#potato answers: logan!

[froghatz]

I believe Logan needs to feel the weight of his partner on him in order to sleep or relax.

No NSFW warning. Gender neutral.

I believe Logan needs to feel the weight of you against his body anytime he's trying to sleep or relax, in order to completely be at ease.

And I don't mean just having you here leaning on his shoulder or resting your head on his chest.

I mean, this man needs you to be completely on top of him like a koala.

IMAGINE:

He comes home from a long mission with the rest of the X-men and wants nothing more than to have a chance to relax at home.

So he immediately comes to find you, trying to carry you to bed to throw you on him like a blanket.

But you stop him.

"Wait! I got you something that might help you relax without needing me all the time."

You intervene as you show him a package containing a weighted blanket of the highest wieght you could find, which was only 50 lbs.

"The hell is this?"

Logan questioned as he cocked his brow at the packaged weighted blanket like it was some sort of unknown machine.

"Its a weighted blanket. To help you sleep when I'm not here."

You answer as you encourage Logan to use it right now to rest after a long mission.

Too tried to argue, Logan reluctantly takes the blanket to bed with him while you try to catch up on some chores.

It didn't even take 20 minutes for you to hear the bedroom door swing open before the sound of Logan's heavy footsteps began prowling the house, probably looking for you.

You were in the middle of washing dishes before a pair of bully strong arms came and wrapped around your waist and hoisted you up like a sack of potatoes, causing you to yelp.

"That blanket sucks."

Logan grumbled as he carried you off back to bed despite your protest that you "need to finish cleaning."

Logan didn't care one bit as he slumped back into bed in his usual position.

Laying on his stomach before tossing you onto his back, putting your full weight across him.

A deep sigh of relief, full of fatigue and exhausted, escapes Logan's lips as he finally manages to completely relax with the warmth of your weight on top of his back.

You could physically feel the tension in his body disappear before you could hear Logan's breathing resort to snoring, indicating he finally fell asleep.

"Well damn... that was fast"

You think to yourself as you basically accept that you wouldn't be moving from thos spot for a really long time.

Thank you for reading! I hope your pillow is cold on both sides tonight!🫶🏼❣️

[eudaimaniacs]

strawberries - part ii (logan howlett x female reader) | part i

character/universe: logan howlett/wolverine (x-men/marvel)

word count: 1.4k words

warning/s: smut, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, and one mention of somnophilia

notes: i am feeling a bit better now and finished writing the sequel for my last post. i can't wait to write more since my semestral break is coming (might need some requests for inspiration). enjoy reading!

The smell of fresh and fruity strawberry jam infused the cozy cottage air. You watch Holly as she is tempted to taste it by asking you if she can.

“No, honey. The jam is still hot, and we need to cool it down,” you instructed the eager young girl sitting on the countertop.

It was dinnertime, and you decided to prepare both breakfast and supper. You called Holly to help you prepare the tools and jars needed for the jam. The process took longer as you cared for an energetic and hungry three-year-old. Holly snuck a few strawberries to eat, and you told her that if she had more, there would be less strawberry jam to enjoy. The young girl cried out to her dad, almost taking her away from the kitchen. Logan thankfully calmed Holly down, and she was back to being excited about eating it for breakfast.

“It’s time to prepare for dinner, Holly. Tell your dad it’s time to eat,” you carried your daughter and let her run off to Logan. Holly giggled as she excitedly sprinted to show your husband the fresh strawberry jam and the food the two of you made. You grinned as you prepared the plates and utensils and set them on the wooden table. You went back to the kitchen to get the steak, potatoes, mixed vegetables, and chicken nuggets for Holly.

As you put on the last meal, the middle of the table was decorated with the most beautiful bouquet. Blooming blush peonies and white daisies complimented the sage green table runner you recently bought weeks ago. Holly held a pink peony as she struggled to sit on the chair to eat.

“Bought a last-minute gift for this beautiful dinner, [Y/N],” Logan gushed as he kissed your forehead and sat down. You prayed a short grace before eating, and the three of you began to consume supper. Holly started the usual dinnertime conversations with her tales of imaginary friends, the strawberry jam you made with her, and the jokes she and Logan would make.

As your daughter told the latest fairytale she read, you focused on eating the steak and tried not to touch Logan for the upcoming event tonight. He could smell your arousal even with the delicious food on the table. You were excited to spend the night with Logan, making a new child and sibling for Holly to play with.

While you ate the last steak on your plate, your daughter innocently asks, ��Mommy, Daddy, can I get a little sister or brother?”

You and Logan dropped both of your utensils as Holly caught the attention of the two of you. You struggled to answer the question as you glanced at Logan, who was flustered. She had never asked or even hinted that she wanted a sibling in this household. You and Logan wanted another child but agreed to wait some years before having a second child. You went to the nearest neighborhood for Holly to play with children her age, but you sensed that she could get lonely when she’s stuck at home.

“Sure, you can, bub,” Logan replied as he ruffs the soft hair of the young girl. Holly giggled and thanked him before finishing the leftover food on her plate. You chuckle as you see Logan smirk, knowing you two will fulfill the first child’s wish.

You turn on the ballerina music box as you lull Holly, tired from the day of excitement. She groggily remarks how she’s looking forward to tasting the strawberry jam tomorrow morning. You pat her head as you watch her slowly close her eyes and dream until the sun breaks out. You kiss her forehead and head out to go to the bedroom.

“Is she asleep?”

You sit at the vanity chair to brush your hair and see Logan wearing his tank top. Your eyes wander to the tight denim jeans and unbuckled belt. Oh, he was waiting.

You sigh and softly stare at Logan, “Seems like she’s going to have a great dream tonight.”

The dim, yellowish lamp decorating the bedroom made you ethereal and radiant in this intimate setting. Logan intensely stared as he sat on the bed, waiting for you to stop brushing your hair. You hum as you remove your nightrobe little by little. Your heart was pumping faster as you and Logan would make another child. You hear Logan shuffling out of bed and standing next to you.

“Getting impatient here, princess,” Logan’s guttural voice made you shiver. He tucked your hair and imprinted your neck. You moan at the sensation of his tongue marking you. You grab his arm as Logan continues to kiss and bite your neck.

Out of breath, Logan growled, “Let’s go to bed, [Y/N].” He seized your hand and gently pushed you on the mattress. You slowly took off his tank top, exposing his magnificent build and chest hair that will always make you weak. You spread your legs as Logan held himself from tearing off your nightgown. Your lustful and sleepy eyes tell him that you want him, you need him.

Logan clutched the hem of your nightgown and slowly took it off. You sigh as you feel the cold air crashing over your exposed body. The man on top growled as he saw your soft breasts and the transparent, lacy cream panties covering your arousal. You wrap your legs around Logan as your desires of getting fucked and bred by him rise more.

“Too eager, princess?” Logan whispered as he squeezed and massaged your boobs and perked your nipples.

“Oh, yes, fuck. Please give me another child, Lo. Want another kid,” you moaned as you grind yourself on his jeans. Logan chuckled at your impatience and granted both of your wishes. He unzips his pants, takes off his underwear, and slowly enters inside of you. You whine at Logan’s massive size and immediately embrace his broad back. You scratch his back at the intense pleasure. Logan’s drive to breed you until the sun peeks out of the curtains made it more exciting.

He didn’t give the usual rough and fast sex, wanting to be more passionate as he gave you another child. The sight of you carrying his child made him hard, and your commitment to your family made Logan weak and soft. The two of you silently moaned, not wanting to disrupt your peaceful, sleeping daughter. You tapped Logan’s hand, signaling that you were close.

“Want me to fill you up, princess?” Logan huskily said as he quickened his pace.

At a loss for words, you try to reply and state how much you want to be filled with his warm cum and have Logan’s child again. He chuckled as he heard your weak whispers and whines, trying to articulate the upcoming orgasm. Logan positioned your legs over his shoulders, making sure that his seed went inside of you.

“Here it comes, [Y/N]!” Logan growled as he released his warm cum to your tight walls. You moaned at the feeling of his sticky substance coating your pussy. Logan immediately lay beside your shaking, out-of-breath body. You snuggle against his chest as he kisses your head and massages your back.

“Thought we were going to fuck until morning, Lo,” you sleepily remark. You were tired; however, you expected Logan to ensure you were bred. Your lustful and exhausted eyes look at Logan’s soft ones to hear his explanation.

Logan passionately kisses you, your sweet, honey-like taste coating his tastebuds. You yawn as you nestled in his chest, hearing the soft thumping of his heart.

“I wish we could, [Y/N], but we promised to eat strawberry jam with Holly tomorrow morning,” Logan whispered. You giggle at the remembrance that the two of you have to wake up early and eat breakfast with your daughter. You were excited to have another child finally and for Holly to have a sibling to play with.

“You need to sleep, princess. If I get hard again, I might fuck my seed again inside of you,” Logan remarked. You slapped his chest as you lightly scolded him and reminded him that you two needed to be awake in the morning. You hum yourself to sleep and feel your lids closing little by little. The last thing you hear is the soft groans of Logan sleeping. The two of you are in a tight and loving embrace, and you are filled with Logan’s love for you and his growing family. All you could dream of was the taste of your homemade strawberry jam and the conception of you and Logan’s second child.

eudaimaniacs - 2024

[disneyprincemuke]

the thanksgiving incident * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic fem!driver

notes: my deepest apologies for not posting today, a migraine had me down bad and wishing i was dead but it's okay i'm bad baBY LETS FUCKING GO

| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship |it's nice to have a friend |

come up to my hotel room

you stare at your message in the blue bubble, trying to assess the lack of response from the younger driver. you press your fingertips into your lips and turn around. "do you think he now thinks i'm trying to hit on him?"

george, with a balloon in his mouth, stops blowing into it briefly and stares at you. he pinches the opening of the latex decoration and tilts his head at you. "what did you text him?"

"hopefully not," alex speaks, walking past you from his previous spot at the entryway. in his hands is a medium-sized bowl of mashed potatoes. "that would be weird."

"i just texted him to come up here," you say, catching your bottom lip between your teeth.

"you didn't say anything else?" george asks.

you shake your head.

"that's kinda misleading," alex mutters. "has he read it yet?"

"he left me on read," you mutter, pursing your lips. "seriously, guys! what if he thinks i'm hitting on him?"

alex shakes his head. "everyone on the grid knows you're on and off with shawn. it's impossible that logan thinks you're making a pass on him."

you raise your eyebrows. "did logan tell you that?"

there's a knock on the door, cutting george's wish to reply short. he looks at you before he resumes blowing into the balloon in his hands. you look at alex, who simply shrugs and turns away to untie the plastic on the small table of your hotel room.

you sigh and push yourself off the bed, walking over to the door slowly. "who is it?"

"it's logan!"

you huff and wipe your palms into the material of your sweats. you pull the door open and the greeting at the tip of your tongue immediately disappears when there is a singular sunflower in logan's hand.

"what is that?" you ask with a hand on the door handle.

"it's a," logan clears his throat and follows your gaze at the sunflower in his hand, "a sunflower."

"i know what a sunflower looks like," you answer softly, "but why is it in your hand and why are you holding it up?"

"well, you texted me without context, by the way," logan starts, taking a step away from you to throw himself back into the hallway, "and i didn't know what to make out of it. so i... i don't know. i got you a sunflower."

he extends his hand to offer you the flower once more.

"i told you!" you screech, turning around to call for george and alex. "i fucking told you!"

logan, out in the hallway, grows confused. he tilts his head. "what?"

"i- the text," you cut yourself off as the severity of the situation gets to you. you turn around to face logan. it's only then you realise that he made the effort to look presentable, sporting a nice pair of shorts and a polo tee. "i asked you to come up here because we prepared you a thanksgiving dinner."

you press your lips together, fighting back tears when a blush creeps up logan's cheeks. you watch as realisation slowly hits him and his jaw drops. "oh."

"yeah," you breathe out. you look down at the flower and take it into your hands. "this is very thoughtful. thank you."

"yellow flowers are a sign of friendship."

"are you rejecting me?"

"are you fucking around with me? is this a prank?"

"no, i'm just offended that the first thing you thought of was a subtle way to let me down."

"i didn't know what to say to you. you're very pretty," logan readjusts his shirt and clears his throat, "but like- you know?"

"i guess," you shrug. "would you like to come in?"

"wait, you prepared me a thanksgiving dinner?" logan asks softly, hesitantly following you inside. he slips off his shoes right by the door and lets the door shut. "me?"

"of course! i figured you'd want to celebrate it. it's nothing like home or what your family could give you," you hum, stepping aside as he gawks at the decoration that george poorly put up. "but i thought you might like to at least spend the night with people instead of being all by yourself in your hotel room."

"i- i don't know what to say," he whispers, a smile slowly growing on his face as he looks around. there's a picture of a turkey stuck on the wall, a couple of balloons taped above the tv and an entire meal prepared on the table. "thank you. this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"we couldn't find a turkey on such short notice so," alex mutters, patting his rookie on the back. he points at the far corner of the table, where there is a stuffed animal of a turkey resting on a plate. "the genius decided to opt with a toy."

"a toy that he gets to keep!" you shriek, a hand on your chest. you turn to logan. "i'm sorry i texted you to come up without context."

"tell shawn i'm sorry i thought you wanted to hook up with me."

"we're on a break."

logan pulls a chair out from under the table and grabs a plate for himself. "then tell him i'm sorry he's stupid for breaking up with you." he takes another and offers it to you. "dinner?"

[earl-grey-teacake]

Love the new headcanons for the Baby!Loscar au!! Though the second Logan and Oscar start walking they are going to need leashes or they're going to runaway to find their best friend and get lost in the paddock

Thank you!!!

They will absolutely be leash kids. Kids are curious by nature and they want to explore the world around them with no understanding of consequences. Sure, some may frown upon it saying children aren’t dogs but they are people who have never had a child run into the direction of an oncoming vehicle.

Logan and Oscar are adventurous and bold, which is great for karting. It is not great for their parents’ blood pressure. There is a limit of how many times Oscar or Logan can book it out of hospitality before someone puts their foot down. Learning how to walk is one thing but walking and being able to open the doors of their rooms and playpens is another.

At the first the parents frowned upon it with Carlos and George saying their children were not dogs. That sentiment quickly changed when Logan booked it across the parking lot and almost gets hit by Toto’s Mercedes. Now since it was a parking lot, the car speed tends to be slower but that did not help anyone’s blood pressure that day.

So Logan and Oscar get little leash backpacks, bear and koala respectively. Logan tries to fight it like all toddlers do, kicking, yelling, rolling on the ground but his parent’s will not budge. He does give up, and relents to bring on a leash. No matter how cutely Logan begs and clings, neither James nor Toto or Jenson will free him from it.

Oscar does not kick or scream but he will lie on the floor in protest until his parent pick him up and carry him. He also gives in once he realizes no one will take pity on him. He has tried to run to Williams a couple times but was stopped by McLaren staff and Andrea Stella who carried him back like a sack of potatoes.

The other drivers vary on levels of amusement. Alonso and Max find it hilarious, especially when the kids try to book it while attached to the leash. Lewis feels bad for the kids but he was there when Logan almost got hit by Toto’s car so he doesn’t feel that bad. Charles almost frees them a couple times because they plead with him to but is quickly stopped by others.

Thank you for the ask!!! I know it took me a while to answer 😅

[nastydogpublishingco]

happiness (like a bullet in the back)

summary: What do you get when you cross a supercentenarian mutant alcoholic with anger issues and a chronic case of emotional constipation, with the world's single most irritating Canadian mercenary with a face like a rotten potato? Answer: domestic fucking bliss. pairings: logan howlett (worst wolverine) / wade wilson (deadpool) warnings: smut, 5+1 fic, fluff, (light) angst, panic attacks, ptsd, flashbacks, self loathing wade, chronic pain, hurt/comfort, bathing, idiots in love, sanrio memorabilia as a love language, possessiveness, praise kink, dacryphilia, brat!wade wilson, feminization, dirty talk, scent kink, bottom!wade wilson words: 15.5k

1.

“Cock sucking mother fucker !”

Those are the first words Wade says to Logan that morning, exploding out of his mouth after he leans bodily on the hot stove. Logan’s cooking breakfast and had just moved a pan of sizzling bacon off that particular burner before Wade stumbled off the pullout, bleary and dressed only in a pair of rumpled Cinnamoroll briefs. 

(Yes, he knows the fucking thing’s name — an unfortunate and unexpected side effect of dating Wade Wilson is that he’s gleaned the names of several Sanrio characters. Not by choice, mind you, but Wade has seemingly made it his life’s mission to familiarize Logan with that whole motley crew by any means necessary, and his favorite dirty trick is quizzing Logan while he’s riding him into the pullout. Little fucker’s strong, too, so Logan’s attempts at bucking him off when he starts up prove to be fruitless more often than not. Wade has rended more orgasms than he’d like to admit out of him like that.)

Wade doesn’t have a booting-up period like most people — he goes from dead asleep to chattering in about .05 seconds, so the deep inhale Logan hears as Wade sidles up beside him is pretty par for the course. He’s expecting a snarky comment, a stupid pun, one of Logan’s myriad nicknames (more than half of which he doesn’t hate , but he’ll never tell Wade that), but what he gets is the sound of Wade’s flesh sizzling on the electric coils, and then Wade is screaming at the top of his lungs.

