This Was So Adorable

Idea: dragon Jaskier but he doesn't know he's a dragon (he himself is confused why he isn't aging). He only finds out when Geralt is in mortal danger and his fight or flight reflex kicks in!!!

Jaskier doesn’t like thinking about time. He’s a very vain creature, he can admit that - he likes his silks and colorful clothes, expensive oils, takes care of his skin and nails, even on the Path. He’s vain and so he doesn’t like thinking about time when he’ll be wrinkled and gray and everything will hurt.

Aside from being vein, that’s what scares him the most.

The idea that one day his body will refuse to cooperate, that one day he won’t be able to follow his wanderlust. Won’t be able to follow Geralt.

That’s why he doesn’t think about it at all. Yes, Jaskier’s aware that he’s been walking the Continent with Geralt for decades now but well, he feels okay, nothing hurts, aside from some old wounds.

He has a feeling that they’re both avoiding thinking about his mortality. Sometimes, Jaskier catches his lover looking at him with sad eyes, when they pass a village where a funeral took place not long ago.

When that happens, Jaskier pulls his Witcher into his arms and pets his hair until Geralt can’t think of anything but his love and sleep. It works for years.

With all the not-thinking about Jaskier’s mortality, they haven’t really had an occasion to think about Geralt’s mortality. Jaskier makes sure his reckless lover doesn’t take contracts that sound impossible to too dangerous for one Witcher, and he’s always there after a hunt to take care of his wounds.

However, it turns out that monsters are not what’s really a threat to Geralt’s life. Jaskier stares in horror at the small army of the local Duke that apparently doesn’t want to pay Geralt the small fortune he owes the Witcher for the nest of vampires.

They look at the armed men, aware that there’s no way they can leave this place alive.

“Go,” Geralt snarls at him, gripping a sword. “They don’t want you.”

“Like fuck I’m leaving you,” Jaskier hisses, suddenly angry. People are coming for his Witcher and he hates it when people come for his Witcher.

Geralt is…precious to him. No one gets to hurt his precious Witcher.

Suddenly, there’s something warm in his chest. Warmth that grows and spreads until it feels like he has a blazing fire in his chest, rumbling and tumbling until it’s ready to spill.

“Geralt, run,” he manages to gasp before the world shakes and everything shifts.

When Jaskier opens his eyes again, his wings are spread and he feels invincible. He doesn’t know what’s happening aside from that fact that these people are a danger to his treasure and he will kill them all.

He roars, head thrown back and spots fire at them, just above their heads, watching in satisfaction as they scramble and panic, screams rising on the hill.

His treasure his hidden safely by his side and Jaskier curls his tail around Geralt, pressing him close.

“Jaskier?” he hears from behind when they’re left alone and it’s another strange instinct to shift smaller and smaller until he’s in Geralt’s arms.

“I remember,” he gasps.

Whenever I'm passive aggressive and someone says "thank you" I just answer "You're welcome" with the exact same tone... given I also say thank you whenever someone is passive aggressive to me

When people make disparaging comments, just say thank you.

“You’ve gain weight” “Thank you” “…”

Then they have to either settle with being misunderstood or double down and explicitly explain that they were intentionally being unkind.

I work at a church and religious people use coded language to say crummy things in camouflaged/passive aggressive ways. Today someone told me, “that was an…interesting sermon…”

“Thank you.” <smile>

Then I got to watch them squirm as they tried to decide how to respond.

Tl;dnr: when people are passive aggressive, just say thank you.

I'm feeling old... I only recognised like a third of them

Gen Z Slang (Steve Rogers)

Anonymous asked: Omg ur dream about teaching gen z slang…what if sam taught Steve “hip” phrases but misleads him into thinking they’re romantic even though they’re just straight up Pervy Rjxjdjdj

Thank you for sending this in lmao!! Masterlist linked in bio :)  Steve Rogers x Reader with Sam Wilson Warnings: sex jokes

Steve repeated what he read off the text Sam sent him, “I want to ram you.” He scrunched his nose up, not understanding how that sentence stood for asking someone out, in a romantic way. Sam was trying to teach him some gen z slang, so he could have the courage to ask you out, and flirt with you. Steve’s been crushing on you for a while now, and hopefully with the addition to his vocabulary, he’d go on a date with you.

“I bet you have a great WAP?” Steve tried out, saying it to himself in the mirror. He read a few more of the texts that Sam sent him, shaking his head in confusion. Sam texted him saying Steve needed to send a video of him saying it, so he pressed the camera app, sliding to the video.

He pressed record, facing it to the mirror, to see his whole body while he worked up the courage to say it in what he thought was a romantic way. “We should play strip Jenga together sometime.” He mumbled out, furrowing his eyebrows at the words. Jenga was a game that Sam told him about before, and it seemed fun, and saying “strip Jenga” was another way of saying he wanted to have a game night with you sometime.

“I’m a simp for you.” He pushed out, louder this time. Simp, by what Sam told him, was an admirer, someone that cared for another. And Steve smiled at that one, thinking it was a great way to start the conversation he wanted to have with you later.

“Hindsight is 2020 when I think about you.” That one sounded sweeter than the others to him, Sam told him that it was a very romantic statement. He shifted his hand through his hair, almost nervously as he thought of your smile.

“Wanted to let you know, you could hit it for free.” Hit what though? Steve wondered, shaking his head. He ended the video, pressing send. In the meantime, he saw that Sam sent more slang to use, and Steve walked out the bathroom, practicing them.

Steve groaned as he saw the long list, realizing that he needed to use at least a few of them to get your attention. “I’m baby, and I want to 69 you.” He said loudly, not caring that people gasped and stared at him as he walked through the hallway.

“Come and vibe check on this rocket ship.” He worded out, as he sat in the kitchen, looking up to see that Sam had arrived. He was laughing hard, replaying the video repeatedly, before he glanced back to Steve.

