#i wrote!

[areyoudreaminof]

Ya girl wrote a snippet??

Not what I was expecting to write, but I wrote omg.

“No! I don’t wanna!” 

Cassian sighed deeply. His daughter was only two, she couldn’t be this stubborn. But yet, here she sat on the middle of the floor, looking like her mother. Her arms were folded, her lower lip jutting out, and her silver blue eyes blazing. 

“Orianna, it’s time to go. We don’t want to get to Illyria late.” 

“I don’t want to go to Illyria!” She thumped her fists down on the rug for emphasis. “I want to stay in the library!” But library came out like “wibary” and Cassian tried to hold in his laughter. 

“Don’t you want to go help Aunt Emerie in her shop? Mama is there waiting for us.” Cassian lowered himself onto the floor slowly, taking care not to spook Ori. She was quick on her feet and her wings and the House would aid her in escape. 

“I wanna stay with Aunt Gwyn in the library!” Ori rubbed at her eyes furiously. There it is, Cassian thought, she’s tired. He reached out for her slowly, scooping her into his arms. “Aunt Gwyn is coming to Illyria with Uncle Az tomorrow,” he reminded her as he held her tight against his chest, “we have to beat them there. I’ll get you strapped in and you can take a nap.” He knew she’d be asleep before they made it out of the valley.

“I don’t wanna go to Illyria,” she whined into his chest, picking absently at the siphon in his leathers. “They’re mean and I don’t like them. I wanna stay in the library.” Ori’s wings drooped, from exhaustion and defeat. 

“Who’s mean, Ori?” Cassian asked, as she nestled her head into his neck. 

“The old females,” he little voice piped from his shoulder, Cassian met her silver blue eyes that were filled with worry and tears. “They call me half-breed. And ugly. The boys don’t do it anymore, ‘cause Nyx beat them up, but the females all say it.” Ori rubbed her eyes with a chubby fist before burrowing back into Cassian’s neck and chest her voice whimpered and muffled. “I wanna stay in the library.”

[musette22]

The Element of Surprise

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Rating: Explicit (18+ only please)

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: rough(er) sex, light degrading language, light roleplay, light Dom/sub

A/N: AKA the long awaited mustache fic (awaited by no one but me, but still). I've had that little text convo at the beginning saved in my notes app for a long time, but I never quite knew how I wanted to follow it up. I still didn’t really know where I was going with this when I finally started writing it, but I should have known it would turn into filth. I’m not sorry, except to those of you who can't abide the 'stache (even though your opinion is wrong) <3 And btw, if you're thinking 'this reads like a bad porn flick', that is entirely intentional 😌 Hope you enjoy! Comments = love <3

****

C: be there in 30

S: I'll put a beer in the freezer

C: I love you

S: I know

S: love you too

C: and seb, just

C: don't laugh ok

S: huh?

S: why would I laugh

C: you'll see

S: ?? what does that mean?

C: be there soon 😘

Sebastian huffs, leaving his phone on the couch as he heads into his kitchen and pulls open the pantry door.

He doesn’t drink enough beer to permanently keep his fridge stocked with the stuff, and while Chris does love his beer (understatement), he’s trying to cut back. Or at least not to drink on weeknights. Too much. But since tonight is Friday and they have a whole weekend ahead of them in which they’ll be doing nothing but relaxing, ordering pizza, and watching movies, Sebastian figures they can start indulging a little early. He grabs a couple of beers from the bottom shelf, sticking them in the freezer to chill, so Chris will come home to a cold beer later.

As he returns to the living room and stretches out on the couch, bag of potato chips in hand, it occurs to Sebastian just how domestic it all feels. The thought makes him smile.

He’s never been very good at domesticity, which it’s why it’s even more surprising how much he likes it, this time around. He knows he shouldn’t get too used to having Chris in his space, he does, but it’s just too nice not to want to soak it up and roll around in it every chance he gets. The prospect of Chris staying at his place for longer than just a weekend makes something warm and giddy fizz in the pit of his stomach. It’s addictive.

For the next few months, Chris will be on stage every night in his first ever Broadway play, and for the duration of its run, he’ll be staying in New York.

Officially, Chris is renting a swanky place in Tribeca.

Unofficially, he’s staying with Sebastian at his tiny SoHo apartment.

The fact that Sebastian lives in New York played at least some part in Chris’s decision to do a Broadway play this year. They were both tired of only seeing each other whenever one of them could take a few days off to visit the other (under the radar, of course). Already, Chris spending an extended period of time in New York has done their relationship a world of good.

Things are good. Easy. If he’s being honest with himself, Sebastian can’t remember the last time he felt so content.