“What the fuck did you do ?” Logan yells, snatching Wade by the wrist and dragging him over to the kitchen sink. He twists the tap on, cold water spitting into the basin, and sticks Wade’s blistering hand under the stream. It’s a habit, ingrained along the metal of his skeleton from years of doing the same for clumsy young mutants at Xavier’s.

“I don’t know, I didn’t know the fuckin’ thing was on!” Wade snaps, and Logan cuts him an incredulous look.

“You just saw me cooking on that burner. How did you think I was doing that without it being on ?”

“You have such pretty eyes,” Wade says, and just as Logan’s about to tell him to shut up, he realizes something.

The burn on his palm has healed already.

Logan shuts the faucet off and drops Wade’s wrist, amazed he just… forgot about Wade’s healing factor like that. Wade flexes his fingers and examines his hand, smooths a thumb over the space where a bright red, angry-looking whorl was just a moment ago.

“You’re so sexy when you’re all concerned about me,” Wade purrs, cocking his head to one side. Logan rolls his eyes.

“Watch where you put your fuckin’ hands, bub,” he says, bumping Wade out of the way with his hip to resume their breakfast. 

Wade stands there for a moment, observing, and just as Logan’s laid a paper towel on a plate to soak up bacon grease, he feels the long, solid warmth of Wade’s body pressing along his back and arms encircling his waist. He stumbles slightly, surprised and severely limited in how much he can move with Wade’s clinging welding him to the spot.

“What’re you doing?”

“Watching where I put my hands,” Wade says simply, all ten fingers wiggling where they’ve settled across Logan’s stomach.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” Wade kisses the side of Logan’s neck before resting his chin there, which tickles , but Logan grits his teeth and pretends it doesn’t. If Wade knew he was ticklish he’d never get a moment’s peace.

“If you’re gonna ride my back,” Logan grumbles, voice devoid of any real malice, “could you at least hand me the red chili flakes? I don’t need you bitching about flavorless eggs.”

“Hey, cancer took my tastebuds, you insensitive prick,” Wade warbles, his favorite card to pull whenever Logan deigns to comment on his affinity for spicy food. It’s true; he knows that — Wade’s explained before, in his usual roundabout way, that the cancer being constantly multiplied and stacked in his brain affects the parts in charge of taste and smell. The senses aren’t gone, just severely muted, so Wade has to dump an ungodly amount of anything containing capsaicin into his food if he wants to taste it at all. 

“You can just say you’re too short to reach, Wolvie,” Wade says, reaching up into the cabinet above both their heads and pulling out the shaker of chili flakes. Logan swipes it before Wade can lower the arm back to his side, elbowing him once in the ribs for good measure.

“We’re almost the same height, asshole.”

“Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, honey badger.”

“D’you want an eyeful of red chili flakes?” Logan raises the shaker threateningly. “I’ll fuckin’ do it, bub, gimme a reason.”

“You wouldn’t, I’m already injured ,” Wade whines, flopping the hand he’d burned in front of Logan’s face pathetically. “I think it’s still healing. You should kiss it better. I hear that helps.”

Logan wishes he could say he tells Wade to go fuck himself or shoves him off his back or something equally aloof and mean-spirited, but he doesn’t. He kisses the center of Wade’s palm multiple times because every time he pulls away, Wade keeps pointing at a new spot that “hurts” and implores Logan to kiss that better, too. He doesn’t know why he caves because it’s not like Wade pouted and begged for it; he didn’t even seem all that serious to begin with. He just knows it takes all of two seconds for him to indulge his partner, and then Wade is back to holding him around the middle while he cooks them breakfast, yammering about the weird dream he’d woken up from before he decided to come pester Logan. 

It’s…well, it’s not something he’s ever done before, for anyone. The domesticity, the silly, meaningless gesture. But he’s also never had anyone to do it for, not really, and it feels right with Wade. It feels good to let someone sand his hard edges down, if only a little, and only because he wants them to. To be clear — there are days Logan wants to cut the little shit’s tongue out of his head, if only to bask in the temporary silence while Wade stews and grows it back, and their life didn’t transform into sunshine and rainbows because they finally fucked out the palpable sexual tension that’d been lingering over their heads for months. They still argue, they bicker, Logan still buries his claws in something of Wade’s a minimum of once a week, and the progression of their relationship didn’t magically wipe away all the baggage they’re both saddled with.

But on mornings like this, mornings where Wade can’t seem to get enough of him or stand to be detached from his hip for more than five seconds put together and the promise of spring is sweet in the air, and Wade makes the coffee while Logan helps Althea to the table, that baggage feels just that bit lighter, and it’s…

It’s nice.

2.

Logan knows it’s going to be a rough day when Wade emerges from their bathroom in head-to-toe grey cotton, save for the crimson of his Deadpool mask peeking out from beneath the hood of one of Logan’s pullovers.

He’s brushing his teeth over the kitchen sink when he catches sight of his partner. Wade's short, stilted steps and the heavy roundness of his shoulders tell Logan it is a Bad Pain Day™, and he spits his foamy mouthful of toothpaste into the sink’s basin to get verbal confirmation.

“Y’okay, bub?” 

Wade waves a hand dismissively before stuffing it back in his hoodie pocket. The lack of immediate chatter is an instant red flag. 

Mary Puppins trots out of Althea’s room, tongue flapping, too-long nails click-clacking on the hardwood (one of them really needs to trim those). She’s wearing a hot pink doggy sweater with a sparkly, champagne-colored tiara printed on the back, a barrier against the late-February chill in lieu of fur (Wade’s idea). Logan is still mostly convinced there’s nothing but hot air between the creature’s ears, yet she always knows when Wade is having a rough go of it and takes her job as an impromptu emotional support animal very seriously. Logan’s oddly comforted by the knowledge that she’ll be at home with Wade all day, playing the part of his shadow while Logan endures his first day of work.

Getting the job in the first place had been a bitch and a half – trying to explain how, yes, he was Logan, just not that Logan, because that Logan was dead, and this Logan was from another universe entirely (and not in the Starseed, hippy bullshit way either; that’d been an awkward conversation to navigate with the manager of a coffee shop down the street) was nothing short of a fucking shitshow. Add Logan’s truly woeful resume on top of that (the service industry could give two shits if you were an X-Man, as it turns out), and he was ready to give up before he’d finally landed a position at a construction company by sheer dumb luck.

“You don’t seem okay,” Logan presses, and Wade grumbles noncommittally.

“My everything feels like it got hit by a truck,” he mutters, leaning heavily on the back of the couch, “and then pissed on by a street dog, then run over again. Then shit on by a few pigeons for good measure. And then tossed in a dumpster fire full of dirty diapers. Have I painted you a picture, or shall I go on?”

“And the mask?”

“Oh, that – yeah, I woke up, and when I looked in the mirror, a sentient cat’s asshole with teeth was staring back at me.” Wade’s voice is light as if he’s trying to joke, but the cold edge and embittered delivery give him away. “That sorta nuked my usual morning zest, so…” He gestures at his mask, and Logan doesn’t know how the blank white eyes manage to appear downcast, but they do.

Wade is always in pain – he says it’s like background noise, most days, muffled dialogue from a TV show you’ve seen a million times left on to fill silence; unobtrusive, easy enough to ignore. But sometimes, he says, it’s like being lit aflame over and over again. His constantly regenerating, permanently oversensitive flesh is easier to soothe because he can wrap himself in a very soft blanket until the pins and needles go away ( if they go away), but today, it seems his skin isn’t the only problem. Every movement, every step, looks like agony.

“You don’t hafta walk me, you know,” Logan offers, tapping the wet bristles of his toothbrush on the edge of the sink before setting it down. “If you need to lay back down, I get it. I can manage a couple of blocks by myself.”

Wade shakes his head. Logan hates when he wears his mask outside of mercenary work because it’s impossible to read his expressions; selfishly, it’s also because he likes trying to memorize the ever-changing scars and contours of Wade’s face.

“Nah, ‘m fine.”

“Wade –”

“Mary needs a walk, anyway,” Wade says, and on cue, the dog’s ears perk up, and her head whips in her father’s direction. “Two birds, one stone. ‘Sides, I gotta scope out the sexy blue-collar guys, see who my competition is.”

“You don’t have competition, bub,” Logan says, and he is exercising every ounce of patience he’s capable of, which isn’t a whole lot, definitely subpar compared to other people, but hey, he’s trying. Nothing works when Wade gets like this, not anger, not tenderness (whatever approximation of tenderness Logan can manage, anyway), because it’s not really Wade talking – it’s the pain. It makes him standoffish and mean, liable to bite anyone’s head off at a moment’s notice.

Logan knows a thing or two about letting pain speak for a person, so he gives Wade as much grace as possible on days like this (not to mention a wide berth). Lord knows Wade gave him more grace than any person could ever hope to deserve when it mattered, and still does when Logan wakes up on the wrong side of the bed and acts like a craggy asshole until sundown.

“Everyone is competition when you’ve got a face that not even a mother could love,” Wade says wistfully, shrugging his shoulders and forcing his spine to straighten. “Well, not that she loved me even before the un-fun face-fucking, but you catch my drift.”

Wade shuffles to the side of the pullout, sitting wearily on his disheveled half, and nudges his Crocs toward him with socked feet. The whole endeavor should take seconds, but Wade’s sitting there for close to a minute, limbs stiff and jerking, fingers twitching against where they’re hiding inside his hoodie, but when Logan starts to walk toward him, Wade holds up a hand.

“I got it,” he snaps, and there’s more exasperation in his voice than Logan was expecting. He’s not sure who it’s directed at. “Don’t hover, I…I’m fine, angel face, seriously. Go finish getting ready. I need to get Mary’s harness on anyway.”

“I can do that,” Logan suggests, but Wade shoos him. 

“Go, go away, pretty bird. Go preen your feathers for work.” 

He wobbles to a stand, patting his thigh and making a loud kissy sound to encourage Mary to the door. Logan watches for a few seconds to ensure Wade doesn’t keel over, then slowly retreats to Althea’s room to grab his jacket and belt. She’s not home, which is a little shocking because it’s just after six in the morning, but Logan doesn’t worry about it too much – the woman keeps her own schedule, and he knows better than to fret over her at this point. He tried once – that was a bad morning.

Wade’s managed to successfully dress Mary for the walk by the time Logan comes back – her harness looks just like Wade’s suit, and even has a little tag styled to look like the logo on his belt with “MARY PUPPINS” written on the back in silver script, along with Wade’s phone number – but he’s bracing both hands on his knees and drawing careful, slow breaths the way he always does when he’s trying not to puke. Suggesting that Wade stay home more insistently won’t do anything except maybe (definitely) piss him off. He hates being fussed over on days like this, maintains that he’s fine , and Logan knows that’s bullshit, but he’d be a real big hypocrite if he got on Wade for being annoyingly stubborn.

So he quietly slides a hand inside Wade’s (Logan’s, first, at some point, but Wade adopted it as his ages ago, and Logan’s never asked for it back) hoodie, links their fingers together, and starts to walk the three of them out the door.

Wade takes the stairs sluggishly, and Logan lets him but makes sure he’s always a step ahead in case Wade topples suddenly.

He shudders when a blast of wintry air rushes past them, relents enough to curl tighter into Logan’s side to leech some of his warmth, and Logan doesn’t comment. He wishes he had Wade’s ability to shoot off at the mouth about nothing; maybe he’d be able to distract his partner from the pain radiating through his body and the dark thoughts swirling in his head. But he doesn’t. He just squeezes Wade’s hand every so often, slows when he can hear Wade’s heart thumping too fast for his comfort, and diverts them away from puddles or icy spots on the sidewalk.

Luckily, the site isn’t too far from the apartment, but by the time they arrive, Wade is shivering and the physical embodiment of the word droopy . He keeps mashing the heel of his hand into the nose of his mask like he’s trying to mop up snot, too. The clang of metal and thunderous roll of men’s voices make him cringe a bit, but he spins on the spot and extricates his hand from Logan’s.

“Don’t go finding a new boytoy while you’re here,” Wade says, and he sounds fucking miserable . It breaks Logan’s heart a little. “I don’t like to share, and…it’s my apartment, and I can kick you both out.”

“It’s Althea’s apartment,” Logan says, rubbing his palms up and down Wade’s shuddering arms to warm him. “And I already told you, dumbass, you don’t have any competition. Go the fuck back to sleep when you get home, okay?”

Wade hums, and Mary Puppins yips at Logan’s feet. Through the metallic crashing and banging all around them, Logan can hear murmurs amongst the men working:

Is that Deadpool?

Holy shit.

Looks like him.

He has the mask on.

What’s he doing with that hairy fucker?

Is that the  Wolverine?

“Was thinking I’d train for a 5k, actually,” Wade sighs, and the way he tucks the edge of his hood around his face lets Logan know that he can hear the gossipy blather around them, too. “Maybe go save a whole litter of kittens stuck up a tree, too…or whatever the fuck it is hero-ish people do.”

Mary whines as Wade tugs on her leash and starts to amble away, looking between him and Logan imploringly. 

Logan hasn’t been one for PDA in years , but he can’t just let Wade leave with his shoulders sagging and that wretched slant in his voice, so he takes a step forward and grabs Wade’s wrist.

Faster than Wade can protest, he’s yanking the hood down, rolling Wade’s mask up past his nose, and laying a big, fat kiss on his stupid, self-deprecating mouth.

Logan won’t lie – it’s pretty gross. Wade’s upper lip is indeed wet with snot, and he has horrific morning breath made worse by the trek to the construction site and the humidity of his mask, but Logan kisses and sucks at Wade’s lips like a starving man anyway. The men behind them are definitely watching because they hoot and whistle suggestively, but Logan pays them no mind; he cups the curve of Wade’s jaw and licks into his mouth, relishing in the heat crawling across the lower half of Wade’s face and blossoming under his fingertips.

“Love your mouth,” Logan murmurs. He means something else; they both know it, but he still has trouble with that particular phrasing, not because he doesn’t feel it — he feels it so much that it physically aches some days. It just gets stuck in his throat, sweet and tacky like honey. He doesn’t need to see Wade’s eyes to know they’re big and round, probably fluttering like a cartoon character’s.

“Love you…too,” he pants. 

“Go home,” Logan urges, stroking his thumbs over Wade’s half-covered cheeks, “take a nap, and if you’re still on this woe-is-me bullshit when my shift is done, I’m gonna cut your dick off ‘til it doesn’t grow back anymore.”

“…C-Could you do that anyway?” Wade asks. There he is.

Logan chuckles and retreats a step, calling out a final goodbye that’s almost drowned out by the juvenile whooping and jeering from his coworkers.

The day passes uneventfully — it turns out, no one’s inclined to be homophobic to the guy built like a brick shithouse with adamantium blades in his hands, funny how that works — and on his walk home, Logan decides to pick up Chinese takeout from their favorite place. He’s expecting Wade to be curled up in a pitiful ball on the pullout, Golden Girls droning softly on the TV when he walks through the door, but instead, he’s sitting at the kitchen table…with Chinese takeout from their favorite place.

“Uh…” Logan says, holding up his bulbous plastic bag. Wade — finally maskless — blinks at him.

“Jinx?” he says, a coy smile flirting with the curve of his lips, and Logan snorts.

Wade flits across the room, still slightly buckram but not so visibly weighed down with pain, and pecks Logan on the lips.

“You stink ,” he says benevolently, nosing at Logan’s cheek. “Like industrial lubricant and the fragile male ego. And body odor, a lot of body odor.”

“You seem better.”

“Everything’s simmered back down to my baseline of “just inconveniently painful,” thank you for noticing.” Wade points to the takeout in Logan’s hand. “Why did you get apology Chinese?”

“Because…it’s just regular Chinese? I figured you might be hungry, and I didn’t feel like cooking.”

“Aw, aren’t you just a sweetie?” Wade pinches his cheeks, and Logan lets him because he’s had a bad day — totally not because he likes it a little bit. Nope.

“What’re you apologizing for, again?” Logan asks as Wade takes the plastic bag from his hand and — hangs it on Mary Puppins’ leash hook. Fucking loon.

“Being a cranky bitch this morning,” Wade explains. Logan doesn’t realize he’s being backed up toward the pullout, both of Wade’s hands flat against his pecs, until the backs of his knees hit the mattress, and he’s suddenly falling onto his ass.

“You don’t need to apologize for that, bub. ‘S not personal, I know that.”

Wade shrugs…and sinks to his knees. Oh.

“Well, crab rangoon and moo goo gai pan were only half of my apology plan,” Wade says, bumping Logan’s legs apart, deft fingers making quick work of his belt and zipper. He’s not hard, but the way Wade maintains eye contact as he fishes Logan out through the fly of his jeans is getting him there quickly . 

“Thought you said I stunk.”

“You do,” Wade moans and takes Logan down his throat.

3.

Triggers are fucking stupid.

Logan means that with the utmost sincerity, just not in the way most people think. Having triggers isn’t the stupid part, no, and neither is having an unusual or uncommon trigger, like a door slamming or the smell of gasoline — all of those are fine.

It’s his triggers that are, without a doubt, fucking stupid .

He’d been having such a good day, too. He supposes that should have tipped him off, in hindsight — he can never have too good a day because, as he’s learned, there is always a cosmic shoe just fucking dying to drop right on top of his big metal skull. It often feels like it’s been lobbed at his head rather than passively dropped, with all the force of a celestial quarterback whipping a football. 