Sam grinned to him, wrapping his arm around his back as he laughed more. “Hey, these are good, you should go tell Y/n soon, I’ll take a video of it for you.” He encouraged Steve. He backed away before letting out another laugh, and Steve stood up with a beaming smile.

“Thanks, I’ll go do it now.” 

What would Elliot's first word be and how would Loki react? Btw love your writing❤️

nobody move or you’ll scare the content away

ugh i am so sorry i haven’t been able to write much! thank anyone who stuck around! i’ve been having to focus mostly on my school related writing (plus got a job so woo!) and its definitely not slowing down anytime soon, but here’s a little something i did manage to get out.

i don’t think i’ll ever get over the idea of Loki being a dad

A light that isn’t supposed to be on is on in the kitchen.

Continuar a ler

this is your daily reminder that yes- your comfort character would absolutely want to rearrange your guts and cuddle you afterwards.

I'm needing it now

Needing it

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Reader

Summary: You need some post-mission relief right now, and Bucky is happy to oblige.

Words: 176

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, fingering, light dirtly talk, Bucky’s thighs of betrayal… need I say more? 18+ only

A/N: Short and sweet today for Day 25 of Kinktober, Thigh Riding, for @the-ss-horniest-book-club. Damn him and his delicious thighs, am I right??🔥 Enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!❤

* * * *

“Bucky,” you gasped, keeping your voice low. His thick thigh between your legs, tac pants rough against your bare core. Rough, but so damn good.

Keep reading

i know ur not taking requests right now . but if i could just get a CRUMB of meeting ransom at a halloween party... a hc, a drabble, a fic, IDC i am so desperate for this. i need to know what he’d dress up as. please i am begging

Bwahahaha I could feel your shameless hoe desperation, nonnie, and I couldn't just leave you hanging. Consider this your very own Halloween treat 😘

Trick or Treat?

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female!Reader Word Count: 2,943 Summary: You’d rather be anywhere else than a Halloween party thrown by rich Boston elite, but luckily a pretty asshole with a lame Halloween costume keeps you entertained. Warnings: Explicit language. Sexual themes. AU.

You didn’t even want to go to this Halloween party.

It wasn’t your normal scene and you had very little in common with rich Boston socialites. But your best friend had begged you, pulled out the puppy dog eyes and pouting lower lip and everything, and damnit! You couldn’t say no to her when she did that.

And she knew it.

She also promised it wouldn’t be as bad as you were already assuming, because her cousin was throwing the party and her cousin was awesome.

Her cousin was also a rich Boston socialite who lived in an actual facts manor on the edge of the city.

Your mouth literally gaped as you struggled with your costume as you got out of your friend’s car.

That was another thing you weren’t crazy about - wearing a costume. You hadn’t done that in years. But when you told your friend you would just dress in your scrubs and be a nurse for Halloween, like you were every other day of your life, she nearly rioted.

So you’d called in a favor with another friend, one who was a local theater director and gleefully helped you comb through his costume department to pick out something to wear to the party.

And you would be lying if you said you weren’t just a little bit in love with the extravagant renaissance dress. It was from a Shakespeare play you couldn’t remember the name of, and it was actually very pretty and fit you surprisingly well.

But as you continued to gape at the many expensive vehicles filling the circular driveway, the type of high end cars you would never even ride in, let alone own in your lifetime, you couldn’t help but feel out of place.

And that feeling only increased as you followed your friend inside the manor and realized your pretty dress was a far cry from the various sexy Halloween costumes donned by the other women at this adult frat party you just stepped into.

You froze in the entryway, eyes so wide you were sure you resembled a cartoon character, as you glanced around.

There were people everywhere. Filling the excessive manor, with their excessive alcohol, and the too loud music making the floor vibrate beneath your feet.

“I just wanna find my cousin and say hi,” your friend chirped, adjusting her sexy witch costume as she grinned at you. “Go find us some drinks, and maybe a couple of sexy vampires or something to take home for the night, and I’ll catch up with you.”

“You’re not seriously going to ditch me as soon as we get here?” you scoffed.

“I’m not ditching,” she promised. “I’ll be right back!”

And then she was gone, lost in a sea of sexy doctors, sexy Red Riding Hoods, and sexy…you squinted - was that a sexy SpongeBob Squarepants costume?

“Oh my god, why did I agree to this?” you muttered to yourself, realizing that a few people nearby were smirking at your more traditional--and conservative--costume as they whispered to each other.

Feeling your face warm, you hitched up your dress and shimmied through the crowd. There were drink filled coolers, kegs, and tables laden with snacks and food throughout the space, so you grabbed a beer, just one, cause your ditching BFF could get her own, and planted yourself in a corner of one of the less crowded rooms.

It looked like some kind of sitting room and, bored from the party and trying your best not to make eye contact with the drunk, sleazy looking spartan a few yards away who was eyeing you up like a prime rib, you hedged around the perimeter of the room. You observed the various family photos and awards as you idly sipped your beer.

You were trailing your fingers along a familiar book on the built-in bookshelves when a voice suddenly spoke to your left.

“So what’s your deal? You an exiled princess? Or a lonely queen? I could probably help with that second one.”

You started, straightening and glancing over to find a ridiculously attractive man staring at your chest.

He was tall and lean, his shoulders broad and encased in an expensive looking maroon sweater. His dark gray slacks were perfectly tailored, hinting at muscled thighs and long legs. His dark blonde hair was neatly swept away from his face, his pale skin a beautiful practice in sharp lines and perfect angles.

He was, quite simply, the most handsome man you had ever seen in real life, and you fidgeted to be in his company.

His blue eyes finally lifted from your cleavage as he took a pull from his beer, and you remembered his question about your costume.

Your gaze narrowed. “I’m not exiled or lonely, I’m just--”

“A stuck up prude?” he guessed, eyes sparkling as your mouth fell open.

“Well who are you supposed to be?” you cried, waving a hand at his normal attire. He stuck out like more of a sore thumb than you did.

