remember the last time someone other than him had given his son this kind of affection. most of the time the people he dated looked at megumi with disdain, seeing him as an unfortunate add on rather. but not you, the second you saw megumi your eyes shone, you were elated to meet the little boy.

"... okay," he mumbles, still deep in thought.

"well don't sound too grateful," you tease, kissing his cheek and joining him on the couch, "you alright?"

"yeah just... can't remember the last time i wasn't the only one worried about the brat."

he pictures megumi's face, how his eyes brighten and he doesn't just smile, he laughs when you're around. toji's eyes soften and he can't help but grin at the thought. megumi loved you for sure and so did toji.

shit.

love?

it hit like a ton of bricks as he stared at you. you were rambling on about something or other but he couldn't here a thing. only seeing the slope of your nose and curve of your lips. he didn't think he'd ever be able to fall in love again... not after his first wife died. but here you were, waltzing into his life and taking care of both him and megumi. loving them both so easily...

"toji?"

he bliinks stupidly, his face going blank.

"huh?"

you laugh, that sweet precious laugh of yours pulls at his heart.

"i was asking if we should take megumi to the new water park tomorrow. i think he'd love it."

toji swallows hard then nods.

"yeah... yeah i think thats a good idea."

[eupheme]

— sugar, sugar

[part ii] | [part iii] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 6.5k

tags: asshole friend!wade, (sorta soft) roommate!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, flirting, mutual yearning, immature humor, a reference to while you were sleeping, wingman!wade and the worse way to meet someone, light angst, oral sex, swallowing, fingering, v. light ass play, unprotected PiV, appearance of The Claws, what’s a refractory period, sorta audible voyeurism (brief/humorous)

a/n: includes spoilers for deadpool & wolverine (which omg I loved - what was your fave cameo?)

Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

“You gonna introduce me?”

You’ve cornered Wade in the apartment’s laundry room - the door to the front-loading washer hanging open as he holds a bundle of red fabric up to his chest.

“You think this will wash out?” 

The suit in question looks like it had been run over by a truck and then set on fire, with the rips criss-crossed in the leather and the numerous charred holes scattered across the chest.

“Definitely.” Your eyes flicker down, and then back up, “So, will you?”

He bundles the suit up - flinging into the back of the washer, the laundry basket still tucked under an arm.

“Really? Not even ‘hello, Wade’? ‘Looking good, Wade’?” His voice pitches up, imitating yours, “Does our friendship really mean nothing to you?”

You wouldn’t necessarily call Wade Wilson a friend.

In fact, he’s honestly the worst neighbor you’ve ever had. 

Loud, obnoxious. Persuasive - the first night you met you had been banging on his door at three in the morning, yelling at him to shut up as music and a caterwauling voice blared through the shared wall.

Ten minutes later you were playing the drums on his late night session of Rock Band, using a banana and a wooden spoon in place of sticks. Only for Althea to stomp out of her room and shut everything down, scaring both of you out of your skins.  

But sometimes, you think - remembering the times he came through for you, a shoulder to cry on, helping him this slump he’s been digging himself out of - he might just be the best, as well.

And maybe that was friendship, after all. 

You sigh, leaning against the row of washers. Eyes flicking over him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You do look good, Wade,” There’s a tilt of your head, the smile widening, “Glad you lost the toupee, that really wasn’t your color.”

“Ah, ah. Repurposed,” He chides, cupping his crotch, “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed-”

“Ew, stop.” Your face scrunches, a hand covering your eyes as you shield your vision, “Will you please just answer my question?”

He throws a handful of shirts in the washer, “Which was...?”

Your head shakes - a hand on his arm as you reach for a glint of gold in the pile of clothes. Cringing as a handgun appears, held gingerly between thumb and forefinger as you set it on the side table.

“Good call,” He nods, “Dry clean only.”

You can't help a laugh then, even as your hands brace on your hips, “I want to meet your roommate.”

He frowns, “You’ve met Blind Al.”

“Jesus, Wade. Not Al." A hand waves, " I mean Mister Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”

You’ve seen the stranger in the hallways a few times in the month since he’s moved in. Scruffy and scowling the first time, a silent shadow behind Wade’s endless chatter. 

But in the weeks following, that look had softened. You’d stopped by twice with cookies to welcome him, but every time you’ve just gotten Al.