It was a good day because it was a boring day, a normal day. He and Wade ran errands — ammo shop to replenish Wade’s inventory, bank to deposit Logan’s most recent paycheck, and finally, the grocery store to spend said paycheck — and they’re on their way home when it happens. Wade’s a few paces ahead, practically bouncing down the sidewalk despite the excessive amount of plastic bags he’s loaded up on both arms, and he’s chattering (shocking, isn’t it?) about the inflated price of sweet potatoes.

Logan’s not really listening, just weaving in between pedestrians and letting the sound of Wade’s voice in the wind guide him in the right direction. He’s thinking about if he wants to make lasagna or bolognese for dinner when an old man bumps into him. Or, rather, Logan bumps into him  because he’s not paying attention like he should be, and he opens his mouth to apologize to the poor geezer when he smells it.

Smells him , more like — Logan smells Charles fucking Xavier. 

His Charles Xavier, because as he’s discovered, variants of the people he’s known for decades still smell like different beings altogether in this universe; it made for a very disorienting trip to this world’s version of the X-Mansion a week back when Wade insisted he attended Yukio’s birthday party. It was like walking straight back into the past, only this time, the familiar faces he’d missed so fucking much came with brand new scents and interests and lives , so they weren’t that familiar at all — he’d spent the better part of that evening stuck to Wade’s hip, head spinning so fast from the grotesqueness of it all he was fighting the urge to vomit until they left.

That’s one of the (many) downsides to having senses as enhanced as his. He never forgets an odor, no matter how unpleasant, and he can smell everything with such intensity it sometimes makes the space behind his eyes throb, which is why when he smells Charles, that blend of old dusty books and leather and spiced rum he’s never picked up on anyone else, he freezes .

The man isn’t Charles because his Charles Xavier is fucking dead. Still, he’s a kind-looking older fellow with gold-wire glasses, clear, bright blue eyes, and the smile he offers as he side-steps Logan with a liver-spotted hand on the shoulder is so Charles that it makes his stomach lurch, first with hope and then crushing despair. The interaction is over as soon as it starts, but the man’s scent sticks to Logan like sap, like glue, like blood , and that’s when shit starts to go sideways.

It starts with the floor tilting dramatically, as always. Logan stumbles like he’s been thrown forward, almost dropping the bags he (somehow) distantly remembers he’s holding. Then his vision fuzzes, blurring this mundane corner of the world, his corner of the world, into unrecognizable shapes and colors, blotches of light and shadow spinning together dizzyingly fast. His hearing goes next, fading until there’s nothing but the sound of blood rushing in his ears, and if that’s where it stopped, maybe he could recover, come back from this quickly.

But it doesn’t.

The dancing lights slow, crystallize, blossom into something — some where — new and yet not new at all, and there’s a pop like Logan’s ascending on an airplane as his hearing returns. God, does he wish it wouldn’t. There are so many voices, some wailing, some gurgling, all different shades of devastated. It makes Logan cold down to his bones, into the very metal core of his being. He can smell them, all of them, smell their blood, smell them dying — his friends, his family, they’re dying, and they’re calling to him.

Logan! Logan!

The carpet is so wet with blood that his shoes squelch; crimson bubbles and froths around his every footfall. He’s freezing; why is he freezing? He drank his weight in liquor tonight. What is all this blood? What’s happened to his friends? 

Logan! Help me!

The walls — they’re streaked with red. There are scorch marks, arcs of burnt wood and charred wallpaper as far as Logan can see, and the blood — it smells like Scott. Where’s Scott?

Where’s Jean?

LOGAN!!

Oh, God, they’re dying. Why can’t Logan get to them fast enough, they’re dying , he has to move, but his feet are stuck in the carpet. Stuck in their blood. It sounds like he’s being called to from every corner of the house, every nook and cranny filled with another dead or dying mutant who implores him for help. But he can’t. He can’t.

He turns his head, drags a ragged breath in through his open mouth, scents his surroundings. So much fucking blood, but beneath it — or maybe woven within it — is Charles. He’s just behind the door to his left. Why isn’t he saying anything? 

“…Logan…”

There are more voices, different voices, different scents. Humans . He can hear their hearts crashing against their ribs, smell the adrenaline pumping through their veins, the sweat on their heated flesh. They’re excited, exhausted, proud — Logan can taste the malicious thrill thick in the air, just like he can taste gunpowder and copper.

Laughter cracks through the night like lightning, sharp and predatory, like the hiccuping of hyenas.

“Logan —“

They did this. They did this.

“Fucking Christ — Logan.”

They killed his friends. The fucking humans, they came for his friends, like Erik always said they would, and they’re laughing . He’ll kill them, he’ll kill every last fucking one of —

“Logan!”

The world jerks on its axis again, and then Logan spins through nothing. 

It takes a long, long time, ages, before he can feel the ground beneath him.

When he does, it’s cold and hard — concrete. Sidewalk. He’s on the sidewalk. 

He inhales, sucking air through his teeth. The air is wintry, heavy with the threat of snowfall; he can smell frying meat, laundry detergent, something sweet…marshmallows.

Wade.

“Theeere he is, there we go, hey, peanut.” 

Wade is here. He’s close to Logan’s face, the irregular pools and ridges of his scars pinker than usual, thanks to the cold, brown eyes glittering like river rocks. There’s warmth on Logan’s cheeks — Wade’s hands.

Something hot and metallic burns his nose. He looks down.

All six of his claws are driven through Wade’s middle.

“Fuck, shit, I’m —“

“Oh, please, it’s barely a fucking tickle,” Wade interrupts, blood gushing afresh into his hoodie. He’s kneeling between Logan’s legs — he doesn’t remember how he ended up on the ground.

“Oh my God! ” shrieks a random woman, scuttling up to where Wade and Logan are huddled. “A-Are you alright? Should I call someone?”

“Do I fucking look like I need your help, lady?” Wade snaps, twisting and forcing Logan to gouge deeper holes into his intercostals. Logan finally has the sense to retract his claws, and Wade stands, shooing the woman away.

“Go, go on. Go report a kid for selling lemonade, or something, this is official Deadpool business. That goes for all of you looky-loo assholes!”

Logan blinks. There’s a fucking crowd because, of course, there is. They gape, affronted, at Wade for a few seconds, unmoving. Does one of them have their fucking phone out right now?

“Alright, you shitbirds have about five seconds,” Wade snarls, “and then I am going full Hancock on all your voyeuristic asses — starting with you , pornstache.” He points a finger at a man with a dark push-broom mustache, who gulps thickly.

“One! Two!”

Everyone scatters like cockroaches before Wade reaches three.

“Okay, honey badger — c’mon, uppies, let’s get you out of that mysterious puddle you’ve sat in.”

Wade’s hands are firm under Logan’s armpits, hefting him to his feet even as Logan’s legs wobble like wet noodles. He slumps against Wade’s chest, knees trembling; one of Wade’s arms loops around his waist, keeping him somewhat steady.

“If you think about it, it’s kinda special,” Wade says. He stoops slightly, threading his free arm through the handles of discarded grocery bags. “Our first foray into PTSD flashbacks as a couple. Should mark it on the calendar, peanut. I’m sure you’ll always wanna remember it.”

If Logan had any energy left in his body, he’d tell Wade to shut up. But he’s drenched in sweat, his veins are singing with a nauseating amount of adrenaline, and his stomach threatens to empty all over the pavement if he so much as opens his mouth, so he settles for grunting in displeasure.

Wade hauls Logan’s four-hundred-pound ass up three flights of stairs, occasionally adjusting the grocery bags on his arm, and never complains. He talks – Logan doesn’t know about what, and for the first time, it’s not because he’s actively tuning Wade out; his brain has just been turned to soup, and he physically cannot log any of the information Wade is dumping on him. 

One second, they’re in the hallway, and the next, Logan is on his back on the pullout, the in-between a haze. Wade sits on the edge, one of Logan’s legs in his lap, unlaces his boots.

“...and then it turns out that Pink Diamond was never shattered at all. She was Rose Quartz the whole time! Isn’t that fuckin’ nuts?”

“Huh?” 

Wade looks over his shoulder and chucks Logan’s shoe into the wall. Logan doesn’t think that’s what he’s aiming for, but the sole thwacks into the drywall all the same.

“Oh, were you actually listening?” Wade asks, flinging the other boot away. He heaves Logan’s legs aside and shimmies out from under their weight. “You had this beautiful little thousand-yard twinkle in your eye, so I assumed you were out to lunch, but I can start at the top if–”

“Wade.” Logan’s eyes are fixed on the hideous scarlet blotch on his torso, the six fluttering gashes he tore through Wade's hoodie. “Take that off.”

“I’m all for unhealthy coping mechanisms, but I’m not too keen on fucking you while you’re all…like this,” Wade says, gesturing to Logan’s supine form. Logan kicks out, an empty threat that doesn’t connect with anything.

“No, not…you stink like blood, idiot. Take that��off so I don’t have to smell it.” 

Wade obliges, even going the extra mile to deposit the sweatshirt into the hamper in Althea’s room; Logan notes the soft click of the door shutting as Wade pads back into the living room. He busies himself with unpacking the groceries, clattering and banging around in the kitchen so ferociously Logan knows he’ll have to go back and reorganize the pantry when he gets a second wind, and it’s…it’s comforting, weirdly. He’d love to be annoyed, and usually is with Wade’s contempt for putting anything in a place that makes logical sense, but right now, it’s nice to have something trivial to focus on, to distract him from whatever the fuck downstairs just was.

He hasn’t had a flashback that vivid in years . His nightmares don’t even haunt his subconscious in such graphic technicolor, and it’s fucking with his head. The sheets between his fingers don’t feel all the way real yet, and it’s like he’s floating, untethered to his body in a wholly disorienting way. The only thing assuring him that any of this is real and he isn’t back at the mansion is Wade’s scent. He jams his face into the mattress and greedily inhales, trying to embed the smell of his partner into his fucking lungs, but it’s not enough. 

Logan rolls onto his side and grunts in Wade’s direction.

“Are you gonna puke?” Wade asks, nose wrinkling and lip curling. “I puke sometimes, after, but we don’t have a Little Green Machine, so I’d prefer if you rolled thataway ,” he flaps a hand, indicating the rugless half of the room, “so I can mop up your hairballs a little easier.”

Wade’s works clunk around in his head, weightless and without meaning. He reaches a hand out pitifully.

“‘Mere, mouth,” he grumbles.

Wade opens his mouth, thinks better of whatever he’s about to say, then shuts it. He shuffles over, shirtless above his Hello Kitty pajama pants – if Logan’s eyes would stop blankly sliding over everything, he might smile at those fucking bottoms rather fondly, but as of right now, he doesn't even process Wade’s wearing them. 

“Scoot, kitty cat, you’re manspreading,” Wade says, pushing at Logan’s flank. He flops onto his back, and then Wade is beneath him, gingerly lifting his shoulders and setting his head in Wade’s lap. His hands, rough and malformed, slip easily into Logan’s hair.

“That looked like a doozy down there,” he remarks, and Logan grouses wordlessly. What a fucking understatement .

“You wanna tell ole Wadey about it?”

“Not really.” He’s not often at risk of sliding into a new flashback when he talks about previous ones, but he doesn’t trust his maudlin, mushy brain right now. Besides, Wade’s scent is creeping pleasantly into his nose, wrapping its fingers around Logan and tenderly bringing him back down to earth.

“...you were yelling for them,” Wade says after a moment, voice low, sincere. “Chuck, Scott…Jean…took me a second to realize you weren’t just having a senior moment and hollering at people on the street.”

Logan laughs, and though it’s barely more than air being pushed out of his nose, it’s real. If anyone else tried to joke about his flashbacks or what he did during them, he’d run them through, no questions asked. But Wade gets it – gets him . He knows Logan doesn’t want to be nursed and doted on because it embarrasses him and makes him feel incapable and ridiculous, so he never does. He’s just himself.

Logan doesn’t appreciate that enough, he decides.

He looks up at Wade, finally feeling more bound to his body, and Wade is looking at him too, open and patient, and God,  he loves this stupid motherfucker so much it makes him ill.

“Thanks,” he says.

“For what, the head scritches?” Wade asks, lightly scraping his blunt nails over Logan’s scalp. “My pleasure. Anything to get my hands on your kitty cat ears.” That’s what he calls Logan’s cowlicks because he’s an asshole.

“‘M trying to be nice, fuckface.”

“Don’t, it’s not your color. You look much better in shades of gruff and stoicism.”

Logan cracks a smile, and his eyes slide closed as Wade massages his head more insistently. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, Logan dozing, Wade playing in his hair, but after a while, something warm and dry presses between Logan’s (for once) unfurrowed brow.

Wade’s lips.

Wade murmurs something sweet and soft into his flesh, mouth dragging earnestly over his forehead, but Logan doesn’t catch it. 

(Wade would like to interject here, though, dear reader, to reiterate it: You never have to thank me for this . Purely for contextual and narrative purposes, not at all because he wants Good Boyfriend Points. Carry on!)

4.

“I’m not wearing that.”

Wade wilts, lips pursing and eyes narrowing. “Do you hate me? Is that it?”

Logan’s eyes flit between Wade’s downtrodden expression and the hot pink T-shirt clutched in his hand, two sizes too big for even Logan and I’m a Virgin etched on the front in swirling white script.

“Put it back,” he says, barreling past Wade with their already overfull shopping cart and crossing to the end of the aisle. Letting Wade talk him into coming to the thrift store was a stupid idea, and he’d known as much when he agreed, but, well…it’s hard to say no to someone who’s got your dick down their throat, especially when they’re batting their big wet eyes at you, and the drooly curve of their mouth forms the word please so prettily.

He’s kinda whipped. But he’s not I’m a Virgin shirt-whipped.

People bustle around him, politely tapping the back of the cart or his shoulders when they pass by to indicate their presence, and he knows they don’t mean anything by it but Christ alive, does he wish strangers would stop fucking touching him. Were he in his original universe, he would say as much, with a lot more snarling and unsheathing of the claws, but he’s trying to be civilized now, and being civilized apparently means grinning and bearing it a lot more than he used to. His skin is writhing under his jacket, and heat is crawling uncomfortably up his neck, so he sets his jaw and waits at the end of the aisle for Wade to finish browsing through shirts.

“What if I wear it?” Wade asks, waving that neon atrocity around and cupping a hand around his mouth like Logan can’t hear a conversation happening next door. “Any objections to that?”

“Yes.”

“Great, I’m getting it!” 

A few people pivot to watch Wade traipse toward the cart, flinging the shirt inside with a triumphant little grin on his face, and it makes Logan bristle a bit. He knows Wade is loud – he fucking lives with him – but the disgust on these strangers’ faces is not only because of Wade’s volume; Logan can tell by the way their eyes roam from the top of his bald head to the stretches of exposed, mottled skin on his hands and legs with a sort of fascinated revulsion. Wade’s a grown-ass man, a contract killer; he doesn’t need rescuing, and he certainly doesn’t need to be reminded of his unusual appearance when he’s having a rare good day, so Logan resolutely doesn’t say anything, but he wants to.

Who the fuck are these people to look at Wade that way? If they knew what he’d gone through, what made him look the way he does, Logan’s certain they’d keep those nasty little sideways glances to themselves. But that shouldn’t even fucking matter; it shouldn’t matter what Wade has or hasn’t endured because his appearance doesn't need justification.

Logan breathes out heavily through his nose. A boorish, stupid part of himself wants to whisk Wade home and fuck these feelings out; he’s not good with words, even dirty talk (that’s Wade’s shtick), but he’ll fumble his way through all day long just to make Wade flush in that way he does.

Oops, okay – no more thoughts like that in public.

Logan shakes his head to clear the ( very appetizing) mental image of Wade blushing down to his chest and looks out across the store, eyes lazily scanning the jumbled knick-knacks stacked at the ends of the aisles.

Oh.

Logan squints.

It’s exceptionally irritating that he knows precisely what the thing is before he can even really focus on it and even more irritating that his chest leaps at the sight. He looks around, slyly checking what Wade’s doing – he’s off in his own little world, flipping through hung-up pairs of jeans, mouth moving along to whatever pop song is playing faintly over the intercom above. 

Perfect.

Logan swings the cart over and hurries over to the fucking Hello Kitty alarm clock that Wade has been talking his ear off about for close to two weeks now, knocking it into the cart and making a mad dash for the self-checkout before Wade notices he’s gone. Whether or not he glares at a few people who deem it appropriate to stare at him while he does this is neither here nor there (but they fucking started it).

Wade finds him after he’s stuffed the purchase beneath a yellow vinyl bag Wade picked up from a local bakery sometime the year before, its blue eyes sparkling and a wide, toothy grin stretched across the front. It’s hideous and a little creepy, but Wade said it reminded him of Logan’s suit, and then he didn’t feel like he could insult the thing without sounding like a huge dick, so.

“Ready to go, honey badger?”

“I was ready half an hour ago.”

“Next time, we can do what you wanna do, princess,” Wade offers, patting Logan’s bicep and snatching the cart from him. “Like brood or go to the cigar factory and clean house.”

“You’re fuckin’ stupid.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fucking stupid, so sticks and stones, gorgeous.”

He hates (loves) how easy it is for Wade to make him laugh.

Logan wraps the alarm clock inside a shirt and stuffs it at the bottom of Wade’s bag while he’s distracted, determined to keep it as a surprise until they get home, which proves to be a little harder than anticipated because Wade likes to swing every single bag he’s ever held around like a fucking flail. He’s convinced Wade’ll fling it straight into a wall at this rate, which wouldn’t be devastating, and he only paid like six dollars for the stupid thing, but…well, he knows Wade will like it. If it survives.