Since coming to New York, Chris has been going to rehearsals every weekday. Sebastian has sometime off in between projects, and he’s set to attend the premiere of Lobby Hero this Monday – ostensibly as an interested co-star, secretly in the capacity of supportive boyfriend. He can’t wait to see Chris shine on stage. Chris is nervous as hell, to the point where he’s wondered if blowing the whole thing off wouldn’t be better than letting everyone down, but there’s no doubt in Sebastian’s mind that he’ll knock it out of the park. Chris is a lot better than he gives himself credit for.

When a car door slams outside his apartment, Sebastian sits up, brushing the crumbs off his sweater – a soft, light blue one that Chris says brings out his eyes. When he darts a look out the window, Chris’s cab is just driving off. The man himself is keeping his head down, so all Sebastian can see is the top of the baseball cap he’s wearing.

Curious now, Sebastian gets up to greet Chris. Less than a minute later, the door to Sebastian’s apartment opens, Chris walks in, looks up, and –

Sebastian chokes on air.

The sound that leaves him is one he’s never heard himself make before; something high and squeaky and extremely embarrassing.

“Don’t,” Chris says instantly, a warning in his voice.

Sebastian gapes at him.

“You have a mustache,” he says faintly, once he’s remembered how to talk.

“Yep.” Chris lifts a hand to his face, fiddling with said mustache. “It’s for the role.”

Distantly, Sebastian registers he sounds a little off, and that’s when he finally notices the hint of apprehension in Chris’s eyes. Just the smallest glint of poorly concealed uncertainty.

Chris is worried, Sebastian realizes with a start.

Worried that Sebastian will laugh at him. That Sebastian might not find him attractive anymore.

Well. No need to worry about that, apparently.

Because for some unholy reason, that thing on Chris’s upper lip – big and bushy and only about half an inch on either side removed from being a handlebar mustache – is currently making Sebastian want to climb him like a fucking tree.

Not that he doesn’t normally want to do that, but urge is suddenly more intense than usual. By about three hundred and twelve percent.

“You look…”

“Ridiculous?” Chris supplies, self-deprecating as always. “Like my dad? A 70s porn star?”

“You look hot.” Sebastian doesn’t quite mean to blurt it out like that, but he does anyway. And. Well. That’s out there now.

Chris’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I – what?”

“Fuck,” Sebastian breathes. He runs a shaky hand through his short hair, trying to gather his thoughts. “Look, I don’t know what this says about me, but uh. I am like, really fucking attracted to you right now. Even more than usual, I mean.”

For a long moment, Chris looks at him as if he’s crazy, or maybe like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, but once it becomes clear that Sebastian isn’t joking (if only he were), Chris’s expression turns into one of tentative amusement.

“You’re serious,” he says, taking a step closer. Keeping his eyes fixed on Sebastian’s face, he carefully runs his thumb and forefinger over the mustache in a gesture that kind of makes him look like he’s up to no good. “You like it?”

Sebastian swallows. “Uh-huh.”

“Didn’t know you had a thing for guys with mustaches.”

“Neither did I.” Sebastian takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I think it might even just be you.”

“Oh, really?” Chris asks, some of his usual cheek returning now that he realizes he isn’t going to get laughed at. Far from it, in fact. “Huh. What do you like about it?”

“Um,” Sebastian says, swallowing as Chris steps closer. Oh Christ, it’s even worse up close. Or better, depending how you look at it. And Sebastian is looking at it. Can’t tear his eyes away from it, actually. “It. Uh - it makes you look…”

Several words flit, unbidden, through Sebastian’s mind, each one worse than the last. Macho. Authoritative. Mean.

“…good,” he finishes lamely.

Worryingly, Chris’s smile grows into a full-blown grin, and Sebastian’s skin erupts into goosebumps.

Oh, no. Sometimes Sebastian really wishes Chris didn’t know him as well as he does.

Though when Chris takes off his baseball cap, tossing it onto the hallway table, Sebastian hisses. “Ah, okay. The hair is kinda bad.”

Chris snorts, running his fingers through the spiky strands. “Right? I look like an asshole.”

“Little bit.”

Chris gives him a calculating look. “So… does that mean the effect is ruined?”

Sebastian takes a moment to consider this. “I mean, it’s objectively bad, but…” he trails off. Ugh, he really should be used to this by now, but on some level Sebastian still can’t believe that Chris can make literally any look work for him. So annoying. “…no. Not ruined. Sadly.”

Reassured, Chris slowly starts to advance on him. With every step that Chris takes forward, Sebastian takes one back, until his heels hit the wall of his hallway. He holds his breath, feeling like a bunny rabbit about to be eaten by a wolf, though presumably a little more turned on than said bunny rabbit would be at the prospect.

Stopping right in front of him, Chris leans in, placing his hands against the wall on either side of Sebastian’s shoulders.

“Hey, good lookin’,” Chris says, his breath ghosting Sebastian’s left ear. Sebastian shivers with his entire body – something which doesn’t escape Chris’s notice, and makes the grin turn into a smirk. “You come here often?”

Despite how turned on he’s rapidly getting, Sebastian snorts. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

Chris hums. “Funny how I haven’t seen you here before, then.”