Not that you dislike Al, that’s not it at all. She’s sweet enough to you when it’s not 3 a.m. or if Wade doesn’t have her annoyed half to death.

But you certainly weren’t harboring a crush on her. Maybe even secretly hoping that maybe the new neighbor will get a little lost and end up at your door, instead of his new place.  

“Ooh,” The syllables draw out - detergent flung in, before he’s leaning against the washer too, facing you. “Yeah, Logan. He's great, got a mean ‘Hugh Jackman’ vibe, just without the singing. You’d like him.”

Something like hope flutters in your belly, but then he’s raising a finger - wiggling it at you, “Just one question though. What’s in it for me?”

That has you scowling, “What do you mean? You owe me. I covered for you when you had that barqueue in the stairwell.”

“God, that was great sausage.” Wade groans, thinking back, “Mmm, but I think Peter covered for me.”

“Who do you think got Peter?”

“Well, I don’t remember seeing you.” He shrugs.

“I was right-,” You pinch the bridge of your nose between thumb and forefinger, a sharp exhale of breath, “Fine. If you do this for me, I’ll do that thing you keep asking me to do.”

Wade gasps gleefully, “You mean you’ll make the triple decker-”

“-chocolate caramel cheesecake chimichangas. Yes.” You finish with him, arms crossing over your chest, “You’re lucky you heal fast because that should put you right into a food coma.”

“Right. Lucky me,” He smirks. A second as he thinks, before he snaps his fingers, “I’m having a little get-together tonight! You should come. Was gonna invite you anyway.”

The pounding in your head ratchets up at the thought that all this could’ve been avoided.

“Logan sleeps on the couch, though,” He adds, sagely, “So just letting you know that if the two of you decide to get your fuck on in my bed, according to the state of New York I am legally allowed to join you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” You grimace - even if you’re certain that cannot possibly be true, “But I do have my own apartment.”

“Oh, right.” There’s the faintest edge of disappointment in his tone, paired with a sigh.

You give him a sideways look, then.

“I saw Vanessa leaving yesterday. Things getting better?”

He sobers at that, eyes moving towards the sliver of a window. The glimpse of the street outside.

“Yeah.” Wade manages, “Yeah, I think so.”

There had once been a flicker of something. In-between your annoyance and exasperation, there were tendrils of tenderness. Long snuffed out, when you had seen just how banged up his heart was. How it’s always belonged to another. 

You had gotten over it. Gotten to a place where seeing him now, like this, makes you smile.

“I’m really glad to hear that.” 

He smiles, then.

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Hey, hold on.” Wade darts in front of his roommate, a leg kicked up high to block the doorway, “Where are you going? You can’t go out.”

Logan scowls, an arm already shoved into his leather jacket, “Sure I can.”

The blow against his shoulder might move a lesser man, but Wade’s fingers just grip the frame even tighter, “But I promised-, I got a friend that wants to meet you. There is some really important shit at stake here. I can’t let you go.”

An eyebrow cocks, “Can’t? I think we both know how that would go if you tried to stop me.”

It would be easy to get into this right here and now, but his suit is still in the dryer and he’s not about to spend another hour cleaning up blood.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He throws a hand up, “Aren’t you listening to me? A girl wants to meet you. She’s hot, she has a job, and she has an apartment. You’re only one outta three there. Can’t you see what a good opportunity this is? This is totally in your favor!”

Logan scoffs, his tongue tucking against his teeth. Hesitating for just a second, but it's enough that Wade knows he’s got him.

“I’ve met your friends,” He eventually acknowledges, “They’re good folk and all, but there isn’t anyone there I’d like to ‘get to know better’, yeah?”

“You haven’t met this one. She lives next door.”

The pause stretches longer this time. Dark eyes dart out into the hallway, and Wade can practically hear those rusted gears turning.

“Apartment 16 or 18?” Logan finally rasps, his arms crossing. 

Oh, he’s definitely got him. Just call him Wade Wilson, New York’s own personal Cupid. New life goal - get his friends laid. 

He nocks a mental arrow - aiming, and then firing with his answer. 

“18.” 

Another beat passes, and then a sigh. 

“Alright.” The leather sleeve slips from his arm, drooping in his fist.

“Five minutes. That’s all I’m staying.”

Wade’s fist pumps. 

Bullseye, motherfucker. 