Althea is on the folded-up couch when they get home. Mary Puppins is nestled snugly in her lap, and she hits Wade with a “You holdin'?” the second his foot crosses the threshold into the apartment.

“No, Tony Montana,” he snipes, pitching his bag onto the kitchen table. “My money does have better things to be spent on, believe it or not.”

“Not by much,” Logan mutters, and Wade thumps him on the back of the head.

“You’re both just lovely people to be around, d’you know that?” He starts to unload his purchases as he rants, and Logan leans against the wall nearest the table so he can watch.

“I’m so glad you can bond over endlessly mocking me, really butters my fuckin’ nuts, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have two crotchety pensioners riding my ass all goddamn – the fuck is this?” 

Logan smirks as Wade turns the lumpy shirt over in his hands, the wrinkled skin of his forehead bunching in confusion.

“Did I black out and shoplift something?” he mumbles, half to himself, curiously unfurling the fabric. 

“No, dipshit, just open it.”

“Did you shoplift something?” Wade asks, mouth dropping open in faux-shock. “ Peanut , I can’t believe you would…no, you fucking didn’t.”

Logan grins . 

Wade’s eyes round, and suddenly, he looks smaller in the already cramped kitchen, softer somehow as he gingerly turns the alarm clock over in his hands. Logan can see the wheels turning in his head when he finally looks up at him.

“You’re clowning.”

“No, bub, ‘s for you.”

“I sense clowns.”

“It was just fuckin’ sitting there in the store. You were ready to pay some loser in Tucson like a hundred bucks for it on eBay, so…now you don’t have to.”

Wade blinks. His lack of eyelashes makes the tears welling up in his eyes more apparent, but Logan doesn’t comment on them, and eventually, Wade sets the clock down on the table and presses into Logan’s space with a watery little smile.

“You,” he breathes, hands bracketing either side of Logan’s neck, “are a fucking hopeless romantic in Wolverine’s clothing.”

“It’s just a clock, bub.” Logan’s palms instinctively find the curve of Wade’s waist.

“It’s what the clock represents ,” Wade insists, tapping Logan on the tip of the nose with his index finger. “Or did you not pay attention in English class?”

“Shut up.”

Logan tugs Wade closer, sealing the gap between their mouths, and he can practically taste the smile on Wade’s lips. He’ll never admit it, but he guesses Wade is right.

What the clock represents – or whatever.

5.

“Do we have Epsom salts?”

Logan blinks to clear the sleep from his eyes and rolls his head toward Wade’s voice. He doesn’t know when the scratchy throw that usually lives on the back of the couch was thrown across his legs or when Mary decided his stomach was an excellent place to sleep, but they both make for a lethal combo as far as midday naps go. He’s still all soft and fuzzy at the edges despite the chill leaking into the apartment through the walls and floorboards.

He clears his throat and looks up at Wade standing in the mouth of the hallway. Somehow, some way, he’s acquired a pullover that looks exactly like Logan’s X-Men suit, and its aggressively yellow fabric is like a floodlight through the afternoon's gloom.

“…huh?”

“Epsom. Salts,” Wade repeats, raising his voice and over-enunciating every syllable. “Do. We. Have. Any?”

“Salt’s in the kitchen, where it always is,” Logan grumbles. He scrubs a hand over his face and tries to kick the blanket from his lower half; Mary Puppins whines in protest before hopping to the floor with an exasperated sigh.

“No, not — ugh, men ,” Wade huffs. “I’m not seasoning chicken, I’m trying to take a bath, I’m not using fucking kosher salt.”

“Why’re you taking a salt bath?” Logan asks, and Wade groans like he’s dealing with an especially stupid child. Even Mary casts him a look he swears is disparaging, which is rich, considering she almost chokes to death every time she eats because she still hasn’t figured out how not to swallow her own tongue.

“My joints hurt like I just went ten rounds in a salad spinner, and not in a fun way, so I’d like to stew in some boiling water for the next hour and pretend I don’t have joints at all. To do that, babygirl, I need Epsom salt.”

“…Why?” Perhaps he could deduce the why on his own if he thought about it for more than five seconds, but his brain is still clogged with sleep and not running on all cylinders…plus, who is Logan kidding? Sometimes it’s really fun to fuck with Wade the way he fucks with him. He seldom gets the opportunity, so when Wade’s scowl deepens, Logan’s lips twitch with amusement.

“I read about it on fucking Pinterest, oh Inquisitive One, thank you so much for your help.”

Logan’s feet hit the floor just as Wade’s disappears around the corner. He ambles toward the bathroom, where fat, half-melted white candles are scattered on every available flat surface, flickering invitingly, and a half-empty bottle of lavender soap is perched on the toilet tank. Steam hangs thickly in the air, rising from the mountain of frothy, fragrant bubbles piled high in the tub, and Logan wonders if maybe the water is actually boiling. Condensation sweats down the surface of the small mirror above the sink, where Wade’s reflection quickly undresses.

“Bad day?” he asks, and Wade starts a bit.

“Not as bad as others,” he exhales, the line of his shoulders relaxing once he realizes who’s behind him. He balls up his pullover and lobs it at Logan’s chest — it connects softly with his pecs before plopping onto the tile. Logan kicks it behind him into the hallway. 

“But not great,” Logan finishes. Wade nods, bouncing on one foot as he strips a sock off the other.

“That’s the thing about chronic pain, peanut — great is hardly a member of my vocabulary unless I’m talkin’ about the British bake-off.”

When Wade is finally naked, he rolls his shoulders out and cracks his neck — the notches slip and crunch in a way Logan fucking hates — before turning to face his partner properly.

“You gonna join, or are you content to stand there, ogling me like a pervert?”

Logan ignores that comment because Wade Wilson is the last person he will ever take criticism regarding ogling from, thank you, but furrows his brow and casts a dubious look at the tub. It’s not falling apart like most things in the apartment, but it is small, probably too small for Althea to sit in comfortably. 

“I don’t even think you can fit in there, bub,” he says plainly, and Wade’s jaw falls, one hand pressing in exaggerated offense against his bare chest.

“How dare you, I’m still carrying holiday weight.”

Logan rolls his eyes. 

(Wade’s not wrong, though; he is a little more substantial these days, especially around the middle, but far be it from Logan to ever point that out. Or complain.) 

“I mean because you’re tall , asshole, and I’m also tall —“

“Eh,” Wade says, and Logan makes a mental note to smack the shit out of him for that later.

“— so we both wouldn’t fit.”

“You, of all people, know that I am a champion at making things fit, Wolvie,” Wade says, and his gaze briefly drops to Logan’s crotch. Oh yeah, Logan’s the ogler.

Wade’s eyes roll back into his head as he sinks into his bath, groaning obscenely and almost vanishing completely beneath the foam heaped above the water. Logan steps closer, toeing the rest of Wade’s clothes out of the cramped space, and sits on the toilet lid.

Wade doesn’t need to be watched over; he knows that. He typically wouldn’t have followed Wade in here, just left him to his pain management and waited to be accompanied in the living room once Wade had soaked to his satisfaction, but…actually, he doesn’t have a reason. Not a good one, anyway — he just feels like hanging out with him in here. Beats marinating in the cold damp of the rest of the apartment, anyway.

Wade blows air out of his mouth, sending a few bubble clumps in Logan’s direction. One lands daintily on the knee of his sweats, and he wipes it away.

“Water’s fine, honey badger,” Wade hums. “Just a hair below scalding.”

Logan curiously dips a finger in, and Jesus , Wade’s not fucking kidding. He’s surprised there isn’t sloughed-off flesh floating around in the bathwater at this rate.

“Okay, that can’t be good for you,” he says, and Wade waves a hand at him.

“Neither is cancer, believe it or not.”

“Your joints hurt that bad?”

Wade nods, eyes shut and head tipped back against the lip of the tub. 

Logan considers him for a moment. He looks peaceful, not like he’s slowly being cooked alive at all, and again, he’s fine . Logan knows he’s fine, knows that if he got up and walked out right now, Wade would pickle himself for a while and then emerge in a haze of steam, chipper and chattering away, but…

“Alright, move.”

Wade cracks an eye open and watches Logan peel himself out of his clothes. 

“Wait, you’re actually getting in?” he asks, and Logan pauses, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his briefs.

“You just asked me to get in.”

“Well, yeah , but I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Do you not want me to?”

“Babygirl, if I ever say no to you being wet, naked, and pressed up against me, I want you to find a way to kill me for real,” Wade says seriously, raising one bright red arm out of the bath and clutching Logan’s knee. “I just know cats don’t like water, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ move your ass,” Logan grunts, flinging his underwear into the hallway.

Water sloshes over the rim of the tub as Wade sits up and scoots forward, bubbles spilling over decrepit tile and soaking the ugly, threadbare mat Althea had perhaps purchased in the eighties. Logan grimaces as he steps in, flesh tingling unpleasantly as he lowers himself behind Wade’s scrunched-up form. When his ass hits the porcelain, another wave of water splashes onto the floor noisily, and Wade snorts.

“Such a talent you have for making things hot and wet, angel face,” he purrs, wasting no time in wriggling between Logan’s knees and slotting his back against Logan’s chest. Bubbles tickle the bottom of Logan’s chin, so he wipes it with the back of his hand before looping both arms around Wade’s waist. It’s a natural thing for him, now, embracing Wade like this. Before this, before they became…whatever it is they are (“boyfriends” feels like too juvenile a word for someone as old as Logan), he’d tried to avoid touching Wade as much as possible unless they were fighting, in which case all bets were off. He’s stabbed Wade through the skull, sucker-punched him in the gut, swiped his legs out from under him and then laughed when his head bounced off the ground, and it was thrilling, exhilarating, but this…

He slides his hands up and presses both thumbs into the nape of Wade’s neck, rubbing firmly and spreading them outwards to the sides of his throat and then down to his traps; Wade moans and lets his head fall back against Logan’s shoulder.

He likes touching Wade like this, gently, slowly. He likes knowing that his touch is helping , venting some tension and pain out of Wade’s body without violence. He watches his hands on Wade’s neck, tanned and hairy against gnarled, too-pink flesh. If he focuses, he can feel his claws jostling between his bones, tucked away and as natural to him as breathing but always on this side of uncomfortable. 

He is a brutish, ugly thing, always has been. But here he is, here Wade is, allowing him this close to him, allowing him to run the hands that have done unspeakable, unforgivable things over his perpetually raw skin and trusting that Logan won’t hurt him (not unless he’s asked to, anyway).

He finds a knot bundled between Wade’s shoulder blades and digs his fingers into it; he kisses the knob of Wade’s spine apologetically when he hisses with discomfort.

“Were you a fucking masseuse in the war?” Wade groans, eyes screwed shut. “It’s like you’re finding knots in my knots, Jesus Christ .”

“Should I stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” Wade says, reaching back to tangle a hand in Logan’s hair. Water dribbles from his forearm onto Logan’s face, and when Wade scratches against the base of Logan’s skull, he’s reminded of when they fuck. Wade’s shameless noises, the way they cling onto each other like they’ll die if they can’t get close enough. But this is more intense, more intimate in a way that’s different from sex.

Logan noses at Wade’s neck and drags his hands down lower, beneath the water, working the stiffness along his flanks out as Wade melts on top of him. He huffs and sighs prettily, and as much as Logan wants to sink his teeth into his pulse point, down, down, down until he hits muscle and can taste Wade’s blood in the dip of his tongue, he doesn’t.

Because this is about taking away all of Wade’s pain, or as much as he can touch, the way Wade has taken away what he can touch of Logan’s pain.

Logan massages Wade’s neck again, taking advantage of how loose he is and nudging his head further to the side. The fingers of one hand clutch Wade’s jaw, not hard, but firm enough to keep him in one place, while the others work themselves into Wade’s deltoids. He kisses below Wade’s ear, the column of his throat, his shoulder, and then back up, again and again, until Wade is making these beautiful little half-bitten noises high in his throat.

“If this is your idea of foreplay,” Wade croons, breathless, “it is fucking working, peanut.”

“‘S not,” Logan murmurs. He smooths his palms over Wade’s thighs, careful not to dip too close to what he’s sure Wade is hinting at, and hones in on all the snarled muscle there. Wade’s knees thunk against the tub's edges as he drops both legs open wider, and Logan chuckles but keeps his steady, slow pace.

“I just wanna do this,” he says lowly against the shell of Wade’s ear. “Wanna help you.”

“You’re sure helpin’ something.”

“Want you to feel good ,” Logan rumbles, and his arms tighten around Wade’s middle again, holding him in place. He pushes his face into the slippery skin of Wade’s nape, inhaling deeply and pushing past the lavender that clings there, latching onto Wade’s scent. Wade slides his hand down and cups the back of Logan’s skull.

“I feel very good, beautiful,” he sighs, and something in Logan’s chest squirms. Beautiful . Wade says it lightly, easily, as if it’s an objective fact and not worth a second thought. Logan turns his face, resting his cheek against the topmost notch in Wade’s spine, and exhales.

“I love you,” he says, so quiet he thinks maybe Wade won’t hear it, but he fucking tenses . Logan’s insides are roiling, and he’s hot all over, but it’s not from the bath water – he’s queasy, feels like he’s being flayed open, and it’s fucking awful , but he needs to do this. Needs to say this.

“I know,” Wade says, soft and sweet. 

“‘M bad at this.”

“I know.”

Logan heaves an airy laugh; Wade shivers. “I want you to feel good…with me.”

“I do.”

“Yeah?”

“Duh.” Wade turns his head so his lips almost brush the top of Logan’s hair. “Not just ‘cause you kneaded me like bread dough, either, but that certainly helps.”

“I…you make me feel good,” Logan admits, and his stomach lurches traitorously. He feels far too vulnerable, wishes Wade would make some stupid joke to cut the atmosphere, but he doesn’t, and Logan’s already fucking started, so he supposes he should finish. “You make me good .”

“You’re good all on your own, honey badger,” Wade points out. “Kinda comes with the X-Man territory. You don’t need me for that.”

“I do need you,” Logan says. God , this fucking open and honest shit sucks . He feels stupid, is sure he sounds stupid and sniveling and wants to just stop talking – and then Wade makes this punched-out, devastating little sound, one he tries to hide. Logan squeezes Wade hard, maybe a little harder than necessary.

“Yeah?” Wade asks. He sounds just as abraded as Logan feels.

“Yeah. ‘Course I do.”

“Well…good.” Wade combs through Logan’s hair, and Logan can hear his heartbeat thumping away behind his ribs. It’s solid, strong, and Logan absentmindedly places a hand over it to feel it throb beneath his palm.

“I love you, too, just…by the way,” Wade says hurriedly. “I-I didn’t…say it, a second ago.” Logan laughs.

“I know, bub.”

They stay like that, draped along each other’s bodies, pruning in the cooling water until Wade is limp against Logan’s chest, snoring, all the candles in the room have snuffed themselves out. Logan’s ass is asleep, his skin is prickling with goosebumps, and Mary Puppins keeps peeking her head in from time to time expectantly, so he assumes it’s past her dinnertime, but he makes no moves to disentangle himself from Wade. He rubs over him occasionally, the pads of his fingers searching for any spots he might have missed so he can ply them out before Wade wakes up.

It’s more than nice. 

It’s fucking perfect.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

It’s not Logan’s fault, really.

He and Wade haven’t had sex for a couple of weeks – not for any depressing or earth-shattering reason, and certainly not because they don’t want to. If Althea could see how often they eyefuck each other from across the room, she’d probably smack them both upside the head with her cane, and they’d deserve it. It’s just that they work entirely conflicting schedules, Logan rising for work when the sun has just begun to creep over the tops of high rises and bathe the city in pale pink light and Wade stumbling back to the apartment well past midnight after a long day of Deadpooling. They’re like ships passing in the night — Logan’s lucky if he groggily registers Wade’s lips on the nape of his neck when he finally crawls into bed most mornings, but even then, the poor thing is out like a light by the time Logan has his wits about him. 

They’re still attached at the hip, always touching, always spread over each other, and they sleep mostly naked even with the remnants of winter clinging to the city like freezer burn because Logan’s a fucking furnace, so they’re not lacking in skin-to-skin by any means. There’s just been no sex, no impassioned takings over the arm of the couch or in the heated spray of the shower, and it’s not the end of the world, but Logan finds himself thinking about it more and more the longer he goes without burying himself inside his partner.

This is probably why the second he enters the apartment today, hours before his shift usually ends, and catches sight of Wade, his cock swells with blood so fast he has to clutch the doorjamb to keep from pitching forward.

He’s not even doing anything. His boner would make more sense, Logan thinks, if he walked in on Wade touching himself or dressed in something skimpy and sexy (like panties, which they haven’t revisited since the first time, and that is a crying shame), but he’s not. He’s in the kitchen, propped against the countertop languidly, a tub of mint chip ice cream tucked covetously under one arm while the other carries heaping green and black spoonfuls into his waiting mouth. His gaze is pointed downward, and judging from the soft voices floating past the roar in Logan’s ears, he deduces he must be watching something on YouTube.

A brown flannel hangs off Wade’s torso, the top unbuttoned just enough to provide a peek at the muscled ridge of his clavicle, and blue briefs hug his hips. 

Those are Logan’s clothes. 