A smirk slowly curled his lips and he stepped closer, invading your personal space as he met your gaze. With a perfectly straight face, he replied, “I’m the guy who’s gonna be balls deep in that uptight pussy by the end of the night.”

You spluttered wordlessly, torn between the embarrassment that warmed your face and suppressing your giggles, because this guy was ridiculous...even as a tiny part of you rippled with excitement at his lewd declaration.

Because, honestly? You’d never had a man that pretty show you a lick of interest.

His snicker of amusement that he momentarily struck you speechless made your gaze narrow further. You rolled your eyes as you shoved him out of your space, very purposefully ignoring just how warm and firm his chest felt beneath your touch.

“In your dreams, asshole,” you snorted before hurrying past him in search of your friend.

Your search stretched on, and after what you guessed was fifteen minutes or so of your friend being MIA, as well as dodging a number of lecherous comeons, you needed air.

Even if that air was abnormally chilly for an evening in late October. You decided you’d much rather risk frostbite than spend one more minute inside that fancy manor with all those smug, outrageous partygoers.

Which is why you hedged away from a small group of people smoking a joint just outside of the manor and wandered around the side of the large home. Relief eased the tension from your shoulders as you found the dark, chilly grounds around you empty of anyone else.

With a quiet sigh, you leaned against the cold, gray stone of the manor, hugging yourself as you shivered in the evening chill. The grounds seemed to stretch on forever, in what you assumed were rolling hills of perfectly manicured grass, but you couldn’t really tell in the dark. There was a lake in the distance, and for a split second, you wondered what it would be like to be this rich.

It’s not like you were struggling financially. You lived comfortably, and you appreciated everything you had. You actually really loved your job as a nurse and enjoyed working hard and helping others on the daily.

But still...what would it be like to drive home to this at the end of each day?

It was a concept you couldn’t even compute, and didn’t spend a lot of time trying to.

Another round of shivers shook your frame and you crossed your arms tighter over your chest.

“You look cold, sweetheart.”

Your head snapped up, spying the pretty asshole from earlier rounding the side of the manor and sauntering toward you. He was wearing a long, tan coat, a colorful scarf draped around his neck, and your jealousy at how warm he looked was instant.

He kept coming closer, until he was standing right in front of you, no more than a foot away. His gaze dropped to your chest once more, which was now put on further display with your arms tightly hugging yourself to fend off the cold.

It was your turn to snicker, at his complete lack of shame. “I finally figured out your costume,” you said. “You’re a guy who can’t take a hint.”

He laughed. “You can call me ‘Ransom,’ princess.”

You blinked. “Is that actually your name?”

His eyes narrowed as he took an exaggerated step closer, his front brushing against you and making you straighten. You pressed yourself against the stone behind you even more, trying to keep some distance between the two of you.

It was strange, the gentle malice shining in his gaze as he planted his palm on the wall beside your head. It was so different from the smug amusement you’d witnessed in him thus far.

Ransom leaned in close enough that his body heat was chasing the chill from your body, and you shivered again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, huh?” His hand fell to the curve of your hip, gently squeezing and you froze. “Wonder if you’ve got the talent to back it up. Feel free to drop to your knees and show me. For science.”

“Oh my god!” You half laughed, half gasped, trying to shove him away. “You are so disgusting!” Your eyes narrowed when you realized how ineffective it was - trying to push him away.

In fact, he only pressed closer, until your hands were pinned against his stomach and he was smirking down at you.

You huffed your defeat and instead glared up at him for all you were worth.

“Sticks and stones,” he faux pouted, chuckling as you gave him a waspish gaze.

You opened your mouth to tell him where he could shove his sticks and stones, but Ransom swooped in and kissed you quiet.

You were so stunned you went still, your breath catching at the warm play of his lips against yours. And then he was smiling against your lips and forcing his tongue into your mouth, until it was teasing your own and…

Well, sadly this pretty asshole was a very good kisser.

It was like all of your objections and offense literally evaporated as he worked your mouth with the filthiest, most thorough kiss you’d ever experienced in your life.

You moaned, prying your hands from between your bodies so you could touch him. One hand slid around the nape of his neck, the other groping his chest, exploring the muscles beneath.

Ransom hissed quietly as your cold fingers found their way beneath his scarf and collar and onto his bare skin. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.” He remained close, forehead pressed against yours, noses knocking.

You found your body curling even closer to him, craving relief from the cold, until you were flush to his chest, his coat now keeping you warm too.

“That’s my actual costume,” you murmured. “A frigid bitch.”

Ransom laughed, the amusement back in his eyes as they danced at you. “You’re funny, princess.”

You stared up at him, your hands tracing the smooth, luxurious fabric of his scarf. “Y/N,” you finally offered.

Ransom repeated your name softly, his lips curling into a hint of a smirk, but still more of a smile. “I’d be happy to warm you up. In fact, my house is fairly close and I have a very impressive fireplace.”

“Is ‘fireplace’ some kind of weird sexual innuendo or…”

“Why don’t you come home with me and find out?”

“It’s lame of you to prey on my hypothermia,” you told him.

“I’m pretty shameless when it comes to getting what I want,” Ransom returned. His fingers pressed into the curve of your hip, scorching you through the thick fabric of your costume. “Or who.”

At that, you grinned. “I have a feeling you’re used to getting what, or who, you want, Ransom.”

“You’re not wrong,” he smirked.

For some reason, you found his arrogance amusing, and oddly charming. Maybe you really did have hypothermia and it was affecting your judgment...or maybe that steamy kiss had thoroughly short circuited your brain.

And, if you were being honest with yourself, it was kind of fun, this sexy banter with a pretty asshole. More fun than hiding in the corner of a too loud party full of strangers.

“Sorry to say you’re gonna need to thaw me out a little more before I agree to go home with you,” you told him, gently pushing at his chest.

Ransom’s brows furrowed as he stared down at you, lips pursed with disappointment. “Meaning?”