The apartment is packed and it’s been well past the allotted five minutes. Logan’s been nursing a beer for the last fifteen, eyes flicking over the people he’s grown to know well.

Offering a tight, half-smile when the big man claps him on the back, followed by Opposites Attract. Almost tempted to find that damn dog, just to have something to do. 

Or maybe, just bail all-together.

Starting to think this was all an elaborate prank. Some fucked up aspect of this Earth, unknown to him until now.

He’s too old for this shit. If he heads for the bedroom now, he might make it out the fire escape before anyone notices.

Logan is still entertaining this new thread of thought until he hears his name - called out over whatever fuck-face bullshit boy-band music Wade’s been playing. 

Ambiance, his ass.

The muscles of his crossed arms flex. Catching the way his roommate hauls a girl across the floor - the look of panic on her face as she tosses a container onto the nearest surface.

Wade hadn’t been lying, after all. It was Apartment 18 - that was about as much as he knew about you.

Other than the color of your eyes. The smell of your perfume in the hall. Your hair, your schedule - waking in the mornings to hear your door opening at 5 a.m., five days a week.

A baker. A damn good one, from the bits of cookie he’s snuck when no one was home. 

Had never thought to introduce himself, because he’s been through all this before. Knows better than to reach out in the first place - still nursing the old wound of heartache, one that still flares to life in his chest.

Better not to hope, or even think, at all. 

You stumble when he lets go, and Logan’s hands only curl tighter. Afraid to touch, now that you’re so close. 

A pretty young thing compared to him. This was a fucking stupid idea, his eyes darting away as Wade claps, his hands spreading wide. 

“Logan,” Wade’s tone is cordial, as if discussing the weather, “This is our neighbor, Sugar. She bakes a mean penis cake and likes emotionally unavailable men.”

A dejected sigh as he regards you, “Which is why it’s never worked out between us. I am just too available.”

Penis cake?

Logan shoots you a sideways look, an eyebrow cocked. Caught off guard by this unexpected intro, and it seems you are the same - gauging by the way your mouth drops open. 

Your face swimming with regret, as you hiss, “Oh my god. Wade. It was one time. Why do you have to put it like that?”

Wade’s smile widens, his tone still innocent, “Just skipping over the ‘getting-to-know-you’s, so you can know if you’re compatible.”

Already pivoting to face Logan with a little wink, his own scowl already deepening. Something like nerves flickering to life - as he wonders if this will all be over before it ever begins.

“And this is Logan. He’s from another Earth, is two-hundred years old, and has a metal dong.”

Jesus Christ. 

Logan’s teeth grit, before he snarls, “It’s not made of metal-”

Out of the corner of his eye, catches the curious dip of your gaze. Past the folded twist of his arms, the flannel, down to his thick belt buckle.

A knock rings out then, interrupting him from any further clarification.

“Ooh! Door,” Wade thumbs over his shoulder, “Go on now, we’ve got some good energy going here. Sugar and spice, I love it.”

A spin on his heel, and he’s leaving them alone. Silence a lingering companion for a long moment, before Logan turns.

“Nice to meet you.” He seethes, jaw working as he shoots daggers at Wade’s back. A hand extended - he’d manage that much at least.

Waiting for you to make an excuse and run, but all you do is fit your hand into his. Soft and strong and a near perfect fit.

Logan doesn’t touch people much anymore unless it’s a hand around a throat, or claws buried deep into a chest. Had almost forgotten what it was like, even if this meeting is close to his own personal version of hell.

“Nice to finally meet you, too.” Your smile is wry. Hands still clasped a moment longer, until he’s withdrawing. 

Your hands shove into your back pockets. The tilt of a head as you regard him, and he lets his eyes meet yours. 

They’re pretty, like the rest of you. Captivating even, if he could use such a word, and Wade’s words ring out in his head. 

She wants to meet you.

He’s wondering if that’s still true. Maybe you’re wondering the same, with the way you look at him. 

“So,” You begin, awkwardly - another unconscious flick of your eyes,“How does-”

“Uh-uh.” Logan’s head shakes. He’s picked up a couple things living with Wade. Never used to be a bargaining man, but he has to admit it has its uses. 

“If you wanna know, you gotta go first.” 

He hates you.