Wade’s dressed head to toe in only Logan’s clothing, and it makes him feel fucking feral . Wade steals his shit all the time, and while it never ceases to give him a possessive little thrill, today is different  because Wade’s rolled the flannel’s sleeves up just enough to expose his thick forearms, and the legs of the briefs are curled invitingly into the creases of where Wade’s pelvis meets his thighs, and Logan’s watching as Wade casually swipes a thumb under his lip to catch a stray drop of ice cream and then sucks the digit back into his mouth, lips wet and pink from the cold and – 

“Y’alright over there, peanut?” Wade asks, tilting his head and scrunching the scarred flesh of his brow bone. How long has he been looking back at Logan? He’s really got to stop getting so wrapped up in the lascivious spiral of his own thoughts – Wade’s going to realize the power he wields one of these days, and then Logan will never get anything done. “Someone having a senior moment? You’re home way early, don’t tell me you wandered off the site and need me to take you back, gramps.”

He laughs at his own joke, as he’s wont to do (little shit), and flips his spoon down onto his waiting tongue. Logan wants to believe he’s doing it on purpose because, again, little shit , but Wade’s attention is still half-captured by his phone, and he’s not even making eye contact anymore as he draaags the spoon out of his mouth, cheeks hollowed, his bottom lip messily coated in melted ice cream, and well.

Yeah, that fucking does it.

Logan crosses the room in approximately four long strides and has Wade pinned against the counters before he can find a resting place for his ice cream; the tub ka-thunks to the floor as Logan wrenches Wade’s arms up above his head, rolling under the table and spitting chocolate chips onto the kitchen tile. Wade makes a small, mournful noise that Logan swallows, licking greedily into Wade’s frosty mouth and rocking their hips together. 

To his credit, Wade gets over the fallen sweet treat rather quickly, and then he gives as good as he’s getting.

He slots one muscled thigh between Logan’s and hikes it up, up, up until it’s snug against Logan’s straining cock, grinding through layers of denim and cotton that are gonna need to come off very soon and chuckling against Logan’s tongue.

“I see that little Wolvie is happy to see me,” he purrs, and Logan growls.

“Do not .” They both know there is scarcely anything on Logan’s body that could be classified as little , but some virulent, mannish part of him seethes at the insinuation. Wade giggles .

“Oh no , did I hit a nerve, princess?” Wade coos, sweet with condescension, bottom lip pouting out invitingly. Logan ignores the flush that creeps all the way from the top of his head to the center of his broad chest. “Princess” is another one of those wriggling cans of worms that Logan refuses even to let himself peek inside of, right along with Wade’s passion for his “tits.” Still, Wade seems more and more determined to pop those suckers open and let the worms writhe free all over his brain these days, and maybe this metaphor is falling apart a little bit, but that’s because Wade is slipping his wrists from beneath Logan’s slackened hands, cupping him through his jeans and squeezing .

“D’you need me to tell you how big it is, angel baby?” he asks, low and teasing, leaning forward to lick his saliva off Logan’s lips. Logan chases his mouth, panting. “Is that it? You don’t need to snarl, y’know. You could just ask for that.”

“Fuck you,” Logan huffs instead, bracing himself on Wade’s shoulders. 

“Is that not what we’re doing?” Wade toys with the button on Logan’s jeans, not unsnapping it but instead just threading it back and forth between the loop, like the tease he is. “I’ve been told I don’t have the best social etiquette, but I thought that’s what the tree trunk in your pants was for.”

“You’re wearing my shit,” Logan says by way of explanation, and Wade beams, the heat of his palm rubbing up and down Logan’s fly nice and slow. Logan groans and lets his head fall forward, lets his mouth find the crook of Wade’s neck, and when he inhales, he shudders . Their scents are braided together, intertwined on Wade’s cratered flesh so deliciously that he can’t help but mouth up the slope of his throat and the hinge of his jaw, trying to draw more of it into his body. There’s a hot, sharp feeling along his gum line like something’s tearing, and then all four points of his canines are scratching against the insides of his cheeks. 

“Shit, I don’t think I should find your snuffling as hot as I do,” Wade muses, arching into Logan’s wandering lips encouragingly. “You’re like a piggy hunting for truffles.”

“Shut up.”

“Oink-oink.”

Logan’s teeth find Wade’s jittering pulse and scrape over it, hard enough to draw a thin line of blood but never hard enough to deter his fucking mouth. He doesn’t think there exists a thing that is capable of shutting Wade Wilson up for longer than twenty seconds, not even death. He’s died in front of Logan before, once, because outside of mercenary work, he’s got the proprioceptive input of a fucking toddler and fell headlong off the back of the couch, which he was walking on like a fucking tightrope. The crunch of his neck snapping, the sudden and devastating cessation of his heartbeat, and the faraway look in Wade’s unfocused eyes made for a truly terrible (and quiet) nineteen seconds. 

But Wade is exceedingly full of life now as he bucks against Logan’s body, grinning wolfishly and back bowing as Logan sucks hickeys into his throat, watches them heal, and does it all over again. He wants so badly for one mark he makes on Wade’s flesh to stick, just for a little while, even though he knows that’s impossible. He’s grateful, really, for both of their healing factors because it means he can bite straight into Wade’s jugular and savor the splash of blood against his tongue and Wade just keens about it instead of dying, but fuck . It bothers him, somewhere in his hindbrain, that the only marks Wade’s skin is capable of sustaining are the handiwork of some sadistic bald shitstain with a stupid fucking name; makes him jealous in a super fucked up way, so he compensates by growling and rutting against Wade’s thigh.

“Fuckin’ mine ,” he rumbles, hooking a finger in the collar of Wade’s ( his ) flannel and tugging. He chews on Wade’s shoulder, shreds through corded muscle and dappled flesh, and laps up the hot crimson bubbling up against his lips like a thirsty dog. 

“Wow, how virile of you, peanut. You gonna conk me over the head with a club next, take me back to the cave to ravage me?” Wade doesn’t sound like he’d mind that too much, honestly, and Logan can smell the arousal oozing out of his pores (does he still have pores? whatever, doesn’t matter), so he licks a stripe up to Wade’s lumpy ear, trailing blood and spit.

“‘S true,” he mutters, and Wade shivers at the wash of hot breath.

“Never said it wasn’t. But what’s that make you?” Wade murmurs. “Other than desperate, on account of how you’re humping my leg like a little puppy dog.”

Huh?

Oh. 

Logan totally fucking is, and what’s more embarrassing than that realization is the fact that he doesn’t stop, can’t stop. He snarls and pulls back from the mess he’s made of Wade’s collarbone — it looks like an oil painting now, red smudged thickly over pink and tan, just on this side of grotesque and so fucking sexy it makes Logan’s cock jump. He’s sick, he thinks distantly, really fucking sick for how much he loves drawing Wade’s blood, playing in it.

But if he’s sick, Wade’s sicker.

“I’m no mathematician,” he says, digging his knee into Logan’s crotch a little cruelly. “In fact, I failed ninth-grade algebra, but if two plus two equals four, I think that makes you my bitch .”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, bub,” Logan cautions, even though the world’s tilted on its axis and those fucking fireworks just snapped off behind his eyes again. Wade’s tongue darts out to wet his smiling lips.

“You seem to have that handled for the both of us,” he says, the smug motherfucker. His hands snake around Logan’s ass, forcing him further up the hard line of Wade’s thigh. “But I dunno what else I’m supposed to call you, peanut, when you’re acting like this.”

“Wade–”

“No, silly, that’s my name.” Wade hitches his leg again, sucking his teeth reproachfully. “Head-no-worky when you’re acting like a stupid puppy, huh, cupcake?”

It’s not Logan’s head that’s the most affected — although he’ll admit the fog swirling around up there does thicken considerably — but his chest. It tightens so hard he almost chokes, and his hips stutter.

Wade is observant — most people don’t think so due to the frequency with which he runs his mouth, but the fucker is more than capable of multitasking. Logan’s discovered rather quickly that he is nowhere near as aloof or indecipherable as he’d like to think. Or, maybe, Wade’s just developed a preternatural ability to read him like a fucking children’s book. 

“Boy, do I love to watch your wheels spin, babygirl,” Wade gloats, one hand trailing up his spine to cup the back of Logan’s head. His fingers twirl in the hair at his nape, gentle for now but Logan knows there’s almost always a threat, the insinuation that Wade could yank his roots at any second. 

“Could be watchin’ something else,” Logan offers, voice like gravel because he’s burning from all this attention Wade is giving him and still isn’t familiar with all the roiling feelings that come with… this . This acquiescence, this submission ; allowing someone to peel back all his layers and peer inside, not to wound him but to discern what he wants when he won’t admit it. 

“What, like you busting in your pants?” Wade snarks. Logan’s gonna hole punch his fucking skull, he swears – as soon as he gets command of his traitorous body again because it’s more than happy to just prove Wade right. “I didn’t think you’d be so easy, puppy, but look at you go . I bet if I yanked nice an’ hard on your kitty cat ears, you’d pop like fucking champagne.”

Logan growls , as clear a warning as he can manage in this state, but Wade steadfastly ignores him, and those duplicitous fingers start to creep along his scalp, toward his cowlicks, and he hadn’t realized until right fucking now that he is actually so close to cumming all over Wade’s leg like an animal.

He acts fast to avoid that eternal humiliation.

He steps back, just far enough to get the pressure off his cock, and grabs Wade’s hips to flip him over the counter. One hand smooths into the inviting dip of his back, forcing it into a deeper arch, shuffling the flannel’s hemline up by his ribs, and the other twists the crotch of Wade’s (Logan’s) briefs until they tear . He’s expecting a gasp because Wade loves to act offended when Logan ruins his clothes, but he gets a laugh instead.

“I’m still counting that as a win, by the by,” he jeers, leaning on his folded forearms.

“Shut the fuck up.” Logan doesn’t give him a chance to accede (because he never will so long as there’s air in his lungs) and jams his first two fingers in Wade’s mouth, gliding into the back of his throat and pressing his tongue down until Wade gags beautifully around the digits.

“Your hands are filthy,” he announces, garbled.

“So’s your mouth, now suck, or these are going in your ass dry.”

“Kinky,” Wade purrs, tongue obediently laving over and around Logan’s fingers, “but Deadpool don’t do painal.”

Logan’s also a big fat liar who would never really go rooting around inside Wade without ample lubrication, but hey. 

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s dripping wet down here, bub,” he says, free hand slipping between Wade’s spread thighs and encircling his cock. Wade’s thick and hot, just as scarred here as he is everywhere else, and the texture slides unusually beneath the pads of Logan’s fingers as he strokes upward. Wade jerks and crushes Logan’s index finger between his molars; Logan gags him again as payback and swipes a thumb through the precum beading on Wade’s cockhead. 

“You’re a sore loser,” Wade snaps, determined to keep up the verbal deluge even if he has to gnaw around Logan to do it.

“I didn’t lose shit.”

“See?”

Logan squeezes Wade’s cock, probably harder than he needs to, and twists his wrist meanly, but Wade just moans and rolls into his fist.

“A rough handy, that’ll show me,” he snipes, even though he’s burying his face in his forearms and his inner thighs are trembling. “You sure know how to teach a guy a lesson, honey badger.”

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” Logan says, aligning himself along Wade’s back and gnashing his teeth against the shell of his ear. “Should just leave you like this, all hard and pathetic, let you deal with it by your goddamn self.”

“But you won’t ,” Wade sing-songs, drawing out the last word and thrusting shamelessly into Logan’s grip. He’s basically jerking himself off with Logan’s hand, and he’s fucking letting him for some reason. (He knows the reason, and it’s a simple, straightforward one – Wade looks and sounds divine like this.)

“Didja know that wolverines bite their mates on the back of the neck in the wild when they fuck?” Wade rambles thinly, breath rattling out of his ribs with marked effort. “Found that little chestnut on the Internet. Also said that they’re mustelids, like a mink or a fuckin’ weasel .” He snorts.

“Didn’t know you could read, bub,” Logan says, and it’s a low blow; they both know it – Wade whips an elbow back and narrowly misses the divot of Logan’s chest. Logan catches the arm and bends it, prising it across the small of Wade’s back.

“I’m dyslexic, not illiterate, you ableist dick, and no amount of digs about my learning disability is gonna make you not a weasel.”

Logan leans across Wade’s spine, flicking the spice cabinet next to their bodies open with one finger and nimbly plucking out the half-full bottle of lube kept stashed in there – he has begged Wade to move it dozens of times, namely because Althea almost squirted a handful of it out onto her eggs the other day before Logan snatched it away, but right now he is so thankful he doesn’t have to separate from his partner’s body for even a second to prep him.

Wade sucks in a breath, probably mostly because of the cold lube Logan’s drizzling on his hole, but there’s a throatiness to it that Logan knows means he’s readying himself to speak, so while he plunges two fingers up to the knuckle inside Wade’s ass he claps his free hand over Wade’s lips. Whatever he was going to say fizzles against Logan’s rough palm, and he gives a lovely full-body shiver when Logan crooks his fingers and strokes his walls.

He’s so fucking hot and tight inside, clenching around Logan and already trying to suck him deeper. Slut .

“There,” Logan hums, drawing Wade up until he’s standing straight. For all his bitching about being close enough in height, it thrills him that Wade is just that little bit taller and that Logan can still manhandle him like this. It pleases the caveman in his brain that was blustering so audibly earlier. “Much better. ‘S nice just to shut up and take what I give you, isn’t it?”

Wade makes a weak, quarrelsome noise and shakes his head, thrashing against Logan’s chest. He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah. ‘Course not. Can’t even relax with my fingers in your cunt, huh? You just have to fucking fight me.”

Wade twitches and warbles something indecipherable, which Logan ignores in favor of scissoring him open and swirling the tips of his fingers until –

“Mmph!”

Bingo.

“You like that, huh, princess? Found your g-spot, didn’t I?” Logan sneers, reveling in the way Wade tremors as he starts abusing the poor fucker’s prostate. He’s clutching onto laminate countertops so hard Logan’s genuinely shocked it hasn’t crumbled to dust yet. He doesn’t have to see Wade’s face to know those pretty brown eyes are rolled back into his head, and that’s the weird thing about fucking the same person for a considerable(ish) amount of time: you learn their tics, their quirks, the breath’s difference between an impending orgasm and an imminent orgasm. It’s a level of intimacy he hasn’t had access to in a long, long time, not that he’s wanted it; the less he knew about whatever warm body happened to inhabit his bed for that night, and that night only , the better.

But Wade isn’t a warm body; Wade is his… his.

He might ruminate on this a little longer, perhaps even long enough to start getting all sappy and sentimental, but Wade bites the meat of his palm so hard that Logan’s blood is daubed across his teeth and chin when he yanks it away. He’s gasping, red lips teased up in a grin, eyes lidded and glossy when he throws a look over his shoulder; Logan watches the ring of jagged teeth marks fade and disappear from his flesh, pissed but also weirdly impressed with Wade’s bite force, and then Wade speaks.

“Fuck me already before I bite something important.”

“I wasn’t –”

“Oh, for fuck’s — off , off, you lost your privileges.”

One day, Logan will get used to not only how fast Wade is but also how slippery the little asshole is (ha). Today is not that day. 

Wade shoulders him off and hooks an ankle in the ditch of his knee before he can find his balance, and when his back collides with the floor, expelling all the air from his lungs, Wade’s already straddling him and fishing his cock out through his fly.

“Where’d your cat-like reflexes go, pookie?” Wade teases, thumbing over Logan’s throbbing length and tracing precum down the thick vein on the underside of his shaft. Logan could buck him off — where they’re pretty evenly matched in strength and agility, Logan far outranks him in sheer weight , so if he wanted, he could lay Wade out flat and fuck him through the floor. But he doesn’t. He settles both hands on either of Wade’s hips and —

Snikt .

“ Aht-aht , no, down, boy,” Wade admonishes, rocking the swell of that fucking ass against Logan’s cock. “No scratchies in the house, remember?”

“Mm-hm.” Logan’s claws trail featherlight up Wade’s sides, and he drinks in the anticipatory judder that slithers down Wade’s back before plunging straight through the fabric of his flannel. He squints as buttons rain down on his face before skittering across the floor, and Wade has the audacity to gape at him when he’s left mostly undressed, bare chest and stomach exposed.

“You animal ,” he snits, plucking the tattered ends of the shirt between his fingers.

“You wanna bitch about that,” Logan starts, sheathing his claws, “or do you wanna put my cock where it fucking belongs already?”

Something flashes in Wade’s eyes, something heated and wild, and his blown pupils reflect the licentious snarl Logan’s fixed him with, all bared teeth and lust-drunk. He shrugs the flannel off and sits up on his haunches to lash it away; when he lowers himself, Logan’s drooling cockhead slides past his rim.

“Say that again,” he implores, and his voice has dropped, curling out of his mouth like tendrils of smoke.

“Say what?” Logan cants up against Wade’s hole, only half-heartedly attempting to thrust inside of him, relishing in the lewd drag of his leaking cock in the cleft of Wade’s ass.

“Playing dumb is only hot when I do it,” Wade huffs. 

“Tell me what you want.” Logan blindly finds the swoop of Wade’s hips, digging the heels of both palms into his pelvis. Wade winces, wet mouth dropping open wider, eyes shining, flushed down to where his nipples would be if he still had any.

“You fucking…that…that you belong to me, belong in me,” Wade stammers, and finally Logan catches. He thrusts inside, and Wade chokes , brow knitting itself together. “Say it again .”