“Meaning baby steps, Casanova,” you smiled mischievously, unable to help yourself as you gripped the lapels of his coat and tugged him close. “It’s gonna take more than a lame Halloween costume, lots of arrogance, and a decent kiss to get in my pants.”

“Decent?” Ransom scoffed, glowering as you pushed him away and stepped around him.

You immediately missed his body heat as the cool night air engulfed you.

“You always that enthusiastic for merely decent kisses?” Ransom huffed.

You hugged yourself tightly, glancing over at him with a wry smile as you blatantly ignored his question. “Does your car have heat?”

He blinked, thrown off by the change in subject. “...yes?”

“How about we sit in there and warm up, because I’d literally rather throw myself in the half frozen lake than return to that party.”

Ransom couldn’t suppress a smile. He shook his head, sighing as he shoved his hands in his coat pockets. He followed as you moved toward the front of the manor, then the driveway.

He pointed out his beamer, hand touching the small of your back as he guided you toward it. Then he was standing too close and pinning you against the passenger door as he dug around in his pocket for his keys.

“That kiss was way more than just decent,” he muttered, tugging his keys free. “You were practically putty in my hands. And those little gasps and moans, just from a kiss…”

Your face warmed as you blinked up at him, because he wasn’t wrong. It had been entirely too long since you’d had a kiss like that, let alone actually gotten laid. And just the thought of breaking your dry spell with this silver tongued Adonis was enough to make you shiver in delight.

Getting a whiff of his musky cologne as he shifted against you, you felt his hand sneak to your hip again. His proximity shielded you from the cold, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, just a little.

“Just imagine the noises I make when someone’s balls deep in this uptight pussy,” you teased on a quiet murmur.

Ransom’s breath caught, his grip on your hip squeezing hard as his gaze seemed to go dark with desire before your eyes. “Didn’t take you for such a tease, sweetheart.”

“What’s wrong, you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

He smirked at your playful jibe, wedging his knee between your legs as he unlocked the passenger door. Even through the thick layers of your dress, you felt a dull ache spark to life in your core as Ransom’s thigh pressed against you with purpose.

“Mmm, careful, princess, you’re playing with fire.” His head dipped closer, lips hovering so close to yours you swore you could taste him. “You keep mouthing off like that, do all that teasing with no follow through, and you may just get burned right up.”

“Don’t threaten this frigid bitch with a good time,” you quipped. Your heart skipped a beat as Ransom smiled, white teeth flashing as those perfectly plump and tempting lips of his curled.

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun,” he hummed, his thigh pressing against your core hard enough to make you gasp. You didn’t resist as his hands cupped your hips, rocking you against him as his mouth teased along yours.

Your eyes fluttered as he kissed you, much slower this time. He took his time tasting you, gently pulling you apart with his lips and tongue, swallowing your needy little mewl as you wound your arms around his neck and yanked him close.

When Ransom finally pulled away, you were both panting. You pressed a hand to your chest, like it would quell the rapid pace of your heart, your underwear thoroughly ruined and sticking to you uncomfortably as Ransom’s leg moved away as he straightened.

“Better than decent?” he taunted, smile smug as you stared up at him, a little dazed.

You blinked, and then snorted in laughter as you processed his words. “I’ll give you and your ego a moment,” you giggled, patting Ransom’s chest before tugging open the passenger door and carefully folding yourself, and your dress, inside.

Ransom stood there, gazing down at you before ducking low, so his eyes could meet yours. “The thing about my ego, sweetheart? It’s completely justified.”

His grin was wicked as you stared at him.

“You’ll find out soon enough, once I completely and thoroughly ruin you.” His thumb skimmed your kiss swollen bottom lip, his eyes still glued to yours. “And then you’ll fucking thank me for it. As you should.”

You pressed your thighs together, warmth rushing through you and your earlier chill forgotten entirely as Ransom fucking winked at you before closing the door. And as he sauntered around to the driver’s side of the car, you couldn’t help but stare, fanning yourself just a little as you realized he may have just thawed your frigid bitch exterior a tiny bit more.

And you were totally okay with that.

Lol yer girl can’t write a short drabble to save her fucking life. 🤷🏻‍♀️

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I may like Logan more than I thought 🥵

ROOM FOR RENT

PAIRING: logan howlett x female reader

RATING: explicit (18+) | WORD COUNT: 5.3k

SUMMARY: logan finds a new roommate.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i have logan howlett brain rot and i’m not sorry. big smooch to everyone who let me yell about this to them including @eupheme @pedgito @wannab-urs @chaotic-mystery @kedsandtubesocks @undrthelights and @murder-wife 💕

WARNINGS: post deadpool & wolverine, variant!logan howlett, able bodied reader, reader being picked up (enhanced strength babyyyy), roommates to lovers trope, meddlesome pet cat, a splash of canon typical violence - mentions of blood and knife wounds, wade wilson/deadpool appearances, mild angst, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact) - dirty talk, pain kink, biting, pet names, praise kink, oral sex - m & f receiving, a little dacryphilia during a blowjob, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, begging, size kink. if i’ve missed any, please let me know!

LINKS: masterlists | support for palestine

If Logan has to wake up to Wade's constant yapping for the rest of his life, he's going to go insane. Every morning he's jolted awake by Wade singing in the kitchen. When he notices Logan is awake, the singing stops and the one-sided conversation begins and doesn't end until Logan finally gets up from the couch and leaves the apartment with nothing but the clothes on his back.

Today, with some money in his pocket from a few odd jobs he's picked up, he finds solace in a quiet coffee shop. Sat beside a bulletin board, he scans the postings.

Art show, art show, yard sale, job opening, roommate wanted, art show--

Roommate wanted? Logan tears the paper from the pin.

Room for rent in 2 bedroom/1 bathroom apartment. One cat. Laundry on site.

He folds the ad up and stuffs the paper in the pocket of his jacket before gathering his empty coffee cup and tossing it in the trash on the way out the door, an uncharacteristic spring in his step.

Your phone rings with a number you don't recognize. You consider sending it to voicemail, already exhausted from fielding similar calls about your room for rent, but ultimately decide to answer.