He must, with the way he’s scowling. Thighs spread wide as he sits on the couch you had gestured to, fingers in a vice grip around the bottle. No doubt plotting a dozen ways to ditch you the second he can.

Who wouldn’t, with a meeting like this? You could kill Wade, cheeks burning as you sink into the worn cushions next to him.

That is, until your knee knocks against his. The muscles in his thigh flexing - but Logan lets it rest, instead of pulling away. 

“You gonna-?” His voice is gruff, a low rasp that makes goosebumps raise across your skin. 

“Uh, sure.” Your fingers twist, “Which part did you want to hear about?”

His eyebrows lift. Those dark eyes beneath, almost a hint of amusement in them.

“Right,” The little laugh that bubbles from you is self-conscious, “Well, I don’t really like emotionally unavailable men, they just have a habit of finding me.”

His voice is low, “How would Wade know that?”

“Mm, how would he know about your-?” Your eyes flicker down for the third time, and he shifts. 

“You first.”

“Alright.” You huff, but you’re smiling now. Some of your discomfort easing. 

Logan is even more handsome than you had thought. You like the way his eyes dart away, only to come back and linger. 

It’s starting to make you think that maybe it’s not dislike that has so much of him hidden away. Maybe it’s just been a long time since someone tried to peel any of him back. 

Maybe he’s as nervous as you are.

“Well, he’s had to scare an ex or two away.” You shrug, “He only knows because I told him. And the cake, oh-, that was him, too.”

You turn then, to face him. A shoulder brushing the arm he has thrown across the back of the couch, a flicker in his eyes as you get comfortable beside him.

“Well, Wade had gotten ripped in half a couple years ago,” You nose wrinkles, a wave of your hand, “And it all like, has to grow back, right? It’s so creepy.”

Logan grimaces at your explanation, and you wonder if he understands. You think he must - you had thought he was like Wade, in some ways. 

Different. Special.

“Well, he uh, finished growing everything in,” You make a sweeping gesture over your lower half, “And the next year to celebrate his dickiversary, he ordered a penis cake from my shop.”

“His… dickiversary.” Logan repeats slowly.

The heat is back in your cheeks, but you nod, “Yeah, because it like, it came back and all. And he paid in cash, I couldn’t say no.”

There’s the smallest twitch of Logan’s lips, and it feels like a victory.

“Right. What flavor was it?”

Your smile widens with relief, “Strawberries and cream. It was so good. I’ll have to make it for you sometime.”

A second before you cringe, adding, “I mean, a normal one. Not…”

He hums then, close to a laugh.  

“Sure. You do that.”

You smile, letting your shoulder bump his, “And with that… I think it’s your turn.”

The bit of humor in his expression flattens. A searching look thrown your way, before he inhales a breath.

Setting it free. 

“I’m a mutant.”

Logan waits there, as if expecting something. You only nod, thinking of the ones you know. Colossus, Ellie, Yukio, Domino. Wade. 

“Wade said you were similar to him. I had assumed-” You encourage, waiting.

“Right,” He seems relieved, some of the tension ebbing, “My powers are regenerative, like his. But unlike him, I have these-”

There’s the jerk of his wrist, and three sharp metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. Your gasp is caught in your throat as you cling to his flannel shirt - the surprise bleeding into worry. 

They glint in the light, as his fingers flex. 

“Adamantium instead of bones. All of me is like this.”

The claws sheath themselves inside him again. His wounds smoothing over seconds later, as he scrubs his knuckles across his jeans, wiping away blood. 

Offering out his hand, after. Letting your grip unwind from his shirt, and press against his skin instead. Feeling the tendons in his hand, his wrist. The skeleton beneath utterly unyielding, a weight to his limb that is so unlike your own.

“Metal…” You trail off, as pieces click into place, “I get it now. So does Wade really think there’s like, an actual bone-?”

Logan huffs again, “Guess so.”

You laugh then. A thought sobering you after, as a fingertip drifts up to the dip between his fingers. 

“But doesn’t that hurt?” 

It makes you wince to even think about it. Much less how casually they sprung from him, no different than breathing. 

He shrugs, and it’s heartbreaking.

“Doesn’t even phase me anymore.”

“And, the two hundred years,” Another facet you put together out loud, “You’re still alive because you keep healing? Will it be that way forever?”

His hand flexes in your grip.