“I have been saying you should get an eye test. You’ve been squinting a lot more lately.”

“Seb,” Chris huffs, fighting a smile. “C’mon, I’m tryin’ something here.”

“Right, sorry.” Sebastian clears his throat. “I, uh. I haven’t seen you before either.” Licking his lips, he adds, “Would’ve noticed if I had.”

“You would, huh? And why’s that?”

“Well, see…” Sebastian’s eyes drop to Chris’s mouth. Specifically, his upper lip situation. “It’s the mustache. Kinda hard to miss.”

Chris raises one eyebrow. “You know what else is hard?” he asks lewdly, rolling his hips.

Sebastian can’t stop himself – he lets out a helpless peal of laughter, throwing his head back and making it collide with the wall. He barely notices it, because the next thing he knows, Chris is on him, kissing up his throat and oh hello, okay, that feels weird. Good, but weird. He can’t even say why exactly it feels weird, since Chris’s beard used to tickle too, but somehow, when it’s just the ‘stache without the rest of it, it tickles more than it used to. Feels way more bristly like this.

Under Chris demanding mouth, Sebastian’s laugh morphs into a moan, and he slides down the wall a fraction, pressing into Chris and baring his neck a little further. Chris’s teeth scrape over his Adam’s apple, one of his hands wandering over Sebastian’s chest and squeezing at a pec.

“Sir,” Sebastian says, breathlessly scandalized. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“Just takin’ what I want.” Chris pulls back to look Sebastian in the eye, grabbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You got a problem with that, sweetheart?”

Sebastian gulps, blinking hard. “No, sir.”

“That’s what I thought,” Chris leers, leaning in to bite at Sebastian’s bottom lip and pulling at it with his teeth. At the same time, he runs his left hand down Sebastian’s side and abs, all the way down until it slips between his legs. He cups the growing hardness there, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Oh, fuck,” Sebastian breathes, hands flying up to Chris’s waist.

“How’s that feel, honey? You like that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah? You want me to keep touching you?”

“Yes.” Another mean squeeze. “Yes, please,” Sebastian amends quickly.

“How sweet.” Chris palms Sebastian’s dick again, tight and warm and so good, before abruptly pulling back his hand, leaving Sebastian to whimper and buck his hips. “Well, that’s tough, sweetheart,” Chris tells him, “‘cause you’re not gettin’ anything else till I decide you’ve earned it.”

Before Sebastian even has time to process that, Chris spins them around so that Chris is the one with his back against the wall, and then roughly pushes Sebastian down to his knees with a big hand on his shoulder.

Sebastian moans; a little for show, and a little because he genuinely likes being pushed around a bit. Usually, though, it takes Chris a lot longer to let go liken this. It tends to happen only when he’s getting close and his all he blood in his brain has relocated to his dick, but now, it seems that a little bit of clumsy role-play also does the trick.

Whatever it is, Sebastian thinks, he’ll be damned if he lets an opportunity like this pass him by.

Resting his hands on Chris thighs, Sebastian eagerly leans in to nuzzle at his crotch, mouthing at the hardening outline of his dick through his jeans. Chris hisses, hand scrabbling at Sebastian’s hair, trying to find purchase before seeming to realize that Sebastian’s hair is too short to grab right now (and doesn’t that make Sebastian suddenly regret cutting it immensely) and resorting to putting a hand over Sebastian’s face and just pushing him away instead.

“Did I say you could do that?” Chris’s asks. His usually easy voice is now laced with something dark, something almost menacing, sending a shiver down Sebastian’s spine.

He swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry, dick perking up eagerly inside his sweats. “No, sir. Sorry.”

“Damn right,” Chris mutters. “You’ll get it when I give it to you. Now, are you gonna be good for me?”

Sebastian sucks in a shaky breath. Goddamn.

“Are you?” Chris repeats, tapping Sebastian’s cheek to prompt him.

“Yeah,” Sebastian nods, a little dazed. “Yeah, I’ll be good.” He watches, fascinated, as Chris’s right hand deftly flicks open the button on his jeans, before slowly pulling down his zipper, inch by excruciating inch. Sebastian finds himself willing Chris to go faster, to let him see what he’s got in his pants, which is ridiculous, because Sebastian knows what Chris has got in his pants. He should, seeing as he’s sucked it plenty of times. But somehow, what they’re doing here feels all kinds of new and exciting. Makes his breath come faster, eyes glued to the bulge in Chris’s jeans and mouth starting to water in anticipation.

Once his zip is down, Chris lowers his jeans a little, just enough so he can comfortably cup his dick, giving himself a teasing squeeze. “You want this?”

Sebastian tears his eyes away from it and looks up at Chris, who’s looking down at him with a sardonic smile on his face.

“Yes, please,” Sebastian says, feeling his eyes go big and round almost of their own volition.