"Hello?"

A man clears his throat on the other end of the line before responding with, "This the number for the rental?"

"Yep," you reply. "Were you interested in seeing it or have any questions?"

"How much is it?"

"Your half would be $950.”

"And it's a whole bedroom?"

"As opposed to a half bedroom?" You laugh at your joke but the man remains quiet and you wince. "I mean, yes. It's a whole bedroom."

"I'd like to come see it, if you've got the time."

"Sure, how's this Friday sound?" You suggest. "What's your full name?"

"Why do you need to know that?" The man's tone grows defensive and alarm bells ring in your head.

"Well, I'd like to make sure you're not, like, a wanted criminal or something," you tell him with an awkward laugh. He's quiet and for a moment you think that he may have hung up on you. "Hello?"

"Yeah, 'm still here," he sighs. "Name's Logan Howlett."

"Logan Howlett," you repeat. You give him your name in return, though he doesn't do much but grunt in acknowledgment. "Alright, well, do you have something to write down the address?"

"Just tell me, I'll remember."

After listing off the address, he ends the call with a rough goodbye. You get to work on your personal research, entering his name into a search engine.

No results.

You refresh the page, thinking that must be an error, but the same message appears.

No results.

You try spelling his name differently.

No results.

You set the phone down, anxiety starting to creep up your spine. It's hard to believe that there's absolutely nothing online about this man, who now has your full address, name, and phone number.

A sharp meow shakes you from your thoughts and you find that your cat has taken up residence on your lap, staring at you intently as his tail flicks back and forth. You run your hand over his head, scratching beneath his chin.

"You'll protect me, right?" You ask.

He leaps from your lap and struts away, fluffy tail disappearing down the hall that leads to your bedroom. You sigh.

Hopefully you haven’t just done something stupid.

Logan's attempt to leave the apartment unnoticed does not go as planned. Althea is sitting on the couch, a re-run of a talk show playing loudly, when he tries to make a run for it. He's distracted, watching her too carefully that he doesn't realize Wade has just returned from god-knows-where.

"Whatcha doin', twinkle toes?" Wade asks, startling Logan, who slams into the kitchen table with a curse.

"Fucking hell," Logan curses, rubbing his hip. "When did you get in here?"

Wade shrugs. "Sometime around the start of your 007 impression."

"My what?"

"Nevermind," Wade sighs. "You look snazzy. Got a hot date?"

"No," Logan grunts.

"A cold date, then?"

Logan pinches his nose. "No."

"Well, care to share, sugar plum? What's got you sneaking around like the Black Widow?"

"The who?"

"May she rest in peace," Wade says, tone suddenly somber.

"He's tryin' to move out," Althea chimes in. Wade's mouth drops open in shock.

"You're abandoning us?!" he exclaims. "After all we've been through?"

"Let the man do what he wants," Althea says. "Damn co-dependent freak."

"Harsh," - Wade places a hand over his chest, -"you know I have daddy issues. And mommy issues. And abandonment issues. And--"

"Enough," Logan snaps. "Yes, alright? I'm looking for a new place. I can't sleep on that couch forever."

"Is it because it smells like old people?" Wade whispers, pointing an accusatory finger to Althea, who flips him off.

"Look, this is your universe. Your timeline. Mine is gone and it's time I start making this whole thing less temporary."

Wade tilts his head and places a hand on Logan's shoulder. "My little Wolvie, all grown up," he says, wiping at a fake tear. Logan shoves his hand away, storming past him for the door.

"Remember to smile! Give 'em the ol' razzle dazzle!" Wade shouts as he slams the door behind him.

You pace your small living room and check the stove clock for the hundredth time in the past five minutes. Logan is due to see the apartment and your nerves have gone from a simmer to a full blown boil waiting for the mysterious man with no digital footprint to show up. Your cat is lounging on the windowsill, blissfully unaware of your inner panic.

Three sharp knocks at the door cause your pulse to skyrocket. You take a deep breath before crossing the short distance to the door, pulling it open with a smile.

"Hi! You must be--“

Your greeting dies on your tongue as you take in the man crowding your hallway. He's wearing a leather jacket over a white tank top that stretches tightly across a broad chest and jeans that highlight thick thighs. His dark hair is cut shorter on the sides than on the top of his head, the ends fanning out in a manner that reminds you of a cat's ears and he's sporting an impressively thick beard.

"'m Logan," he says in the same deep voice you heard over the phone, holding a hand out towards you. You slip your palm against his much larger one and you're surprised by how warm his touch is.

"H-hi," you stutter, shaking his hand. You clear your throat. "Sorry, hi. Uh, come on in."

You move aside to let him through the doorway, not missing the fact that his shoulders practically brush the frame as he steps inside. Your apartment opens up directly into the living room and kitchen with a small dining area set in between and you gesture around.

"Well, this is most of it, to be honest. I know it's not much but--"

"It's quiet," Logan interrupts. "Ain't used to quiet."

"Where, uh," -- you twist the hem of your shirt -- "where are you coming from? Exactly?"

"Kind of a long story. Right now I sleep on a couch in a shitty one bedroom apartment shared by an asshole who doesn't shut the fuck up and a blind cocaine addict."

"Oh," you reply, nodding despite your lack of understanding. "Yeah, it's just me here. Well, and Dumpling."

"Dumpling?"

As if summoned by his name, your cat appears, making a swift beeline for the newcomer. He twists around Logan's legs, butting his head against his shins. You bend down, scooping him up in your arms.

"This is Dumpling. He's cute, but he'll knock over any plants so I wouldn't recommend you take up indoor gardening if you decide to live here." Logan eyes Dumpling warily before holding a hand out. Dumpling sniffs his fingers daintily and rubs head against his palm. "I think he likes you."

Logan huffs, the sound close to a laugh, and it makes you smile. He looks up at you and for a moment you forget that you're complete strangers who have just met. He feels inexplicably familiar, his presence comforting, and you're surprised by it.