“You knew that already, bub,” Logan grits, slowing purposefully so Wade can adjust to his size. Regenerative healing keeps him tight as a fucking vice, and it’s dizzying on Logan’s end to be enveloped in so much clutching heat, but he paces himself, kneading the meat of Wade’s hips and watching him descend inch by inch.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s like I’m being seduced by a brick wall,” Wade complains, voice high and tenuous, rolling his neck to pin Logan with a look that’s more good-natured annoyance than genuine exasperation. “ Talk to me, fucker, I know you’re capable.”

He is , but not like Wade. He’s nowhere near as quick on the draw, but when he’s asking (demanding, more like, but Logan’s never been particularly pedantic) like that …

“You want me to talk?”

“ Yes . God, is your hearing finally going?”

“You look real fuckin’ pretty bouncing on me like that,” Logan grinds out, the confession tumbling from his mouth in one breath. “Right where you’re s’posed to be. Where you belong, keepin’ me where I belong too, huh, ‘s that what you need? Need me to come home and sit you up all pretty like this more often, princess? Would that make you happy?”

Wade’s eyes spin back into his skull as Logan bottoms out, thighs quivering, nails scuffing Logan’s abdomen hard enough to leave welts that fade out of existence just as soon as they appear. He laughs, a fucked-out, delicate sound that floats into Logan’s ears like downy feathers, still somehow rife with a response, but if he wants Logan to talk so bad, he’s gonna fucking talk .

“Got no fuckin’ idea how good you feel,” he purrs, and Wade bears down on him. “Tightest cunt I’ve ever been inside, an’ I mean that.”

“Ohh, I’ve made a mistake ,” Wade admits, swiveling on Logan’s length and working himself on it. There’s no discernible rhythm to their fucking; they’re both whipped up enough to seek their pleasure within the other, and Logan isn’t just blowing smoke up his partner's ass – Wade looks so pretty on top of him, sweet agony crimping his face, muscles taut and gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat already, and the praise falls like lemmings from the cliffside of Logan’s lips.

“No idea what you do to me, bub, fuck ,” he affirms, “you never will. You don’t get it. Make me wanna quit my job, just say fuck it and stay home so I can fill you all day.”

“Goddamn, you’d make a perfect housewife,” Wade wheezes, tossing his head back and palming at his cock as it wobbles between their flexing stomachs. “I’ll get you a frilly apron and a fistful of quaaludes, make it official.”

“Want me to say I’m yours? You already know I am, have been since the day I fuckin’ got here, can’t be anyone else’s. Fuckin’ ruined me for anyone else, you mouthy little shit.”

Logan realizes, sluggishly, he perhaps should have done a precursory sweep of the apartment for Althea before they started up like this – Wade keens, like he’s dying for real, fisting the hair on Logan’s chest like it’s the only thing keeping him attached to Earth, and Logan wishes (not for the first time) that Wade had hair to wind his fingers through. He settles for seizing him by the nape as he sits up, bullying into Wade’s space, laterals dragging artfully over the line of his jaw.

“You got nothin’ to say now? Hm? Just gotta be sweet to you, and you get fuckin’ dumb on my cock, that it?”

“You – fuck – you kiss the Professor with that mouth?” Wade whines, and Logan’s ears tick up when he hears the dirty squelch of Wade fisting his cock. He knocks his hand aside, resolutely ignoring Wade’s pitiful little mewl of protest, and gathers both of Wade’s wrists behind his back, affixing them to his spine and forcing it into a beautiful curve. 

“Greedy bitch,” Logan rasps, sucking dried blood off Wade’s shoulder.

“Says you,” Wade heaves, raw and ruined. When their eyes meet, Logan notes the tears sparkling on the edges of Wade’s, stubbornly refusing to well up enough to drip down his cheeks, and perhaps Logan is sicker than he thought, sicker than Wade, because he wants to make the poor thing cry . He jostles Wade by the neck, thrusting up sharply and throwing off his erratic flow. 

“Look at you, ‘course I’m greedy,” he rumbles, sluicing the flat of his tongue up over Wade’s Adam’s apple; it bobs with how hard Wade swallows. 

“You’re already balls deep, kitty, you don’t – shit   – need to butter me up,” he says, and displeasure reverberates in Logan’s chest.

“‘M not, dumbfuck. Just the truth.”

A spent, watery sound shakes its way out of Wade’s throat – there it is . A tear rolls fatly down the side of his face, and before Wade can rub it away with his shoulder, Logan leans forward and licks it off. 

“Stop that, you fucking dick,” Wade moans, shaking his head and trying to create distance, which Logan cannot abide by. He shushes Wade lowly, crowding closer, refusing the space, and choosing to tongue his way back into Wade’s warm, pliant mouth so that his praise can roll into him like a cloud of smoke.

“Look so good when you cry for me, bub, ‘s it feel that good?” 

Wade gasps, inhaling a lungful of Logan’s air and words, and yet, when he falters to a dead stop in Logan’s lap, there’s not enough oxygen in the world for him to announce he’s cumming, so hard and suddenly that when the first ropes splatter against Logan’s stomach, he’s shocked. When Wade sobs for him, though, a wholly broken and unintentional sound ripped right from Wade’s core, the shock gives way to adoration so crushing and all-consuming that Logan’s almost swept away by it.

“F-Fuck, fucking, God, you son of a bitch,” Wade sniffles, tears slipping gorgeously from his screwed-shut eyes, rolling like pearls down the pools and raised edges of his scars; Logan tracks their movements, mesmerized by the unique path each has to take before collecting in the hollow of Wade’s throat. “Asshole, motherfucking prick –”

“That’s right, that’s right , I gotcha, so fuckin’ good – Fuck .”

He hadn’t even recognized that he was close – Logan’s orgasm blazes through him like wildfire, squeezing every muscle in his body until he’s tight as a bowstring, applying bruising pressure to Wade’s body that he just takes, so perfect, perfectly his . He cums inside Wade with a shout but manages to keep his teeth to himself; he folds his lips over them and just drives his head into Wade’s neck, sucking in the scent of blood and sweet body wash and sweat as he spills his release inside Wade’s fluttering hole.

For a while, there’s silence. Logan feels like he’s floating, pleasantly untethered to the real world except for where his body touches Wade; he relents on Wade’s wrists, allowing them to flop back to his sides, and eugh, what did he just stick his fingers in –

Logan pries his eyes open (he doesn’t remember closing them). 

A puddle of melted mint chip ice cream has crept out from under the dining table, and Logan’s fingers are wet with frothy warmth . He wrinkles his nose and shakes his hand out.

“You play dirty , kitty cat,” Wade murmurs, voice buzzing mildly against the shell of Logan’s ear. “That was mean, and underhanded, and just plain tricksy. I’m so proud of you.”

“Uh-huh. Lemme up, we made a mess.”

“ We ?” Wade’s head flops backward, eyes still glassy, cheeks damp, and he glares at Logan half-heartedly. “ You cavemanned in here and threw the tub on the floor, Captain Patience.”

“Was in my way,” Logan explains, patting Wade’s flank. He lifts marginally, only enough for Logan to slip his cock out, air whistling through his teeth woefully at the loss.

“You break it, you clean it,” Wade asserts. He’s a mess, cum painted across his stomach, staining the desiccated remnants of Logan’s briefs, and when he clambers to his feet, it’s weeping down his inner thighs. He rubs his face with the back of one forearm, but there’s still a pinkish, post-cry glow to his face that makes his eyes bloodshot and luminous, and his mouth is still so red and swollen…

Logan’s cock twitches with interest. 

He’s flush with Wade’s back before he even reaches the kitchen threshold.

“Ex cuse me, Lake Mint Chip is ever-expanding back there, honey badger,” Wade points out, but he tips his head to the side when Logan nuzzles the edge of his jaw. 

“I’ll clean it later, get the fuck in bed.”

“Wow, two in a row, not bad for an old ma – Ow! Dirty fucking bitch, okay , I’m going, sheesh, gonna have to get you a fucking muzzle, aren’t I?”

…Logan tallies another can of fucking worms to his mental pantry like he’s prepping for the end of the world.

[bettsfic]

Betts! I love quick witted remarks and comebacks when it comes to dialogue (for example, in Succession) so i wanted to ask you, do you have any advice for writing dialogue with a rhythm?

have i mentioned that i'm watching succession right now? i just finished season 3 and i'm recovering a bit before starting 4.

but to answer your question, nearly all comedy (in this case, wit) comes from the setup-punchline pattern.

for example:

“He’s selling me things I want at a fair price? So what’s next, fellatio?”

here, logan sets up the joke in the first sentence and provides the punchline in the second. in this case, what makes it funny is the raunchy hyperbole paired with the mundanity of "fair price."

“What the fuck is this obsession with milk? You know who drinks milk? Kittens and perverts.”

here, roman is pairing "kittens" unexpectedly with "perverts" in conjunction with something as dull as drinking milk.

“You don’t hear much about syphilis these days. Very much the MySpace of STDs.”

same as above, but providing the comparison of the social context of MySpace as a formerly ubiquitous social media site with the formerly ubiquitous syphilis.

“The ‘Logan Roy School of Journalism’? What’s next, the ‘Jack The Ripper Women’s Health Clinic’?”

and

“He ate my fucking chicken. What’s next? Stick his cock in my potato salad?”

when you start to break down the funniest lines, you see the patterns in them. these two have the same setup as the fellatio line above. so any time you find a line particularly funny, it's worth it to write it down and break it up into setup and punchline. take out the setup and punchline, and you're left with a formula:

[statement based on previous dialogue or moment]. what's next, [something you wouldn't expect to follow]?

as you're writing, every time you come across an opportunity for a setup, you can land a punchline by using some of the formulas you've found. if the setup is highbrow, go lowbrow. if the setup is normal, go absurd. if the setup is mundane, go hyperbolic.

i know explaining comedy sometimes ruins what's funny, but hopefully this helps in crafting your own banter!

[atimesfeeler]

I just watched new movie, The Gorge, and now I’m thinking about a poolverine au **spoilers** where they are both expendable lonely soldiers who spend a whole year guarding their side while they fight the fucked up creatures in the gorge and pretend they aren’t falling in love while they expose government secrets. Yeah.

…

Logan could feel his gaze on him, staring across the misty gorge. It drilled into him. Resolutely, Logan looked down at his pocket book, scrawling out a shitty poem about a shitty day and even shittier weather. His prose was laughable and the rhyme scheme was elementary at best and it made the whole thing a bit more pathetic that it was about loneliness.

Or, at least, trying to be as lonely as he could be with a nameless stranger staring him down across the gaping gorge between them.

His Eastern Counterpart. Logan knew nothing about him other than he was loud, even across a fucking gorge separating them, and he had a large imposing figure. From the distance, and one sneak peak Logan took through the binoculars at the peak of the tower, Logan knew that he was bald, he was ripped, and he had a sense of humor. Russian, maybe. Dangerous— definitely. And the stranger had the audacity to beam at Logan and wave when he caught Logan peaking through his binoculars the first day.

Now, his Eastern Counterpart had been nothing but loud and obnoxious and distracting. Right now, he was blasting music that had no reason to be loud enough to be heard over 300 meters, and dancing. It was obvious he had been drinking too, from the loose and swaying nature of his figure in the distance.

When the music cut off abruptly, Logan did not get up to look at the show and angrily crossed out a line of his poem.

And then a gun shot echoed through the air.

Logan glanced up.

His counterpart was holding up a smoking hand gun to the sky with a cocked hip.

Logan folded his book and set it on the side table, pushing himself up to stand from the rickety wooden chair. He watched as the man sauntered over to his chair and pulled out a large notepad and began writing.

The man flipped it over, holding it up expectantly, and Logan, despite himself, looked through the binoculars.

It read:

What’s your name?

Logan scoffed, almost amused, mostly incredulous and peaked into the lenses again to see the stranger smirk, satisfied with getting Logan’s attention.

He gestured again, likely expecting an answer.

Logan held up a loose and lazy finger, to say hold on as he turned, fighting back a smirk himself as the stranger hurried up to his binoculars to see Logan reaction, almost giddy.

Logan found his white board and erased his crude mapping of the perimeter to write his response.

When Logan flipped over his white board to the stranger, his reaction was almost comically disappointed.

We Are Not Allowed Contact.

The stranger pouted and scrawled out their own message: My name is Wade. It's my birthday so I'm going to do whatever the hell I want. Underlined.

It surprised a snort out of Logan, and from the zoomed in gaze, he noticed the sad slice of… something on a plate with a singular candle, or maybe a match, and two bottles of wine on the table. Something in Logan cracked at that, seemed to soften. He didn’t like the guy, but it was different. Wade smiled at him, in what he assumed was supposed to be charming and convincing, but just looked dopey.

Logan scrawled out, Well, cheers to your birthday, Wade. And lifted his cup of terrible potato vodka.

They shared a moment, drinking their respective alcohol, and Logan thought that might be the end of it. Instead Wade flipped back to the first thing he had written and pointed insistently at it and then, pulling out all the stops, clasped his hands together in a begging gesture.

Feeling warm from the alcohol and the giddy smile on the stranger's face, Logan sighed and looked up, weighing his options. They were cloaked here. No cameras, no satellite, no cell. It's not like they were watching Logan waste his days away here.

Logan scrawled out just his first name and flipped it over, showing Wade.

Logan.

His Eastern Counterpart fucking beamed. Loneliness was a bitch, huh? Not everyone was suited for it like Logan was.

Wade skipped away from the balcony, and Logan turned back into the room as well, leaving his flask balancing on the railing next to the binoculars. He was mindlessly tidying, not really doing anything but picking stuff up and putting it back down again to distract himself from the interaction. That was when he heard it.

The goddamn music.

It was Blitzkrieg Bob, Ramones' annoying song that chanted 'Hey! Ho! Let's go!' across he gaping gorge between them. It was louder than before, and Logan stopped in his tracks, and looked out of the open doors to glare at Wade. Now that they had interacted, Logan might let him know how fucking annoying he was being.

But Wade was dancing, swaying his hips, and practically skipping up to the railing. He waved his sign over his head in time to the music. Logan reluctantly looked through the binoculars to read it.

Let's see your moves, Logan.

Logan picked up his white board and pen.

I don't dance.

You must be good at something. What can you Do?

Wade leaned over the railing, trusting the integrity of it far more than Logan would, as Logan looked through the lens. Logan suddenly noticed the tight red tank that exposed both a sliver of his chest and his muscular biceps. A spot of color paired with black sweatpants. It was freezing outside too. Ridiculous. Everything about this was ridiculous.

Logan huffed, and fell for the bait, scribbling out his answer.

I'm a pretty good shot.

He was gripping the binoculars to see Wade's reaction before he could stop himself and caught the taunting Ohhh, that Wade did. Logan watched him write his response and flip over his poster.

Prove it.

Wade held the sign over his wine bottle and with his other hand gestured the the bottle like a magician's assistant.

At that, Logan snorted and shook his head. With a wave of his hand, Logan turned around, intending to call it a night.

The telling sound of a shot rang out and Logan flinched as his flask balancing on the railing ricocheted off of it from the force of Wade's shot. Logan gave an incredulous look to Wade's tower to see him holding his rifle. Wade did a dramatic bow, completely throwing his head down to the ground before straightening and turning around back to his quarters.

Logan's gun was in his hands before he knew what he was doing and lining up the shot. Wade was looking down, walking back out to the balcony with his poster board in hand when the glass shattered right in front of him. The man yelped in surprise and then jerked his head back at Logan, gaping with a mix of offense and elation that quickly turned into a laugh that Logan suddenly wished he could hear.

Logan peeked to see him better and found that Wade had balanced he spare bottle on his bald head, trying to get Logan to hit another target. Logan was about to turn away again, definitely not shooting a bottle off of Wade's head, when the man suddenly straightened, put the bottle down, and shut off the music. His cheery demeanor wiped away faster than Logan could blink.

That's when he looked down at the gorge.

...

[awkward-walking-potato]

Okay, I loved the ask about the OC x Character fic, I didn’t know you wrote ocs either, so I would like to go next :o

Okay, so, this is another Logan x new recruit thing, but I think I’d leave it platonic. My OC, she was experimented for a few years (more likely 12 years) her appearance has wolf shaped ears (she has human ears, but those don’t work anymore) a wolf tail, and wings, somewhat of a similarity to a Phoenix bird (but they’re usually never used and are seen closed). She has a bandaged covering her right eye, with hair covering said bandage (she covers an eye that strictly hides a darker persona that she holds because of the experimentation, but she doesn’t mention that and brushes it off) she’s a bit quiet and slightly pessimistic, with a touch of stoicism, but if she’s training she gets on her determination highly.

Her name is Phoenix, that’s not her real name, but she calls herself that because that’s the name everyone called her when she was experimented on back then, and forgot her original name.

Hopefully this isn’t much potato, but I think I might’ve taken it a bit too far :,3. Take your time on it though, no rush ^^!

Phoenix Rising

The first time Logan saw her, he wasn’t sure what to make of her. She was standing off to the side of the training grounds, her large wings folded tight against her back, a wolf-like tail curled around her leg. With wolf-shaped ears replacing her human ones, and a bandaged right eye hidden beneath strands of hair, she looked every bit the mystery.

Her name was Phoenix. That wasn’t her real name, but it was all she had left after years of experimentation. Logan had been around long enough to recognize that haunted look in her good eye—the look of someone who had been through hell and barely survived it. It was a look he understood all too well.