Chris groans quietly, stroking Sebastian’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Look at you. Such a pretty guy.” A devilish glint appears in his eyes as he adds, “Be a shame if something got you all dirty, wouldn’t it?”

Oh, jesus.

While Sebastian can’t do anything but watch uselessly, Chris takes himself out of his underwear, pulling down his boxers enough to hook the waistband under his balls but otherwise remaining fully clothed. His dick is all the way hard already, flushed that pretty shade of pink Sebastian loves so much, wetness pearling at the exposed tip. Sebastian’s mouth literally waters so much he needs to swallow. Once again, he leans in to try and get his mouth on Chris, and once again Chris pushes him back with an admonishing hand to the face.

“Now, now. Don’t be greedy.”

Sebastian huffs impatiently behind Chris’s palm. “Please.”

Chris chuckles, taking hold of Sebastian’s chin again and running the pad of his thumb over Sebastian’s bottom lip. Sebastian doesn’t waste any time in letting his mouth drop open, something thrilling inside of him when Chris slides his thumb between his lips and presses down on his tongue. Sebastian closes his lips around the digit, moaning softly as he suckles at it. It’s not quite what he wants, but it’s still part of Chris inside of him, and he’ll take what he can get.

Sebastian is all set to protest again when Chris pulls his finger out, but before he can say anything, Chris shuts him right back up again by taking his cock in hand and literally rubbing it in Sebastian’s face.

Sebastian makes a shocked noise, eyes fluttering closed and mouth going slack. He moans, louder than before, and it’s not for show this time. Not even a little bit. Fire licks up his spine, his dick giving a desperate twitch inside his sweats. Fuck, but that’s hot. It’s downright filthy, the way the wetness leaking from Chris’s dick feels on his clean-shaven cheeks. Makes him feel dirty and owned, helpless, desperate for it.

“Open up,” Chris tells him, tapping his cheek. “Stick out your tongue.”

Sebastian does, and then--  Chris puts his dick on it. Just rests it there, not moving. Like he has all the time in the world. Oh, god.

“Stay still.”

Sebastian tries – he tries so hard to keep still, to be good and wait until Chris tells him he can move, but his tongue seems to have a mind of its own, rubbing lightly along the underside of Chris’s cock. The action causes it to spurt out some precome, which drips down his throat, making Sebastian swallow involuntarily. If asked, he’d swear he doesn’t shut his mouth on purpose, but if his lips closing around Chris’s shaft happens to make Chris groan and push in deeper, then that’s just a happy side effect.

“Suck it.” Chris’s voice has gone all low and rough now – and the order should sound stupid, like something out of a bad porn flick, but then this whole thing is kind of like a bad porn flick. And while that would usually be a turn off, right now, it’s setting Sebastian on fucking fire.

“I said, suck it,” Chris repeats, when Sebastian doesn’t obey right away, and presses in deeper, a little rough with it.

Sebastian jolts into action, moaning feverishly as he starts to suck Chris off as if his life depends on it. He uses his left hand, his tongue, his lips, and choking a little when he takes Chris too deep in one go –

And then suddenly, he’s being pushed back again.

Sebastian whines.

“Easy, tiger,” Chris clucks, a little condescending despite his breathlessness. “I said suck it, not slobber all over it like some horny teen that’s never seen a dick before.”

The rejection stings, but it’s a good sting; one that makes the back of Sebastian’s neck burn hot and his dick strain almost painfully against the material of his pants.

“You know,” Chris continues, rubbing the tip of his cock over Sebastian’s slick lips, almost absent-mindedly. “If you can’t control yourself, I’m gonna have to do it for you.” Not waiting for a reply, Chris grabs the back of Sebastian’s sweater and uses it to hold him in place. The neck of it strains against Sebastian’s throat when he tries to lean forward, causing him to draw in a raspy breath. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Sebastian whispers. He’s not sure if that’s the right answer, but it’s the honest answer, and the only one he’s got right now.

Chris shrugs. “Suit yourself.” Hooking his thumb over Sebastian’s bottom row of teeth, he pries his mouth open, forces his jaw down, and proceeds to feed his cock back into Sebastian’s mouth. And this time, he doesn’t stop until the head hits the back of his throat.

Despite having had a bit of practice, Sebastian’s gag reflex kicks in. He tries to swallows, and that makes Chris moan real pretty, so of course he does it again. Chris hips stutter and Sebastian’s eyelids flutter, and Chris pulls out before then sliding all the way back in again, over and over until Sebastian’s eyes start to water and his vision goes blurry.

When Chris tentatively thrusts in a little deeper still, a little rougher and less controlled, Sebastian lets out what is quite probably the most wanton sound he’s ever made.

“Ohh,” Chris muses, low and a little mean. “You like that, huh? Like it when you’re chokin’ on my dick? Yeah, ‘course you do, pretty little thing like you.”