"Let's look at the bedroom," you finally say, breaking the moment. You turn, heading for the hall and he follows behind you, steps surprisingly light for such a large man. You take him to the last door at the end of the hall and enter the empty room. "This is it. It's kind of small, but all the rooms in New York are pretty much shoe boxes. It's got a closet and access to the fire escape, though.”

"Better than the couch," he says, looking around the room. "You said $950?"

"Plus half of the utilities," you add. He nods.

"Look, I'll be honest. I'm...between jobs right now." He sighs. "And my schedule can be...unpredictable."

"Oh," you mumble. You think about it for a moment. Renting the apartment to Logan would be a risk but...you can't help but notice that exhaustion in his eyes, how it's clear he's trying to get back on his feet in one way or another. "That's okay. We can work something out."

He raises an eyebrow at you. "Really? You sure about that?"

Were you?

"Yeah," you reply. "I'm sure."

Having a roommate is...an adjustment.

Logan is great. He does his dishes in a timely manner, doesn't leave any clothes on the bathroom floor, and even cleans Dumpling's litter box from time to time.

But he drives you insane and it has nothing to do with his qualities as a roommate and everything to do with how unbearably attractive he is. He could be doing the most mundane activity and suddenly you're more turned on than a faucet on full blast. On top of it all, he's surprisingly sweet for such a gruff man.

Currently, you're watching him pour himself a glass of whiskey. You know he's probably preparing to take the drink to his room so that he can have a cigar on the fire escape, but you find yourself wanting his company.

"Logan?" you ask. He looks at you over his shoulder.

"Yeah, bub?"

"Would you...want to watch a movie? With me?"

He turns to fully face you, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of his drink, dark eyes on you over the rim of the glass. You swallow nervously, prepared to retract your offer and hide out in your room for the rest of eternity, but he puts you out of your misery.

"Sure." He comes over to the couch, taking a seat that's a respectable distance away. "What are we watching?"

"Have you seen The Greatest Showman?"

A musical. He's sitting through a goddamn musical.

"You kinda look like that guy," you say from beside him. Logan tilts his head.

"I don't see it."

"It's the bone structure."

"I'm bigger than him." You mumble something under your breath that he doesn't quite catch, though he thinks it sounded suspiciously like yeah, you are. "You say somethin'?"

"Huh?" You shake your head. "No, nope. Didn't say anything."

Logan relaxes against the back of the couch, settling in. You're curled up against the armrest, a blanket covering your legs and your arms wrapped around a throw pillow. You look relaxed, at ease, a stark contrast to how you had been when he first moved in. You spent more of your time hidden in your room and he's happy to see you're getting more comfortable around him.

It's also torture. You're like a drug that he can't get enough of, a high that doesn't last long enough. He clings desperately to every smile you grace him with and falls asleep with the sound of your voice echoing in his head. He wakes up looking forward to seeing you, even if it's just in passing before you head out for your very normal job as part of your very normal life.

That's what gives him pause. You're not like him, not built for violence, and he would never drag you into that life. He thinks about Vanessa and Wade and the wedge that was driven between them they're working to repair and he can't bear the thought of having you just to lose you.

Logan's so lost in his own thoughts he doesn't realize that the movie has ended and you haven't moved. Your head is angled in a way that has to be uncomfortable, your mouth dropped open as you breathe slowly and deeply. He grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns the TV off, plunging the room into darkness as he stands and quietly approaches you.

He slides one arm beneath your knees and using the other to support your back, lifts you from the couch. You settle your head against his chest but otherwise your sleep remains undisturbed as he carries you down the hall into your room.

It's not the first time he's been in your personal space. One time he woke up to Dumpling clawing at his chest and he marched the animal back to your room for the night, barging in on you while you had been up reading. He remembers the queen sized bed in a wooden frame and a dresser with a drawer that won't shut take up most of the space, the plain white of your walls replaced by a soft blue. You've installed what he first thought were regular shelves but later learned are meant for Dumpling to use for late night acrobatics that he can sometimes hear from his room.

Logan sets you gently on your bed and pulls the quilt up to your shoulders. Before he can think better of it, he reaches a hand toward your face, tracing his thumb over the high point of your cheek. You turn towards the sensation, chasing his touch, and his chest grows tight. He sighs, stepping back and turning for the door.

Dumpling sits in the doorway, flicking his tail. Logan steps around him into the hallway, the cat's gaze following him.

"Shut up," he whispers.

Dumpling meows in return.

You're disoriented when you wake the next morning. The last thing you remember is being on the couch with Logan and watching The Greatest Showman, but somehow you've ended up in your room. You turn over in bed to find Dumpling on your other pillow, curled in a ball.

"Morning, Dumpy," you murmur, scratching his head. "How'd we end up here?"

Dumpling blinks unhelpfully at you before uncurling from his spot and hopping from the bed, leaving through your open door. It's then that you notice that you can hear grunting noises coming from the living room.

You get up to investigate and stop dead in your tracks, mouth dropping open when you find the source of the noise is a shirtless Logan doing push ups on the living room floor. The broad muscles of his back ripple with each movement, each push accompanied by a small grunt that makes your thighs clench together, imagining him making that noise when--

Logan stops, jumping to his feet and you shake your head free of the salacious image it began to create. He turns, giving you an uninhibited view of his thick chest that's covered in dark hair that trails down over defined abs before disappearing beneath the elastic of his sweatpants. You have to say something, anything, but your brain is full of static, unable to operate when he's standing there looking like that.

"Morning," he says.

"Good morning!" you reply, voice pitched higher than usual. You walk past him in a way you hope is casual, heading for the kitchen and prepping the coffee machine. "You got any plans today?"

"Got a friend who needs my help with something. Don't know when I'll be back." His voice is much closer than you expected and you turn from the counter to find him right behind you, a scant few inches of space between your bodies.

"Oh?" you whisper, keeping your gaze firmly on his face. "Is everything okay?"