She was quiet, keeping to herself most of the time, but there was a fire underneath that stoic surface. He noticed it whenever she trained, her determination burning through the layer of guarded indifference she showed the rest of the world. She was strong, focused, and there was something about the way she pushed herself that reminded Logan of his own battles. She never complained, even when the sessions were grueling, her face set in a grim line of perseverance.

But despite her strength, there was something else—a darkness she kept hidden. Logan saw it in the way she covered her right eye, the way she always deflected questions about her past. He knew there was something deeper going on, something she wasn’t ready to talk about. He didn’t push. If there was one thing Logan understood, it was the need to carry your own burdens until you were ready to share them.

One afternoon, after an especially intense training session, Phoenix stayed behind as the others left. Logan watched her from a distance as she silently paced, wings twitching restlessly. He could see the tension in her body, the battle she was fighting inside her own mind.

He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. "You did good today, kid," Logan said, his voice low and gruff.

Phoenix stopped, turning her head slightly to acknowledge him. "Thanks," she replied softly, though her tone was flat. She was always polite, but Logan could tell there was something weighing on her.

"You alright?" he asked, leaning against the wall beside her.

For a moment, she was silent, her good eye staring off into the distance. "I’m fine," she answered, but Logan could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"You don’t gotta talk if you don’t want to," Logan added, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But you’ve been through some rough stuff, haven’t you?"

Phoenix tensed, her hand instinctively reaching up to touch the bandage over her eye. "It’s nothing," she said quickly, brushing off the question as she always did.

Logan crossed his arms, watching her closely. "You don’t have to hide it, y’know. Not from me."

Phoenix hesitated again, her fingers gripping the edge of her sleeve. She looked down, her quiet voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want anyone to know... not about that part of me." There was an edge of fear in her voice, as if she was terrified of revealing the darker persona that lurked behind her covered eye.

Logan nodded, understanding all too well what it meant to keep a part of yourself hidden from the world. "You’re not alone, Phoenix. Whatever they did to you—it doesn’t define you."

She didn’t respond right away, but there was a flicker of emotion in her eye, a vulnerability she rarely showed. Logan could see it, even if she didn’t want to admit it. He let the silence hang between them for a moment, giving her space.

"I’m trying to move past it," she finally said, her voice steady but fragile. "But it’s hard when... when I don’t even remember who I used to be. Phoenix is all I have left."

Logan let out a small breath, his voice softening. "Names don’t mean much if you ask me. It’s who you are now that matters. And from what I’ve seen, you’re tougher than you think."

Phoenix met his gaze, her good eye filled with something like gratitude, though she remained quiet. Logan knew she wasn’t ready to open up fully yet, but that was okay. He’d be there when she was.

"Keep pushin'," Logan said, giving her a nod of approval. "You’re doin’ fine."

As he walked away, Logan couldn’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness toward her. Phoenix might have been through hell, but she was a fighter. And Logan? He’d make damn sure she knew she wasn’t alone in that fight anymore.

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

see i always imagined lmp being born late 90s/early 00s and main storyline laoft being maybe 2014-2016ish, but i guess the meme references would put it a little later than that

present day laoft is terrifying though, thatd put logan born in what 2008? i know hes the same age in the story anyway but thats a baby pslsjs

the doylist answer is of course that i was basing the experience on my own, between 2009-2014, but im writing it now and do not want to subject all of you to the rawr XD derpy potato-ness of the actual memes and slang of that era lol

hence, my watsonain handwave of wickhills being slightly out-of-time and doing things like occasionally getting the 1995 top 40 on the pop station

[caratdeulforever]

𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

school bus graveyard x oc's

chapter three

warnings: bad writing, lowercase intended, might contain wrong grammar, none more that i can think of

author's note: i was feeling active? haisjsi im trying my best here so i hope you like the way i write each characters and well the plot. that's all thank you, i hope you enjoy!

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chatter filled the whole high school cafeteria. the lunch ladies watched the well-mannered students get their food. the whole place bustled as everyone talked amongst each other. the place was divided in different friend circles, all talking about different things at different volumes and energy. 

all but one table, for at one side of the cafeteria was a table occupied by our eight protagonists. ben didn't bother eating and was already sleeping on his side of the table. aidhel was mixing the milk from the cafeteria to the coffee in her tumbler. she had let aiden taste some of it and the boy physically recoiled at the bitterness and literally forced her to at least add some dairy to it. he then busied himself by making a temple of some sort with his mashed potatoes and fries. ashlyn was just staring off to nothingness, ignoring her plate of food. tyler was the same on the other side of the table. his chin was propped up on his palm and he stared daggers down at his food. taylor, frances and logan were just soundlessly eating their food. 'just as awkward as i thought it'd be.' ashlyn thought to herself as she basked in the silence of their table. 

"i think we should go back to savannah." 

everyone besides ben, perked up at the voice that suddenly broke the ice. everyone stared at tyler expectantly but he was already looking back at the girl right across him. the same girl who paused in pouring her milk to turn her head at him curiously.

"i thought everyone agreed that it was too dangerous...?" logan asked out as he looked away nervously. they had this conversation one too many times, and he hoped that the answer remained. tyler scoffed and straightened up, taking his chin off his palm to look at the bespectacled boy incredulously. "so what? we're just supposed to let things the way they are?"

"even so, we can't risk the possibility of getting permanently stuck on that place." aidhel commented as she placed the carton of milk back down. she looked at him and he had to bite back his tongue because he can't talk back to her when she's giving him that look. the same look she always did whenever she wanted to challenge him to counter her claim. ashlyn hummed in agreement, "i'd rather be semi-stuck than permanently stuck."

"well maybe if you would have told us the truth from the beginning, we wouldn't be stuck at all!" tyler said getting annoyed as he faced ashlyn's direction. frances made a noise of irritation and shoved her face to her hands, "not this again." she groaned out while logan rubbed her back comfortingly. taylor and logan pursed their lips as they felt the upcoming argument.

"don't even start there ty," aidhel added im with a frown as she looked at tyler. the brunette boy turned to give her his own version of her looks but she just shook her head at him. ashlyn opened her mouth to come in her own defense, "i already explained why i didnt-" but paused to look at aiden when he suddenly interrupted her. 

"aren't you one to talk." aiden said cutting her off, his hand still holding the fry as he stared at his almost finished artwork. "you're the one that brushed it off as a prank and walked off." he said as he raised a fry in the air. aidhel and the others watched him apprehensively, what he says can only infuriate tyler even more. "with your personality, i seriously doubt it." he said coldly, finally looking up to look at the hispanic boy.

silence enveloped them all and the others darted their eyes from aiden to tyler. they all knew that what he said is the final blow. tyler's fist clenched and before he can stop himself- he already had slammed his hands on the table.

slam!!

"whether i would have believed it or not, she should have said something!" tyler exclaimed as he stood up abruptly to make a point. "now we're stuck in some demonic dimension," taylor, frances and logan just stared at him nervously and dumbfounded. "running away from flesh-eating deadly creatures," the guy from beside them awkwardly moved away, growing scared as he subtly heard their topic of conversation. 

"we don't know yet if they really are flesh eating." aidhel pointed out, crossing her arms as she looked at him cheekily. tyler turned his head sharply and glared at her, "besides the point!" he huffed and clenched his eyes shut. he took a deep breathe and looked at them, "i've lost count how many near-death experiences I've had, none of us have slept in days, we can't tell our parents or any-"

bam!!

ben slammed his own fist at the table, successfully catching everyone off-guard. even though he had a deadpanned expression, the way he put his finger on his lips serves as a warning for him. aidhel placed a hand behind his back and rubbed it comfortingly as she told him to sleep again. she turned to glare at the boy and tyler shivered at the intensity of their gazes combined.

he took a deep breathe and looked down, dropping back to his seat. "if we don't go back to savannah where this cycle begun...then what else are we supposed to do?" he said almost hopelessly. at that, everyone quieted down as they let his words sink in to their mind. what he said is perfectly true, they had done everything they could to get of the mess they were in. so far, they hadn't known how and why they were experiencing this thing that they were experiencing. there was nothing they can do, they were clueless about everything that's been happening. how did they got there? how will they be able to go out? what if they die in there? so many thoughts spiraling all at once.

aidhel pursed her lips as she looked away but not after casting a concerned glance at the brunette boy who was visibly shaking. her hand twitch to hold his hand like she always had done since the first time it had happened. it was a way to calm both of their nerves, a simple way of comfort for them both. but it looked far too intimate when the others were just right there with them. so she just clenched her fist to her lap, sighing.

frances just looked down at her food, and gripped on logan's hand under the table. logan squeezed her hand back and rubbed his thumb over her palm, smiling at her to calm her nerves. ben couldn't even sleep anymore, just looked away to ponder to himself. taylor had also avoided gaze to anyone and looked at tyler worriedly, wanting to take the stress of her brother to herself. aiden kept a smile to himself but if you squint hard enough, you'll see it droop down a little as he thought back on their situation.

'as annoying as his outburst was, it's understandable.' ashlyn thought to herself as she let out a quiet sigh. 'if we go back, then we might find out what's happening and how to escape...or we could make things much worse. should we risk it?'

two weeks ago

ashlyn sighed as she finally got on the bus. her ears buzzed with the muffled voices of her peers, the earbuds surely helped in reducing the volume around her. she quietly walked, her eyes kept to the ground as she did. 'i made it.'  she thought as she remembered racing from her room to the front porch just to reach the bus in time. 'ugh, its so loud.'  everyone was so hyper in the morning. she ignored the ruckus as she brushed past the teens chatting amongst each other.

she perked up when she saw three unfamiliar figures just by the end of the bus seats. 'are they new?' a blonde headed boy was practically stuck on the window pane, gawking at something outside. a black haired boy tried pulling him back, slowly getting annoyed at the antics of the boy. there was also a blonde headed girl sitting in front of them, slowly dozing off by the window with earbuds on her ears. 

as she walked closer, the blonde headed boy turned to look at her and they both made eye contact for a second. 'ah, we made eye contact.' ashlyn looked away almost immediately that they did. 'crap, my seat is in front of them.' she looked around and sighed, the only available seat was beside the blonde headed girl. well so much for sitting alone, she knows she must have jinxed something. she walked over slowly to sit. she would have asked if the girl was awake but she didn't have the heart to disturb a person's good sleep. 'don't talk to me, don't talk to me.' she chanted in her mind in hopes that none of them would try to strike up a conversation with her.

"hi."

ashlyn jolted and nearly jumped out of her seat when the boy suddenly popped up just beside her ear. out of reflex, she fell on her seat and hit her back on the seat in front of them, staring widely at the blonde headed boy who was looking at her from the top of her seat. the loud commotion and sudden movement caused the blonde headed girl beside her to open her eyes. what she didn't expected to see was a ginger girl on her back.

"what are you doing there?" she asked, her hands navigating her phone to lower the volume down of her music. she offered her hand out for her, ready to pull her up back on the seat next to her. ashlyn looked down at her hand and hesitantly took it and she was easily pulled back to sit beside her. 

"is that your house?" the blonde boy asked and pointed to a secluded area beside the house that the bus just stopped into. "what's up with the whole bus graveyard thing?" he added in curiously as he observed the tall walls decorated with murals and grafittis. inside the area was numerous run down school buses with its own set of painted decorations. the blonde girl looked out on the window curiously and raised a brow, 'that looks interesting.'

"its a junkyard with used buses."ashlyn replied gruffly. 'personal space dude, give me some.' she thought to herself and scooted a bit far away from the blonde boy. the blonde headed girl snickered to herself quietly as she watched the girl scoot a bit close to her. the boy however blinked as if his ears didn't processed what ashlyn had just said, "that's it?"

ashlyn frowned, "yeah?" she looked away, anywhere but him. sweat trickled down slowly on the side of her face. "well that's disappointing." the boy said looking at her impassively. the girl beside ashlyn raised a brow and looked back to him, "what do you expect?" she asked amusedly.

the blonde headed boy leaned back on his seat, his head propped behind his arms. "i was hoping for some kind of lore or paranormal jazz." he said shrugging, closing his eyes momentarily.

ashlyn scratched her nape awkwardly as she looked away, 'good luck finding anything like that here.' she thought before sitting up right.

'guess the conversation is over?' she thought when she felt that the conversation died from then. the girl beside her thankfully wasn't as talkative as the guy behind her, which was something she was grateful for. 'please be over.' she thought hopefully as her hand slowly reached over for her phone. but perhaps she spoke too soon because the boy seems to not like silence.

"anyway.."

ashlyn flinched and her shoulders dropped in a discouraged manner, 'so close.' she flinched when the boy suddenly popped up behind her again, "i'm aiden!"

'i'm not interested!' ashlyn internally screamed as she kept her eyes ahead. she tried to ignore the boy but he couldn't seem to pick up the obvious signs of her discomfort.

"that's my cousin ben," aiden said gesturing to the boy sleeping beside him. ben just swayed with the bus as he dozed off in the early morning. "and that's my sister, aidhel." he added in pointing to the blonde headed girl beside her. the girl smiled at her slightly before focusing back to look at the window.

"we just moved here a week or so ago from virginia. can't remember what town it was though. oh hey, we live just a house down from you! since we live so close, we should hang out often." aiden rambled on as he leaned on the seat to look down at her. ashlyn paused and looked up at him nervously, 'no. no way. i need to stop this progressing disaster.'

ashlyn raised a palm up to him, "sorry, nothing personal but, i'm a bit tired and not in much of a conversation mood." she said looking away slightly, not wanting to see his dejected expression. aidhel perked up and glanced curiously at her brother to check his reaction.

aiden was perplexed, blinking slowly as he looked at ashlyn. he smirked slightly and aidhel had to groan, because she knew that look all too well. "its fine, i get it." he said nodding to himself. 'finally.' ashlyn thought to herself a bit relieved that it went well.

"you're just shy right?"

both aidhel and ashlyn paused to process his words. 'huh? hold on-' aiden just continued smiling and looked down at her coyly. "it's alright, i'm good at talking, so it'll be fine."

ashlyn deadpanned at him, 'no, i'm not shy. i just want to be left alone'

aidhel pinched the bridge of her nose, slightly getting stressed at her brother's antics. "aiden just sit back down." she told him with a tight lipped smile. aiden grinned devilishly and shook his head, "nope!"

even as they arrived at school, aiden kept on rambling ashlyn's ear off. ben just stared at the ground as he followed after his cousins. aidhel really felt sorry for ashlyn, she can see the gears in the girls head turning to think of a plan to escape them. aidhel had attempted numerous times to stop his brother's yapping but to no avail.

'how do i escape?' ashlyn thought to herself glumly. the four of them entered the campus and aiden's voice never once faltered. aidhel watched the other students by the hallway and pursed her lips, 'there's so many people.'

"woah this is a small school." aiden commented as he and his sister looked around the place. aidhel hummed, "well this is a small town aiden."

'why are you still following me?' ashlyn asked to herself. 'maybe if i ignore him, he'll leave me alone?' she thought before taking a sip of her tumbler.

aidhel and ben yanked aiden back up making him pause in his talking. ashlyn looked back curiously and shared a look with aidhel who smiled at her knowingly. aiden raised a brow at them both but ben and aidhel just pointed to the door by the hallway. ashlyn glanced at the door they stopped into, office.

"oh right," aiden said with a small chuckle as he fixed the strap of his bag over his shoulder. aidhel sent another smile to ashlyn and thankfully she finally got the message, 'my chance!' ashlyn practically beamed in her mind before sprinting out of the scene for dear life.

"we gotta pick our schedules...up?"

the three of them stared at an empty space in front of them. aidhel grinned while ben just blinked not really caring about everything. however when aiden started to laugh really loudly, the two of them shared an exasperated look. aidhel raised a brow at a stray lady bug on ben's bag while waiting to aiden's laughter to die out.

"look a lady bug." aidhel said as she slowly get the lady bug on her finger. ben raised a brow and stared at the insect before looking at her. he subconsciously smiled at her, sometimes she really was a child. aiden however just grinned to himself, oblivious to what was happening behind him. "she's fast."

aidhel rolled her eyes, "i would too if i was her." she said before blinking when the lady bug suddenly flew away from her hand. ben watched the insect fly away before looking at aidhel pout to herself. he patted her back comfortingly and she huffed a laugh. aiden then sighed before straightening up, "c'mon let's get our schedules." he said before pulling them both inside the office room.

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[bloodyquillink-blog]

Sugar and Lemon, Chapter 3 “Talk About Talking”

A/N🪶: Enjoy!

Warnings: Military inaccuracies, hand-to-hand combat described quite shittily

Word Count: 2.2K

“So you have a crush?” Keegan inquired with what seemed to be amusement in his voice.

“It’s ‘supposedly’ not a crush.” Kick answered, air quotes audible in his voice.

“Are you looking for a hookup?”

“Dude.” 

“No.” Logan mumbled.

“No shame in hookups.” Keegan pointed.

“Keegan-” Hesh nearly choked out.

“I mean just make sure you go to their place or have music playing.” Keegan, unfortunately, continued.

“Keegan.” Hesh warned.

“Look, I just don’t wanna hear anything that goes on while they’re-”

“Thank you, Keegan, for the concerns but I don’t think that’s the case.” Merrick interjected. “Point is, you want to see them again, Kick is curious, Keegan is concerned about things he doesn’t need to be concerned about and…” Merrick looked at Hesh to continue the conversation.