Ho-ly-shit. They’re no strangers to a bit of dirty talk, but this… this feels different. It’s borderline degrading, what Chris is saying and doing, and Sebastian finds himself going wild for it.

Who knew.

Undoubtedly noticing Sebastian’s reaction, Chris does it again, pushing in deep and holding there until Sebastian starts to splutter. “Take it, all of it,” Chris orders, sounding almost unaffected. “Thought you wanted it, huh? C’mon, open wider. Yeah, that’s it.”

Feeling hot all over, Sebastian does his best to do what is asked of him. He opens his throat and relaxes as best he can, breathing harshly through his nose while he takes what Chris is giving him. He honestly might come in his pants any minute now, just from this. Chris’s cock is hard and heavy on his tongue, dripping down his throat, his familiar, musky scent everywhere, clouding Sebastian’s brain with screaming lust. One big hand rests heavy on Sebastian’s shoulder, fingers digging almost painfully into his trapezius muscle, and Sebastian’s knees hurt, and his jaw hurts, and he’s sore, and he’s gonna be even more sore later, but right now, he doesn’t care.

He feels good, amazing even. The only thing that’s missing now is seeing Chris fall apart. He wants Chris to come so badly, more so even than he wants to come himself, that he can feel it all the way down in his toes.

He doesn’t notice that his cheeks are wet until Chris brings up a hand to wipe at the tear tracks, meanwhile keeping up the relentless rhythm of his hips, steadily pumping in and out.

“Hey.”

Sebastian turns his eyes up, meeting Chris dark and heated gaze, misty through the tears. For a split second, Chris looks at him like himself, quickly cataloguing Sebastian’s condition, before seeming to decide they’re still on the same page. His eyes turn mean again, and Sebastian’s already racing heart skips a beat.

Chris coos then, a soft aaww which makes Sebastian feel equal parts cherished and pathetic. “Should see yourself, honey. Cryin’ and drooling all over my cock…” Chris thumbs at the corner of Sebastian’s mouth, wet with a mixture of spit and tears and Chris’s slick. “Jesus, you’re a mess.”

The words are condescending, but Chris’s voice sounds awed despite himself, and Sebastian is lit up with it from the inside out. He can tell Chris is getting close. Can hear it in his breathing, feel it from the way his thrusts get sloppier and rougher, dick occasionally slipping out and rubbing against Sebastian’s cheek before making its home in his eager mouth again.

“Oh, that’s it, baby,” Chris groans, fingers tightening impossibly on Sebastian’s shoulder. “Gonna make me come. Shit.”

Sebastian moans, letting Chris know how much he wants that, willing him to go faster.

Chris curses again, breathless now, heavy lidded eyes locked on Sebastian’s. “So close, f-fuck. Gonna come all over that pretty face, baby. Ahh, fuck yeah.”

Chris thrusts in deeply one last time, his mouth dropping open. Sebastian feels the first spurt of his release hit the back of his throat, before Chris hastily pulls out and lets the rest of it spill on Sebastian’s face. Come hits his cheeks, his nose, drips down into his mouth, warm and wet and Chris. It’s accompanied by an acute sense of accomplishment, making Sebastian feel boneless and sated, like he’s the one who just blew his load.

As if his strings have been cut, Chris slumps, sliding down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. His eyes, still a little wild with the remnants of his ecstasy, roam over Sebastian’s face, wide like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes, grabbing Sebastian’s head between his hands and kissing him, deep and filthy. His tongue pushes in, hot and demanding, licking the taste of himself out of Sebastian’s slack mouth. The mustache is rough against Sebastian’s face. It stings a little, and Sebastian relishes it.

Abruptly, Chris breaks the kiss only to pull him closer, practically into his lap. Sebastian is mostly boneless at this point, except for the bit between his legs, so he lets himself be pulled and arranged like a ragdoll until he’s sandwiched between Chris’s spread thighs.

Chris’s hand fumbles with the drawstring on Sebastian’s sweats, sticking a hand down his pants. When his fingers wrap around his aching dick, Sebastian nearly sobs with relief. He hadn’t even realized how desperate for release he was, too focused on Chris’s pleasure to even register his own need, but now that Chris is touching him, finally touching him, the need to come slams into him like a freight train. The angle is awkward, and Sebastian has trouble breathing because his throat hurts and Chris is still trying to sucking his face off, but it doesn’t matter. He is so on edge that after only a few strokes, he cries out and shoots off all over Chris’s hand. He buries his face in Chris’s neck, mouth open and slack against the warm skin beneath Chris’s ear, while he rides out the aftershocks.

Christ, that was good.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Chris starts rubbing circles over Sebastian’s back. It’s a calming gesture, soothing. Apologetic. “You okay?” he asks quietly. “Did I hurt you?”

Sebastian takes stock of his body. He’s sore as hell, but it’s a good kind of sore. Nothing hurts, in the bad sense of the word. “I’m okay,” he slurs, only it comes out more like, “Mmmhfgk.”