“Not forever. Apparently my powers will run out, at some point.” His eyes meet yours, “The Logan in this world is dead. Wade pulled me from another.”

Your brow furrows - always trying to keep up with the snippets that Wade has told you across the years - stories about time-traveling and mutants and even how he came to be. But this seems too deep. Surely Logan must be joking.

“Another world, huh?” You ask, head tilting - trying your best to roll with it, “Won’t they miss you in yours?”

Only now does his face falter. That sharp mask cracking, as his hand pulls from yours. Resting again on the back edge of the couch - his answer low and rough. 

“No. I don’t think so.”

Another jolt racks through your heart. You don’t know him know him yet, but you already can’t believe that could possibly be true. Your fingers fan out, hovering - before it folds into a fist.

“Well then, I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t reply. 

The room is darker now, dim with the setting of the sun. Street lights outside pouring in a golden beam that cuts across his face. 

His eyes are hazel, you can see that now. A fading rim of green spilling into the brown, beneath the near-permanent furrow of his eyebrows. 

Yours caught in the glow of the flamingo string lights that curl out from the kitchen, stapled to the walls.

He breaks the silence, the words coming slowly. 

“Let me ask you one more thing.” 

“Sure. You know some of my worst secrets already.” You smile, a shoulder lifting.

His hand twitches, where it rests near your shoulder. The tip of a finger ghosting against skin.

Just the slightest brush but it feels like it radiates out, lingering after.

“Why’d you tell Wade you wanted to meet me?” 

His voice is still low, rough. But it’s lost that sharp edge. The combination has your stomach tied up in knots, suddenly more nervous that you’ve been the whole night.

Surely he must know? 

“Well…” You hedge. It’s your turn to look away, but then there’s the brush of his fingers again.

“Because I did want to meet you.” You admit, “You, you seemed like someone I wanted to get to know. In whatever capacity you’d like.”

“Is that right, Sugar?” Logan husks, and the nickname sounds even sweeter on his tongue, stealing your breath.

All you can do is nod, as his eyes darken. 

Voices rise behind you, ripping you out of this little bubble you’ve found yourself in. Nearly forgetting just how many people are here, how many eyes have been glancing your way since you’ve arrived.

“Not strip poker Wade, please.” The rough rumbling plea of Colossus’s voice rings out above the others, “You never wear anything under the suit-”

You didn’t even realize when he had changed, but he had - patches of bare skin on his ass showing through the holes. Your nose scrunches, before you turn back to realize that Logan’s eyes are still on you.

Dropping when your tongue peeks out to wet your lips - your words coming out in a soft hush. 

“You want to get out of here?”

You want him. You can only hope that he might just want you, too.

The corner of his lip twitches.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

It’s strange to have someone like Logan in your space. You can remember the last time you’ve wanted someone here.

His fingers still entwined with yours, from where you had reached back for him. Leading him through the dim corners of the room.

Thinking you had made it, only for the rousing cheers to rise when you had cracked the door open to slip through.

His grip tightening when you made to tug your hand free, in an urge to press it against burning cheeks. Letting you fumble with one hand, to open the lock next door.

It’s quieter here. A low echo of the music next door, as the darkness wraps around you again.

Here, his fingers move, but it’s only to skim up your wrist. To tug you between him and the front door, until your back presses against it. 

His nose brushes yours as he steps into your space, your lips already parting. Holding himself there for a moment, inhaling the scent of you as his arm braces above your head.

Leaving you to be the one that closes the gap. The tilt of your head and the press of your lips against his.

A rough hum when your arms wrap around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. His hand gripping at your waist, pulling your hips against his.

Tugging and pushing. A messy path from the front door through the small living room - a mirror-image of the apartment next door.

Through to the bedroom, wandering hands and the brush of his tongue against yours as he deepens the needy kiss. Until his knees are hitting the edge of your bed, and he’s letting you nudge him back onto the mattress.

He brings you with him - your hips cradling his as you settle yourself astride him. Hands flatten against his chest as you rock down - drawing a rough, mumbled “fuck”.

Grinding yourself down where he’s hard, the curve of his cock straining against his jeans. Letting your hands follow, as his own cup your ass. Squeezing, before slipping to press the heel of his hand against the seam at your clit.

You moan into his mouth, as your fingers curl around him. Eyes blown wide when you pull back, scooting your hips down. 