“I think you should go for it. Go see ‘em again. We’ll be there if you need us.” The reassurance was nice if not awkward and made Logan’s face red once again. He just nodded and stared down at his plate. Kick piped up again.

“I mean 3’s a crowd and 4’s a bit much so Keegan and I can come with and Cap and Hesh can stay-” Hesh stopped that thought.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you talking about stalking this person as you walked in here?”

“We were talking about ways I could help him. Way to gaslight, David.”

“Following a person home is not helpful.”

“It’s not following a person home, it’s…” David raised a brow as Kick thought, “...Learning more about a civilian without their awareness.” The group shared a chuckle. “Alright, fine, we’ll be there as long as you want us there, Logan.” Kick yielded, comfortingly so.

“Thank you.” Logan rasped, he cleared his throat again.

“You getting sick, kid?” Keegan asked.

“No, just tired…” Kick nudged his foot against Logan’s. “...I had another nightmare.” Kick nudged him again, “And panic attack.” 

Logan described the nightmare, but the team already knew what he had seen. It wasn’t the first time he had such a dream. He had talked about it before in and out of therapy. Regardless, hearing it each time made the men ache as though their own hearts were trying to force themselves out to protect the nearly broken Ghost. They weren’t unfamiliar with the guilt that came with being unable to save a teammate, especially someone they were all close to.

Logan kept talking about how, when his panic attack was over, he stepped outside and Kick stayed with him. Merrick subtly nodded at Kick, a silent “thank you”.

“I feel better now, I just needed some time.”

“Maybe with a little company?” David suggested.

“Maybe.”

“You can come get us if you need someone. Right, guys?” The other three voiced their agreement.

“You know I’m awake whenever I shouldn’t be, so if you don’t wanna wake up these boys, I’m here.” Kick put his hand on Logan’s shoulder. Logan didn’t flinch this time. Whether he was just too tired to do so or appreciated the contact, Kick didn’t know. Either way, it was something to bring up to his therapist next time they passed one another. Maybe he could talk to the others about it too.

“Damn night owl. Do you ever sleep?” Merrick asked but he already knew the answer.

“If I take double the recommended dose of my sleep meds, yes, but you said that was ‘unsafe’ and ‘shouldn’t be necessary’.” Kick argued.

The two talked about his sleeping habits and eventually the Merrick’s. At one point, Keegan’s was brought up, but Keegan just remained silent and let the bickering drone on while the brothers watched. Logan handed his fruit cup to David and David exchanged his toast that seemed to always be burned, just the way Logan liked. The habit had been long standing since their shared childhood. Logan would give his fruit cups to David in exchange for some type of starch or carb like, usually burned, breakfast potatoes or toast. After joining the Ghosts, Keegan would just watch and make commentary on the “char”, as he called it. It was never exactly the same degree of scorch as the day prior but still had a toasted layer (or “ash”) on the surface. 

As the two continued bickering while the others watched, more of their brothers in arms filed in to get their food and sit amongst each other at the open tables. Keegan watched Logan carefully. Normally, he’d leave around now to avoid the growing noise and crowd. Yet he stayed. Logan noticed his staring and Keegan smiled. Not a smirk or any expression suggested something. Just a genuine smile. A proud one perhaps. 

Eventually, breakfast was over. Kick, David, Keegan and Logan went outside to exercise together amongst the recruits while Merrick stayed in to continue paperwork. Riley joined Logan and the others. Since his return from Rorke, Riley very rarely strayed from Logan despite technically belonging to Hesh. The group decided to go on a run together. At the beginning of his return, Logan could hardly run a mile, having lost much of his strength. When the team ran together, they slowed their pacing so as to not overwork Logan. After much physical therapy, as well as being cheered on by his new family, he was able to run longer distances while managing to stay ahead of the group. He may have nightmares but his determination remained strong as he did, with mild bumps in the road to full recovery. 

After about the usual 5 miles, they spent the rest of the day in the gym, working themselves and bringing on unnecessary but friendly competition. Rather than count each pull-up or bench press, Logan thought about you. The lighting in your cafe seemed to accentuate the warmth you displayed towards him and his awkwardness. You worked so hard, seemingly on your own, to make each customer happy. It looked like it worked too. You were so kind and non-judgemental, an ideal owner of a small business, or café rather. As nice as the thoughts were, negativity slowly seeped into his thoughts, it had begun to block the light his mind set you in. 

You, with your sweetness, would hate the blood on his hands.

If you saw the things he’s seen, the things he’s done…

How would he talk to you with the horrors that plagued his mind so often? Logan paused and shook his head. No. Not today, not with you. He’s not ruining the thought of you with his issues. You were someone good, someone positive. For fuck’s sake, he put you in his victory journal. That’s gotta mean something. Logan thought about what everyone had said when he talked about you. Maybe he should ask you out. Logan continued his workout. He felt like a damn high schooler again… and it felt good. Logan chewed on his lower lip as he attempted to fight the smile growing on his face. Footsteps gradually approached him.

“You know what it means when thinking about someone makes you smile?” David asked, a small grin on his face. Logan held the weighted barbell in the air, his eyes trained on his brother. “It means you should go see them again. Maybe you should keep seeing them.” Logan set the barbell back on the stand and sat up. “You do want to see them again, right?” 

“Well, yeah,” David sat beside Logan on the bench. “I just don’t know if they want to.”

“They do. You heard them yesterday, you know they want to. At least they’re open to seeing you again.” Logan rubbed his hands together, his calluses scratched against one another. “Thing is, you have to be the one to start this. I mean they’re stuck in a café that you can go to pretty much whenever and they know next to nothing about you.” Outside of their conversation, Kick and Keegan were sparring. From what it sounded like, no one was winning. David looked over at them and stood. “I know you can do it, Logan. I know they’ll want to have something with you, but you need to give them and yourself an opportunity.” With that, David bumped Logan’s shoulder with his fist and walked over to the mat where the pair continued to spar. Logan thought for a bit as he watched David cheering them on. It wasn’t clear who he was cheering for if not for both Kick and Keegan.

Logan thought hard. He had an opportunity. He always did, as long as the café was open. Logan pulled out his phone and looked at your website. He clicked and scrolled until he found the open and closing times. He might as well rip the bandaid off and just do it. Tomorrow was Saturday, so there shouldn't be much, if any, work for his colleagues to do. They were curious about you. Plus, it had been a bit since everyone last spent time together aside from meals and whatnot without the recruits. He stared at the picture of you that you had on your website. Logan scrolled up and copied the link to your website. He opened the groupchat the team shared and sent the link with a message:

“How’s Saturday for everyone?”

Logan put his phone away and walked over to the blue mat where the spar went on. David backed up as Logan stepped into the white circle that separated combat practice from outer activity and exercise. Keegan had pinned Kick down, arm held against his back as Kick continued to squirm in the hold.

“Joinin’ a little late, ki-” Keegan didn’t finish the sentence as Logan wrapped his arms around Keegan’s midsection and rolled to the side, freeing Kick. Logan and Keegan quickly stood up into defensive positions. One fist beside their chin, the other extended forward. Keegan rushed towards Logan, an attempt to throw off his balance by locking their legs and pulling Logan’s arm past his face. Logan was prepared, muscle memory of similar sparring sessions on his side. Logan let Keegan take his arm, taking the time to move his leg back before bringing it back to wrap around Keegan’s and pull Keegan forward, knocking his balance instead. Keegan ended up on one knee as Logan shifted his arm, still in Keegan’s grasp, using the grip to pull Keegan’s arm and trap his arm against his back and Logan moved behind Keegan, using his weight and Keegan’s to trap Keegan in the same hold he had Kick on the mat. He managed to grab Keegan’s other wrist and pinned that against his back as well. Logan pressed his weight down harder, a silent warning to Keegan. When Keegan tried forcing his legs backwards onto Logan, Logan shifted so one of his knees rested on the back of Keegan’s thigh and his balance was still solid. Keegan was effectively pinned. 

The two were barely panting. Kick walked around in front of Keegan.

“How’s it feel, tough guy?” Kick asked, smugly.

“Pretty relaxing actually, might have to do this more often if you can actually get me next time.” Sarcasm evident in Keegan’s tone.

“Yeah yeah, fuck off.” Logan got up, releasing Keegan as they bumped fists.

“Lotta improvement, kid, keep it up.” With that, the group wiped equipment down and left the gym, making room for other soldiers to train. 

~Small Time Skip~

The end of the day finally came. Logan laid back on his bed thinking about everything that happened that day. He’d already written a bit in his journal and was contemplating going to sleep early when his phone buzzed.

K. Russ: “Introducing us to your special someone already?”

Logan rolled his eyes.

Kick the Bucket: “im down”

Kick the Bucket: “as long as im not paying”

K. Russ: “Usually the man pays but seeing as we can’t use that rule, you get what you pay for. Have fun watching me eat.”

Kick the Bucket: “rude”

Kick the Bucket: “some gentleman you are”

K. Russ: “Are you crying yet?”

Kick sent a middle finger.

Kick the Bucket: “merrick wouldn’t treat me like this”

Captain Crunch: “I wouldn’t treat you at all.”

Captain Crunch: “I’ll join. Tomorrow at 1100. I’ve been in this office too damn long.”

David Dub: “Stretching your legs is good for you old man”

Captain Crunch: “I’m legally allowed to come into your room without permission. Watch it.”

David Dub: “Yessir”

Logan got a separate message from David.

David Dub: “Think I can make it out the window before Merrick catches me?”

Logan typed back.

Lincoln Logs: “Hm.”

David Dub: “Knock on his door, run back to my room, open the window, jump and run for it.”

Logan imagined the scene in his head.

Lincoln Logs: “You’ll make it out the window but Merrick will either close the window on you and lock you out of your room or follow you out the window and catch you.”

David Dub: “Another day maybe”

Lincoln Logs: “Maybe.”

David Dub: “Ok g’night”

Lincoln Logs: “Goodnight.”

Logan put his phone down and turned off the lamp. Sleep came easily after some breathing techniques. His mind too tired to rewind the nightmare that’s haunted him too many times over since his return. As tired as he was, he felt excitement at the thought of seeing you again.

[nanpierce]

1. 4 & 8 for Rhea

8,12,18 for Logan

7,23,30 for Nan

Rhea 1.) My first impression of them - This is my greatest shame.....when I first watched this show I was interested in another ship and did not pay a lot of attention to the Pierce girlies 😭😭😭 I was like "yay milfs!" and liked her well enough but that was about it. I started stanning her when someone cooler than me had my pfp at the time, so I decided to use a character I didn't think anyone else would have and I was like "how about that little blonde bitch from s2" and I quickly spiraled out of control from there. I went from being the fakest fan to being the realest one... the american dream.

4 & 8 Answered!

Logan 8.) My favorite outfit - these! But his DC suspenders and Austerlitz swim trunks also get me acting unwise

12.) Sexuality hc - bro thinks he's straight but has definitely done gay shit before....if he wasn't a repressed Catholic with 8 decades of trauma in the way I'd call him bi.

18.) How do you think they were as a kid - I think Logan used to be a very sweet, gentle, and protective boy... He admired his older brother (even though he bullied him a little, in the way older brothers do), and picked up his birdwatching hobby so they could do it together. His baby sister was his whole heart, and he wanted very much to make the hard and cruel world around them good for her. He was protective of his siblings, and a part of him was glad that he was picked out as the weak dog, because that meant they were spared that fate. When Rose died, that little boy did too.

Nan 7.) A quote of theirs that I remember - WELL as her number one fan I know all of her lines, BUT "band-width" and "horse potatoes" are always bopping around in my brain like the DVD logo on the screensaver.

23.) Future headcanon - well I can tell ya her ass is NOT retiring with that $10B! 😂😂😂 In my ideal timeline, PGM picks back up with all the election drama, so she doesn't mind keeping it around awhile, and she hires Gerri as CEO. With encouragement from Frank, she takes Rhea back, and eventually marries her 🥰

30.) The funniest scene they had - she's always hilarious but it's gotta be her pretending she made dinner 😭 followed closely by "what comes after 9" though!

[mrs-gucci]

Fic-or-Treat 2023 requesting guide

a few basics before we get into the meat and potatoes...

🎃 all requests during this event will include halloween and/or spooky themes to some degree. if your request doesn't include these things, it will automatically be deleted from my inbox.

🎃 my normal content restrictions (listed in my request faq) still apply for this event. any requests that don't adhere to my restrictions or the requirements of the event, it will automatically be deleted from my inbox.

alrighty, now onto the meat and potatoes.

for door fics...

characters:

flip zimmerman, clyde logan, kylo ren (AU's only), jacques le gris, charlie barber, and commander mills (AU's only).

spooky AU's:

historic (ex. medieval, victorian, salem witch trials), serial killer (can be masked, like a Ghostface-type character), pirate, priest, witch hunter, mob/mafia, hitman, harry potter/hogwarts, requester’s choice (not guaranteed to be accepted but I enjoy hearing new ideas).

length:

🕸️ both door fics will be 1k words minimum.

****

what I'm looking for in a TRICK request:

this trick fic will be a darker, more horror/thriller-based piece.

the only requests I will take into consideration for the trick fic are those that include a spooky AU (listed above)

the only genres I will be accepting for the trick fics are: horror, thriller, suspense, spooky darkfic, supernatural and just creepy things in general. 

below is an example of the type of request I'll be looking for.

“serial killer!Kylo Ren has been collecting trophies for a long time, but now, he’s got his eyes set on the ultimate trophy: you.”

what I'm looking for in a TREAT request:

this treat fic will be more of what I do here on my blog normally, meaning stuff that's playful, lightly spooky smut & fluff.

the fic will be a more fun, light-hearted piece with little-to-no dark stuff in it. you do not have to include one of the spooky AU's in your treat request unless you'd like to do so.

below is an example of the type of request I'll be looking for.

"Charlie Barber invites you trick-or-treating with him and Henry. He gives you a little extra treat once he's asleep ;)"

for werewolf wednesday...

characters:

jacques le gris, flip zimmerman, clyde logan.

AU's:

historic (ex. medieval, victorian, salem witch trials), werewolf.

length & genre:

🕸️ all fics will be blurb-length pieces, meaning ~500-900 words a piece.

🕸️ all genres are fair game for werewolf wednesday (fluff, smut, horror, spooky, etc).

additional notes:

🐺 I only accept requests where the ADCU character is the werewolf, there will be no werewolf!reader fics.

🐺 I will not write A/B/O, however I will write ruts.

for spooky sunday...

characters:

same as the door fic character list.

spooky AU's:

historic (ex. medieval, victorian, salem witch trials), vampire, beast ("beauty and the beast"-type), devil/demon, dark/fallen angel, ghost (depends on the request), witch/sorcerer, serial killer (can be masked, like a Ghostface-type character), requester’s choice (not guaranteed to be accepted but I enjoy hearing new ideas).

length & genre:

🕸️ all fics will be blurb-length, meaning ~500-900 words a piece.

🕸️ all genres are fair game for spooky sunday (fluff, smut, horror, spooky, etc).

banner credit to @firefly-graphics

if you have any questions about requesting for this event, please don't hesitate to ask in either the comments on this post or via an ask in my inbox! I monitor both pretty consistently so you'll definitely get an answer from me in a timely manner.

>> to join the fic-or-treat taglist, you have to send a message to my inbox!! your username must be included in some form. I will not accept tag requests that don't come through my inbox. <<

[quigzahhutt]

feel free to pick one if you don't wanna answer all questions <3

what's your favourite comfort meal? how did you get into f1? any book recs? what's one teammate pairing (current and past drivers) you'd love to see, whether it's possible or not?

i lowkey totally forgot about this oopsy!

favorite comfort meal?:

my family is heavily southern so you have your typical meals, y'know grits, biscuits and gravy etc, but my absolute major comfort meal is ham and potato soup ... nothing hits quite as hard as curling up on the couch with a hot bowl of soup after a good cry y'know

how did you get into F1?:

my friend Michelle got me into it by sending me photos of each of the drivers and asking me to guess their names + rate them out of 10. then she proceeded to tell me the entirety of the brocedes lore and, well . I'm sure you can see that it worked😭😭

unfortunately I do not read very many books for enjoyment... fanfic is literally all I read aside from academic books

what's one teammate pairing (current and past drivers) you'd love to see?:

THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE. WDYM ONE? I am so indecisive, I will cry ... but I guess if I have to pick ONE? id really enjoy seeing Logan and Jenson together for Le Mans (or any endurance race, for that matter) just ... father and son ... and I would do ANYTHING to see Logan in Le Mans honestly ugh

anonymously ask anything you want to know about me :)

[silverwarewolf]

hmmm maybe F2? :D

oh i don't even know how late I am. but of course! have some drawings!

I was in an octopath mood so here they are. beloveds. murder poncho, murder dancer, and murder doctor :D

[boiling-potato]

HEY! HOWS THE AU GOING? LO DROPPED SOME LORE! ARE YOU GONNA USE IT FOR ANY FUTURE WORK??

-Exited anon 😆

Man @caffeine-n-artwork ! Your fans do be starving for content huh? Hahah! Well not to worry Excited Anon!! Because I'm already working on finishing it already!! Just wait a little bit longer alright? I promise you I'll make it worth the wait! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

And as for the lore, god! I love learning more about my mutuals ocs!! It makes me feel a little bit closer to them (≧w≦)💕💕 (so grabbing all my mutuals attention!! If you have any interesting facts about your ocs feel free to send them in!!) I'm sure it'll come in handy in the future! I want to draw more of them!! ^^