“You sure?” Chris presses. “‘Cause I – I got a little carried away there. Fuck, I didn’t even check if that was okay, I’m sorry.”

Sebastian scoffs, lifting his head. If there’s one thing Sebastian is certain of, it’s that Chris would have stopped immediately if Sebastian had given even the slightest indication that he wasn’t having a good time. He fixes Chris with a hard look – or at least, as hard as he’s capable of in his post-orgasmic state. “Did I look like it wasn’t okay? That was so hot, Chris. It was like, maximum okay.”

Chris makes a sound, reaching up to wipe at Sebastian’s cheeks with his sleeve. “Jesus, Seb.” He still looks a little stunned, wide-eyed and red-cheeked. The mustache makes him look a little dumb, and Sebastian really does kind of love it.

He lifts a finger, gently stroking it over the bristly hairs.

“Thanks for making me feel better about this thing,” Chris says, his eyes back to being soft and loving now.

Sebastian shakes his head. “My pleasure, believe me. I mean, I’m a little concerned about myself, but I’m glad it stopped you worrying.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“’Course not,” Sebastian replies, patting Chris’s chest.

They sit there for a moment, catching their breath and allowing their minds to unmuddle themselves.

Suddenly, Sebastian jolts upright. “Oh, shit.”

Chris is on instant alert, gaze sharpening as he takes Sebastian in from head to toe. “What is it?” he asks, obviously assuming Sebastian has suddenly discovered that Chris did hurt him after all. “What’s wrong?”

“Your beer.”

Chris blinks at him. “My beer?”

“It’s still in the freezer. It’s only supposed to be in there for like, fifteen minutes tops.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Fuck the beer,” he says, pulling Sebastian back into his chest.

“But what if it explodes and ruins my freezer?”

“I’ll buy you a new freezer, jeez. Dork.”

“Hey,” Sebastian scolds mildly. “Don’t forget I’m the dork who just made you come your brains out.”

“Trust me,” Chris says, leaning in to kiss him again. “I’m not forgetting that any time soon.”

Read on AO3

[baronessblixen]

“it's better than before.” (please don’t hurt me too bad!)

I think this was an angst prompt and my answer is... not. I don't know what it is exactly! Set in the revival, Mulder muses about life, changes and Scully. Wc: 1,966

Tagging @today-in-fic

Everything Old is New Again

The fake sunrise his alarm clocks projects wakes him at 6.30 am, like every morning. One of these days he’s going to find an old analog clock like he used to have. But that’s a task for another morning. Until then, he will wake up to this, believing Scully when she says it’s better for him. Even if the light is fake.

His body protests as he rolls over to switch off the orange light and the bird chirping that accompanies it. He doesn’t know how to turn off the incessant sound on its own. It just turns on every morning. There should be a manual for this damn alarm clock, but if there is, he’s lost it.

Mulder groans as he sits up in bed, running a hand over his face. It’s Friday. Once, days of the week didn’t matter. Weekend was an idea rather than a fixed set of days. Nowadays, he works Monday to Friday, like one of these agents he used to think of as lazy when he himself was younger. He wonders what young agents think about him now. If they think about him at all.

In the bathroom, his Bluetooth speaker greets him with a mechanical good morning and hits from the 70s, 80s and 90s. You can take the man out of the decades, but not the decades out of the man.

He showers quickly, his shower head made to save water. Less than five minutes later he’s done. Gone are the days of long, hot showers. Now there’s only efficiency. Scully got him the shower head last Christmas and he, against all odds, had hoped it meant she wanted to take more showers here, at their house. His hopes were crushed when she told him she had a date for New Year’s Eve.

He spent long days waiting to hear about the date, about the new man in her life. It never happened. Over a month later, when her birthday drew near, he asked her about it, pretending his heart wasn’t pounding. She merely shrugged, said it was only one date and nothing more. The nameless man remained so. As did the next, and the one after him. Then, in May, Scully told him about Paul. A guy she went on more than one date with. Five, to be exact. Mulder tried counting backward to find out when it had started. Whether something had changed then. Had she smiled more? Had she seemed happier?

“I hope you,” she had said, taking his hand in hers. “I hope it doesn’t bother you. I will keep my personal life out of the office. I just wanted you to know. I owe you that much.”

So he knew. May went by in a blur and June promised to be the same with Scully asking for a week off. He didn’t ask and she didn’t say, but he knew she was going to spend it with Paul. Mulder threw himself into work, didn’t allow himself to think about her, or about what she and Paul were doing.

When she returned, a soft tan on her face, she looked guilty and Mulder was deflated. Once, they had gone on vacation, too. Away from the darkness that had followed them. No matter how much sun there was, how much love they made, it hung over them like a rain cloud. They both knew that one day it would break and drown them.