"It will be."

He drifts impossibly closer, chest nearly brushing yours. Your heart pounds in your chest, a frantic rhythm that's become familiar ever since Logan entered your life. Reaching above your head, he grabs two mugs in one large hand, setting them on the counter behind you before taking a step back and turning to head for his room without another glance in your direction.

You sag against the counter, a wave of lust addled adrenaline crashing over you and leaving you breathless. The last thing you need to be doing is getting involved with your roommate, no matter how tempting he may be.

Dumpling jumps up on the counter beside the coffee pot and stares at you, likely waiting for food, but it feels more like judgment in his green eyes.

"Shut up," you whisper to him.

Dumpling meows, batting you with a paw.

You're sitting on the couch when there's an unexpected knock at your door. Logan is still gone, helping a friend and you're not expecting anyone, so you’re not sure who it could be. You check the peephole before opening the door and see the distorted image of a man in a red suit and mask supporting the weight of your roommate against his side.

"What the fuck?" you ask as you open the door in a panicked rush. The masked man waves his fingers at you.

"Hi there! I've got a very," -- he grunts, adjusting his grip on Logan -- "heavy delivery."

Logan's eyes are closed, head flopped back on the masked man's shoulder. Blood stains his t-shirt in spots that look suspiciously like knife wounds and you gasp.

"What happened to him?!" you shout. "Oh my god, he needs to go to the hospital--"

"He just needs a little power nap," the man says. "I'm Wade, by the way. You mind if I just--"

Wade drags Logan through the apartment, depositing him on your couch with a huff, wiping his hands together. He looks around and you're shocked when the eyes of the mask seem to move, as if mimicking his facial expressions.

"This is a nice place," he says. Dumpling meows and Wade gasps. "You have a cat?! I wish I could pet you, sweet kitty, but Dogpool would put me in the dog house. Ha! Get it?"

"I'm confused," you manage to say. "My roommate is bleeding out on my couch after being dropped off by some wanna-be Avenger--"

"Ouch!"

"And you're saying he doesn't need to go to the emergency room?"

"Nope." Wade lifts Logan's shirt. "See? Good as new."

Despite the blood and tears on his shirt, there's no wounds on Logan's body. He shifts, lifting an arm to smack Wade's hand away as he groans, eyes fluttering open. He glares at the man.

"Get out," he growls.

"Now, now, that's not being a very good host, Logi. What, were you raised by wolves?" Wade replies. Logan roars, a ferocious sound that's more animal than man. His hand curls into a fist and sharp metal blades extend from between his knuckles. "Okay, okay, I'm leaving, no need for the murder mittens." Wade looks at you. "You should come to Sunday dinner!"

"Wilson!" Logan shouts. Wade finally heeds the man's warnings, rushing for the door without another word, shutting it behind him. Logan sags against the couch, blades retracting into his hand. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

You stand there in shock, trying to make sense of everything you just witnessed. Logan should be halfway to dead by now, but he doesn't even have a scratch on him. He has claws. How does he have claws?

"Can hear you thinking," Logan says, eyes still shut. "Just say it."

"Say what?" you ask. He lifts his head.

"Tell me to get out, scream, whatever it is."

You sit down on the couch, facing him. "Why would I do that?"

"Because that's what you should be doing."

His hand rests on his thigh and you reach for it, lifting it to eye level for a closer look at his knuckles. You trace your thumb over the smooth skin, up over his strong forearm. He watches you, face almost pained.

"I'm not scared of you," you whisper. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"But I could," he bites back.

"You won't." You're certain of that. You set his hand back on his thigh and stand from the couch, intending to grab him a glass of water from the kitchen, but he stops you with a hand around your wrist. His grip is loose enough that you could break free, but you don't.

Logan looks up at you with an unreadable expression, something close to fear mixed with a conflicting emotion that you think -- or hope -- might be desire. He tugs your wrist, bringing you to stand between his legs.

"How can you be so sure?" he asks.

You place your hand on his cheek, the coarse hair of his beard scratching at your palm. His eyelids flutter and his lips part on a sharp inhale.

"You're a good man, Logan Howlett," you murmur. He closes his eyes tightly and takes a deep breath.

His next movements are quick -- a hand on the back of your thigh, dragging you onto his lap, the other wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you close, his lips capturing yours in a savage kiss. You melt into him, meeting his urgency with your own desperation, tongues tangling together and fighting for dominance.

You pull back to trail kisses across his jaw until you reach his neck, sinking your teeth into the tan skin, just over his hammering pulse. Logan groans, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, pulling you tightly against him as his hips buck into yours.

"Fuck," Logan says, voice a deep rumble that you feel to your marrow. "Do that again."

"Do what?" you tease.

"Bite me," he demands. "Make it hurt."

You obey, biting down into his shoulder with greater effort, sinking your teeth in deep until he hisses from the pain of it and you let go, lifting your head to look at the mark you've left behind. It fades quickly, disappearing without a trace.

"Jesus," he says, pulling you in for another kiss, slow and deep, as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "Let me see you."

You allow him to lift your shirt up and over your head, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. His touch makes you shiver despite the heat of his hands as he traces the curve of your waist up to your chest, his thumbs finding your nipples and teasing them with slow circles. You drop your head back with a moan and he takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, your collarbone, moving down until his lips wrap around one taut bud.

"Logan," you whine, digging your fingers into his hair and holding tight. He hums, the sensation making your eyes roll.

"Thought about this," he murmurs, switching to your other breast. "Every time you'd wear those goddamn tight shirts of yours."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"Wanna know what I thought about?" You tug his hair, pulling his head away from your chest. "Sucking your cock."

He raises his eyebrow at you and you take the opportunity to slide from his lap, settling on your knees between his spread thighs. You work his belt loose, followed by the fly of his jeans. He reaches past the waistband to free his cock and your mouth waters at the sight. You could tell he was big while you were on his lap, but he's even more glorious than you imagined. Thick, long, with prominent veins and a slight upward curve that you know will hit all the right places.