It’s here that he comes back to himself. 

Going tense as you fit yourself between his thighs, fingers at this belt as the other still cups him.

“You shouldn’t want this.” He rasps, those eyes glinting in the dark, “A man like me. You know that, right?”

Propping himself up on an elbow, so he can see your expression. So you can see the way his jaw grits, nostrils flaring. 

It’s a warning, wrapped up in silk. A last ditch effort to scare you away - knowing that once he has you, he won’t want to stop.

Your fingers slow - his zipper half-undone, baring skin and a dark shadow of hair beneath. 

The other pulling away, “You want me to stop?” 

He catches your wrist, jerking your hand back. His hips bucking into your palm, grinding himself into your touch. 

“The last thing I want to fucking do is stop.” It’s almost a growl, “But on my Earth, I-”

You sigh then, impatient, “Logan, this Earth isn’t all that great either. I lost five years of my life to the blip.”

He frowns, not understanding - but your head shakes as you continue, “I’m tired of being too scared to take chances. I’ve been trying to live each day to the fullest, and I’d like to end this one with you.”

And out of everyone - Logan knows a little something about second chances.

“Yeah,” He manages - the grip of his fist leaves you, “Yeah, okay.”

"Thank you,” You answer primly, just as you finish yanking the zipper down. 

His hand beats you in the race to ease himself out, fingers curling around the base. You can’t help it - you inhale a breath at the sight of him.

Heavy, with the way the flushed tip bobs in his grip. Thick enough that you’re already wondering if you’re going to be able to take him. 

The huff he makes turns into a groan as you start small - engulfing the leaking head with your lips. The first inch turns into another as his hips lift, feeding his cock into your waiting mouth. 

Only when he’s halfway inside you, bumping against your throat, does his hand drop. Letting you replace it with your own - squeezing, as drool slicks up his shaft. Your head bobbing in time with the twist of your fist.

That brief hesitance is quickly forgotten. Fingers brush at your cheek, curling around the base of your head as he guides you.

Leaving you eager for more. Another hissed groan when your mouth leaves him, your hand loosening as you strip your clothes away.

“Oh fuck yes,” He coaxes, when he realizes what you’re doing, “Let me see you, baby.” 

Your shirt and pants left to pool on the floor. A second of boldness as you unclasp your bra next, leaving you in your panties as you focus on his cock again. 

A bitten-back moan when your tongue slips across his swollen shaft - an low throb between your thighs as you rub them together, clenching around nothing. Resisting the urge to slip your hand beneath the hem to ease the ache. 

Instead, your keep your hands on him. Goosebumps raising as your nails scratch against the deep v of muscle at his hips. The others working him into your mouth, as he slowly comes more undone. 

His hips flex with each bob of your head, lips parted as he pants. The words a rough mumble, becoming almost desperate. 

“That’s it sweetheart.”

Another moan when you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, “Oh fuck, gonna fill that pretty mouth.”

His hand cups your jaw, holding you steady as he bucks into your mouth. Those dark eyes fixed on you in wonder, all that pretty skin bared for him to touch, to taste. He’s mesmerizing like this - the weight of gaze. Jaw slack with pleasure, eyes aflame.

You did this to him. 

It sends something warm flooding through you, as his eyelashes flutter. The tipping back of his head, muscles ticking in his cheek as his teeth ground down. 

A sound still slips between them, as he floods your mouth with the next flex of his hips. Pulsing between your lips as you swallow him down, a choked sound ripping from his chest when you cup his sack to gently squeeze out every last drop. 

Logan melts into the mattress after, an arm thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath. His gaze focusing on you when he feels you squirm - dark, and hungry.

A lithe stretch of muscles as he moves - legs easing from beneath you. 

“Hands and knees,” He commands, head tipping towards the bed next to him, as he rolls off. Kicking off his jeans as you listen, watching over a shoulder as the flannel and white tank underneath joins your clothes on the floor.

Your eyes widen at how toned he is - muscles rippling, the bed dipping as he fits himself behind you.

His broad hand at the small of your back, pushing your torso down against the mattress. A pleased hum then, fingers trailing just along the elastic edge of your underwear.

“Could smell how much she needed this.” The tips of two press against the damp fabric between your thighs, making you gasp, “Even next door. You want it that bad?”

It should be embarrassing that he could tell how much you desired him, but at the moment all you can think about is him touching you more.