Paul was history by late June. Scully told him in passing while they were getting ready to board a plane. He just nodded, trying to keep his face neutral when in reality he felt like bursting into song.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re not,” Scully replied, but there was a twinkle in her eyes and a lightness in her voice he hadn’t heard in a while.

He took her hand as the plane started, knowing how much she hated that moment. She didn’t pull away and Mulder knew that things were changing.

His coffee grows cold over his musings, but he downs it anyway before he grabs his car keys to leave for work. The sun – the real one – has just woken up and is blinking through the gray September clouds up above. Mulder turns on the heat in the car, feeling a bit chilly.

He hooks up his phone, tells it to navigate him to work and starts his car. How different this used to be. Back in the day, he knew the way to the Hoover building by heart. Now he isn’t sure he’d find his way without his phone. Scully keeps telling him to not use it as it will make his brain shrink, but it’s just easier this way. And it gives him time to think. About Scully.

Today is the day. He’s planned it meticulously. He will ask her out. An old-fashioned date, just the two of them. No cases, no excuses, and no Pauls. No bees either. He grins, humming along to the song on his playlist. Another one of those things. He and Scully used to find tapes in their rental cars from time to time, listening to them in excitement. They never knew what the next song would be. He misses those days, sometimes. Misses the unpredictability of it all.

Mulder stops in front of the coffee shop he and Scully have started frequenting. It’s a far cry from the places they went to back in the day. There are seven different varieties of milk now, not just one. A couple of weeks ago, he ordered a coffee with cow milk and Scully threw him a look, reminding him that plant-based milk is better for the environment and for him.

Ever since then, he’s been taking his coffee with unsweetened almond milk. After all, Scully is a medical doctor and he trusts her. In every conceivable way. He orders his coffee and Scully’s and buys two sandwiches for lunch, too. Vegan, of course.

Scully is already there when he enters the office. She gives him a smile, sitting on the edge of their desk, reading through a file. His stomach somersaults, putting a huge grin on his face that takes him back at least 20 years. She has that effect on him. Then, now and always.

“Good morning,” she says. “I’ve been wondering where you are.”

“Huh?”

“It’s late, Mulder. Late for you anyway. Was there a lot of traffic?” She takes a sip from her coffee as she waits for his answer.

“Um, no. I was just- getting read took a bit longer this morning.”

“You’re not sick, are you? When was your last check up?” Asking about his check ups is the best way to remind him that he’s getting old. That he is old already.

“I’m not sick,” he assures her. “Just lost in thought. That happens when you wake up to a sunrise and birds chirping.”

“It’s good for you, Mulder. It’s a gentle way of waking up.” He’s heard her explain it to him plenty of times and so he just smiles at her, nodding.

“How are you waking up these days?” He asks her, taking a nip of his coffee.

“Hm? Not with a sunrise,” she says, throwing him an amused look. Now’s his chance.

“Hey Scully, what are you doing tonight?” His heart is hammering against his chest. If he were to tell Scully, she’d probably worry he’s having a heart attack. He’s at that age now, as she not so subtly reminded him a while ago. With his questionable diet and his inability to kick his sunflower seed habit, he should be careful. But right now, unbeknownst to her, his heart is in her hands.

“I don’t have any plans,” she says.

“In that case… would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

“I’d love to, Mulder,” she answers without hesitation, rendering him speechless. “Are you okay? You do look a bit green.” By now, she’s walked over to him and she puts her hand on his cheek, gently caressing it.

“I’m just surprised.”

“That I want to have dinner with you?”

“That I didn’t even have to persuade you,” he replies honestly.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out again,” she says and color shoots into her cheeks. “I was ready to ask you to dinner myself.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She shrugs, stepping closer to him and fully invading his personal space. He doesn’t mind one bit and puts his hand on her waist. They’re skipping steps, jumping ahead, but they’ve been here before. This isn’t new. It’s merely a restart of something old and familiar.

“I was scared,” she admits.

“Scared? Of me?”

“Of you saying no.”

“Scully, I will never say no to you. I’ve been waiting too, biding my time. When you told me about Paul…” Scully groans and presses her head against his chest.

“That was a mistake,” she says against his tie. Her head resurfaces and he falls in love all over with her. With the way her fingers play with the lapels of his coat, contemplating how much she allows herself here in their office. With the way her eyes dance when he smiles at her, putting his hand on the small of her back to draw her closer. He doesn’t care that they’re in the office. Or that it’s not even 9 am.

“I hope I’m not a mistake,” Mulder says softly.

“You’ve never been a mistake, Mulder. Not once.”

“Would kissing you now be a mistake?”

“Not if I kiss you first.” And she does exactly that. He’s dreamed about kissing Scully many, many times. Back when they were first partnered and he didn’t yet know how she tasted or what she liked.