You take him in your hand, appreciating the weight of him in your palm as you hold him steady. With your eyes locked on his face, you open your mouth and stick out your tongue to lick from the top of your fingers to the flushed head. He groans, his hand curling into a fist that he presses to his forehead.

"Fuck," Logan hisses. You do it again, this time swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him into your mouth, moving down his length slowly. "God, look at you. Mouth stuffed so full you're drooling, huh?"

He's right. Spit gathers at the corners of your lips and runs down your chin as you use your mouth to pleasure him. The sounds he makes above you are downright filthy, deep moans and filthy praise that have you moving faster, taking him deeper, working to get as much of him in your mouth as you manage without gagging. He cups your cheek with one large palm, thumb tracing your stretched lips.

"Keep going, sweetheart. You can take a little more, can't you? That's it," he says. Tears burn your cheeks with the effort to obey, your throat tightening around the head of his cock. "Fuck, that's a good girl."

You breathe deeply through your nose, maintaining a steady pace and using your hand in tandem with your mouth for what you can't easily take. Logan's hips begin to flex beneath you, his words trailing off into guttural growls. His cock twitches in your grasp and he moans your name before his release floods your mouth and you swallow it down.

You pull off of him with a slick pop, gasping for breath. Before you can say anything, Logan is hauling you to your feet as he stands from the couch, lifting you up with one strong arm beneath your ass and urging your legs around his waist.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Just getting started."

Logan kicks the door open to your room, startling Dumpling from his perch. The cat races out the door, disappearing into the living area as the door clicks shut. He sets you down on your bed and quickly rids himself of his boots and rest of his clothing before returning his attention to you.

You're lying there in your little sleep shorts that drive him nuts. The fabric barely covers your ass and there's been more than one occasion where he's shuffled into the kitchen in the mornings to see you in them, all the blood in his body rushing south at the sight. He joins you on the bed, on his knees between your spread thighs, and extends a single claw. Your eyes widen, but you don't pull away. In fact, you start squirming, hips flexing minutely against the mattress.

"Scared yet?" he asks.

"I wouldn't say that.”

He carefully slips the blade beneath the hem of your shorts, inching it up until it peeks out above the elastic waistband before twisting his wrist and slicing through the fabric like it's nothing. Claw retracted, he removes your ruined shorts and takes a moment to appreciate the vision you make, legs spread wide and your dripping pussy on display.

"You're a mess," he says, smoothing his hands over the soft skin of your legs. He lifts one of your knees, pressing a kiss to the inside of it before resting it on his shoulder. "Gonna clean you up."

Logan dips his head to your center, dragging his tongue through your soaked sex, groaning when the taste of you blooms across his tongue. Your fingers curl against his scalp, a sharp point of pleasure-pain as he explores your body. He swirls his tongue over your clit, experimenting with broad circles and sharp flicks until you're writhing beneath him.

"Logan," you cry, hips bucking against his face. He dips his tongue into your cunt, nose brushing your clit as he does, and he hums in satisfaction as your thighs tense around his head.

He looks up at you and drinks in the picture you make, gorgeous skin glistening with sweat and your back arched from the bed, chest heaving with desperate breaths. He wants this exact moment burned into his memory, certain it could chase away the dark shadows that linger there.

Logan presses two fingers to your hole, sliding them in with little resistance. You're so warm and tight, squeezing his fingers beautifully, calling out his name as he curls them when he drags them from your body.

"I'm going to come," you gasp. "Oh, fuck, just like that!"

You pulse around his fingers and he slows his movements to work you through it until you collapse against the mattress with a deep sigh. He carefully removes his hand and sits up on his knees.

"Guess I made more of a mess," Logan says. Your eyes squeeze shut with a breathless giggle.

"I'll forgive you," you reply. You reach your arms up for him and he moves to hover over you to accept your embrace. "God, Logan," you murmur, tilting your chin up to kiss him.

In this position, he's able to drag his cock through the slick mess between your thighs and you shiver beneath him, gasping into his mouth. He does it again, more purposeful this time and it drags a moan from you both.

"Please," you murmur.

"Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you want," he replies. "What you need."

"Need you to fuck me."

Logan reaches between your bodies and positions the thick head of his cock at your entrance, pushing forward. The stretch of him is unreal, almost too much even with how wet you are for him.

"Relax," he says, holding himself steady above you. "You can take it."

You nod and he pushes forward another inch, letting you adjust, and repeating the process until the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickles your sensitive skin. You've never been so full, no other experience compares to this. No other man compares to Logan, in any way.

He starts moving slowly, dragging his hips back until you're nearly empty before plunging back inside. Each thrust puts stars in your vision, makes the knot of want and need coil tighter in your lower belly, until you're moaning his name and begging him to move faster, harder, deeper.

Logan obeys, thrusting into you with enough force that your head board collides with the wall. He sits back on heels, dragging you up with him until you're sitting in his lap and he's able to thrust up into you.

"Feel so fucking good," he says, lips against your neck. "Need you to come for me, baby."

You nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and holding him close, meeting each of his thrusts with a rock of your hips that drags your clit against him, your nerves buzzing with the friction and fullness. While the orgasm he wrenched from you with his mouth felt like a wildfire, this one builds and builds, a wave cresting until it finally crashes and you cry out his name.

Logan leans forward to drop you back onto the bed, reaching a hand up to grip your headboard as he continues to roll his hips into yours, chasing his own release. His thrusts begin to grow more desperate until he presses in deep and you're flooded with warmth as he growls, long and low. The sound of splintering wood breaks through your post-orgasmic haze and you tilt your head back to find that his claws have extended through your headboard, splitting the wood and embedding into the drywall.

"I can fix that," Logan says breathlessly, tugging his hand free, claws retracting. You grin at him.

"Later," you reply, pulling him in for a kiss.

You've got better things to do right now.

Thank you so much for reading! For more of my writing, check out my masterlists!

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