“Yes,” You agree, “Please, Logan.”

“So fuckin’ polite,” The fingers withdraw; but only so his nose can replace them. A ragged inhale, just before his tongue drags against your clothed slit.

A groan against your skin as you cry out, before a finger hooks around the fabric, baring you for him to taste.

The heat of his tongue flattens against you - lapping at where you drip with need, a rough rumble in his chest. 

“Sweet, too.” Another flick of his tongue, “Your name. ‘s fitting.”

You can’t manage words. Only his name, muffled against the sheets as your fists twist in them. Back arched as you resist the urge to grind yourself against his tongue, as it flicks against your clit.

It’s messy, how he eats you. You don’t think you’ve even had someone take you like this. Hungry, desperate even, as he devours you. The rumble of a groan against your cunt as his tongue delves inside you, stretching you open. Letting your slick smear into his beard, with how close he presses his mouth.

That need inside you thrumming. Winding tighter as he yanks your panties down your thighs. His palm flattening against your ass, holding you open as he licks you from clit to hole, then higher. Humming as you squeak, when his tongue flattens against your tight rim. 

A thick finger nudging against you then, as his tongue dips back to your clit. There’s no resistance as it slips deeper, into slick walls that clamp down around him.  It’s what you needed - that little bit more.

Unable to help rocking into the crook of his finger now. Whining when a second joins it, spearing deep and curling. Dragging against your walls, loud and wet and filthy with each plunge. 

Your whimpers only grow louder. Needier, as his lips wrap around your clit. Fingers pounding deep, stretching you out. Leaving you babbling, your words slipping together. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” Tears prick at your eyes, each breath a rattling gasp, “Oh my god you’re gonna make me come-”

He has you gushing, with the next flick of his tongue. A pleased groan as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, hearing the wail that is muffled into your pillows. That sharp pace slowing, his thumb replacing his tongue to draw your orgasm out until your legs are shaking. 

His fingers sticky when they pull from you, only to slip between his lips - tongue curling around his knuckles, sucking them clean.

It leaves you floating above yourself. You can’t remember ever coming this hard, even by yourself. Only the tintest thread of disappointment as you drift, and it’s only that you won’t get the pleasure of his cock filling you tonight.

You would’ve liked to see what he can do with the rest of him. 

Perhaps you can convince him to stay until morning.

But he moves behind you, instead. His knee pressing against yours, spreading your legs further. The rhythmic shuffle of skin against skin, as his hand slips from between his lips to fist around his cock. 

“Tell me I can fuck you.” It’s not a plea, not with the harsh rasp of his voice. But it’s as close as you’ve heard, as he swipes the tip against your leaking pussy.

Smearing your slick on him, teasing at your waiting hole.

You don’t know how he’s hard again, but at the moment you really don’t care. Not sure if you’ve ever felt a need like this, your back arching further as you present yourself to him. 

A twist of your neck, so your eyes can meet his. 

“Fuck me, Logan.” 

He groans, broad hands squeezing at your ass. Slipping up to sink his fingers into the flesh at your hips. Holding you steady as he lines himself up. 

Your breath held, when you feel his cock start to breach you - muscles stringing tight.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He grits out, though not unkindly, “You can take it.”

Trying to hold himself back from filling you with a single thrust, with the way you’re already gripping him.

Easing himself into your heat. Two inches forward and then one back, and with each one you think you’ll feel the press of his thighs against yours. A low whine as your cunt makes room for him, that sharp stretch as it feels like he’s reaching into your belly.

Feeling full when he finally is flush, the weight of his sack kissing against your clit. His shoulders following the curve of your back, as a hand slips up to plant next to your head.

“Feels fucking incredible,” It’s mumbled against your skin, almost as if it hadn’t meant to say it. 

“Mm,” You grin, your face tipping up to his, “Should’ve met you weeks ago.”

He smirks, a low sound in his throat as his mouth presses to yours. Starting a slow rhythm that drags his cock against your walls. Slipping until he’s halfway out, only to sheath himself again. Pushing the air from your lungs as he flattens himself, knees digging into the bed as your thigh spread wider - forcing him deeper.

It’s almost too much. 

You hand shoots out, reaching. Wrapping around his wrist, nails biting against his skin. 