He dreamed of her when he was hiding from the world, missing her and their son. Dreamed about her when she made the choice to save them and leave so that he could get better, and she could, too. Now they are. Her mouth fits against his as perfectly as it ever has. He knows how to kiss her, how to move his lips, and how to tease her with his tongue so that she moans and presses herself against him. Some things haven’t change, won’t ever change.

“I missed doing this,” she says when they break for air.

“Making out in the office?” He presses another soft kiss against her lips.

“We never really did that, did we?”

“There’s still time.” He grins at her.

“This is a work place.” But she, too, is grinning.

“It’s Friday anyway. We can leave early.” He kisses her again and she responds in kind. When they break apart this time, she sighs.

“What are you thinking?” He asks her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“When I thought about this – us – I didn’t think… I wondered how it would happen. How we would be.”

“Is it how you thought it would be?”

“I didn’t think it would happen in the office,” she says. “I didn’t think it would happen in the morning. You taste like almond milk, Mulder.”

“No more cow milk for me. You said so. So… what’s the verdict?”

“Let me just-” She kisses him again, her tongue teasing him. His eyes flutter close and he wonders what Scully would say if he reminded her of his office sex fantasy. But maybe it’s too early for that anyway.

He wants to give her sunrises in bed, fake or otherwise. Orgasms, too. But only real ones. He wants to share his new favorite songs with her. Wants to drive around with her, Google Maps be damned. He just wants to be with her, in whatever way she lets him.

“It’s better than before,” she says and he knows she’s right.

[theprissythumbelina]

I wrote something non-academic for the first time in months. It is, really, nothing, in that it doesn't need to be in the main story. But I wrote it so I guess I'll do something with it. Nicolette and Alyss live again!

______________________________________________________________

Nicolette woke to Alyss crying. It sounded breathless, wet, in the dark of their shared room, more silence than noise. She wanted to do…something. That’s what you were supposed to do for a crying person, right? Nicolette, as always, didn’t have a clue what to do. So she did nothing but listen as a half-stranger cried to herself in her dreams. She stared up at the paneled ceiling, tracing the grain of the wood by lamplight. After a half-hour, maybe more, the sound of crying faded to background noise, and a memory wormed its way up through the gravel in her head. She remembered crying like that not too long ago. She remembered the feeling of her chest sucking in with each sob. She remembered Daisy, wrapping a blanket around her, bringing cold water, caring. Nicolette blinked up at the wood grains again, Alyss now sleeping quietly. The quiet was worse than the sobs. 

Its not much but its honest work @thetruearchmagos @italiangothicwriteblr

[arunneronthird]

he will use every chance he gets to be a drama queen and if he doesnt have one he will create one

[the-nefarious-vampire]

as an aroace, im particularly dangerous, because i wont fuck or marry. i only know how to kill.

[dogsuffrage]

It's sad at the end of May seeing people reblog the "here it comes!" Pride logos post. You didn't notice that brands have decided it is no longer safe to openly support LGBT rights. The past 2 years have shown a dramatic decline in corporate sponsorship of Pride. And no, we don't care about the corporations, but you should care that they think the general public will oppose their support of LGBT rights. Anyway pay attention. The logos didn't change for Pride. It's bad.

[noelledeltarune]

EVERY SINGLE DAY there are MILLIONS of characters in their late 20s who get falsely accused of being father figures to teenagers when in reality the description of "weird older cousin" or "step-sibling that moved out before you were born" is 1000000x more apt

[cadmium-free]

terribly charmed by my sibling sending me a voice message that just said “i just always take ibuprofen at the wrong time. i had a headache all afternoon, from three to eight pm and then i took an ibuprofen half an hour before the headache went away! i could have just saved an ibuprofen!”

[sandinmybed]

No see results option, I'm forcing you to perceive yourself. rb for more results pls

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[ispyspookymansion]

stream i am the prayers of the naive on ao3 dot com

[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!)

[gentil-minou]

Everytime I see posts like this I get filled with such profound sadness

Cause you know who has the same brainrot as you? The same unhinged feelings as you after you've read the fic? The person who always wants to scream about the fic with you?

THE PERSON WHO WROTE IT

I never used to leave comments but since I got into the habit of commenting on everything i enjoy it's been incredible. Especially when the author gets back to me about it and we get to have a discussion of what other ideas they had. One writer replied to my comment with a 5 paragraph essay detailing the Floorplan of the building the characters lived in and it was incredible

Anyways this is all to say that if you find a fic that just makes you want to scream from the rooftops, leave a comment saying that to the author and maybe they will join you and you can scream incoherently together

[tortugahoe]

I just want everyone to know that Ryan Reynolds was the one who wrote Logan’s “Honda Odyssey monologue”

[pixiemage]

Please, for the love of god, please don’t be this person. No matter how long it’s been since an update, no matter how many unfinished stories are sitting on their account, no matter what - do not be this person.

Not only is it insanely rude, but you also do more damage than you think be being such a self-entitled ass about something someone created for free and for fun. “This author” can see what you say.

RIP decency indeed.