It feels like he’s surrounding you. Each thrust a heavy weight that presses you into the bed. Splitting you open, until all you can do is squirm beneath him.

That pressure in your belly building again, as his hips pound. His breath, hot and panting in your ear as he chases his own end.

“Fuck, Logan.” You sob, “Harder-”

His tendons flex under your grip. Knuckles pressing flat against the sheets as he makes a rough sound in his throat. 

Those claws unsheathing with his next thrust. Punching down into your mattress. Anchoring as he loses himself to the feel of you beneath him.

How tight and wet and warm you are, your arousal still sweet on his tongue. Fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your throat, as everything tightens up inside him.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, rasped out. 

“Come in me,” You whine, “Wanna feel you.”

He does growl then, at the thought of filling you to the brim, until he's leaking out of your pretty little pussy. Hips snapping faster, pinning you to the bed as he ruts into you. Each squeak of the bed paired with the sharp rip of fabric as his claws dig in. 

Feeling how your body strings tight beneath him, how you clench down in anticipation. Wanting to feel you once more, before he gives in to his own desires.

“Come on, baby,” It’s hushed, murmured against your skin, “Fuckin’ give it to me-”

The sharp point of a canine scraping against your skin, his groan rough and throaty in your ear. 

Your fingers work down to wedge themselves between your thighs. The tips brushing where you’re speared open, before circling your clit like his tongue had.

He has you mindless. Fucked out - that soft glow from your earlier orgasm shining bright as he tips you towards a second.

Burning at that tightly wound thread inside you, until the ends fray, and then snap. 

It has you coming with his next thrust. A wail ripped from you as he buries himself deep, feeling the way your pussy clenches down around him. 

Fingers still swirling, drawing out the deep pulses that fan out from your core as your toes curl, vision going hazy.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He rasps, those sharp thrust slowing to a sloppy grind, “Make a fucking mess for me, there you go-”

Panting, as he groans. Another roll of his hips before he’s coming with you - teeth bruising skin as they sink into your shoulder. The sound he makes is broken as he spills into you, muscles clenching with each pulse that paints your walls.  

Marking you thoroughly with teeth and come, the saw of his hips slowing until you both finally go still. A breath finally caught. 

Blissed out, when he rolls you both to the side. His thighs still mapping yours, cock still notched deep. A thick arm thrown across your waist, his breath ragged in your ear as he catches his breath.

Your fingers drift, as you bask in your afterglow. Dipping into the rips in your mattress, knuckle deep.

There’s a grunt as you wiggle, the words low in your ear, “I’ll get you another, sweetheart. Just lost control for a moment.”

The thought doesn’t bother you as much as you’d think. In fact, you wouldn’t mind if happened again.

Only as your imagination runs wild, do you hear the muffled moan from the brick wall behind you.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Dramatic and drawn out, paired with faint rhythmic noise. 

A beat - before you hear mumbled protesting. The voice of someone talking with their mouth full, “No. Back the fuck off Peter, I’m not going to share.” 

Eating. The fucker was eating his end of the bargain, ear pressed to the wall.

The next louder, “Alright, pay up everyone, Operation ‘Get Sugar Some Sugar’ was a success!”

You grimace, eyes rolling. Logan grunts behind you, the words mumbled out sleepily.

“Wish I could sew that goddamn mouth shut.”

There’s a faint “they already tried that!” before Logan’s fist bangs on the wall, shutting him up.

But you can’t help the smile. Your fingers fitting between the ones that rest just below your breasts, squeezing.

“He’s not so bad,” You admit, “Wade, I mean.”

Logan groans, “Don’t say his name while I’m fucking you.”

“You’re-” You start - but then you can feel him.

Still hard - as his hips cant slowly against yours. Your joined hands slip up to cup a breast - as his lips press against your neck, stubble scraping you skin.

“Again?” You breathe, disbelieving that he’d be up for a third time - your hips rocking back to meet his. The sound lewd with how he drips from you - but it only has him grinding himself deeper, “You sure you’re two hundred?”

“Regenerative powers, sweetheart.” Logan husks, the flash of teeth with a knowing smirk.

“Can’t say it doesn’t come with perks.”

I used to have the biggest fucking crush on wolverine, haha - so fun to watch a new movie with him!! 👀💕 thank you so much for reading! And please me know if you'd like to read any more for him! (like more one-shots,etc!)