#bar open shelves
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DC Metro Eclectic Home Bar Large eclectic u-shaped floor seated home bar with open cabinets, quartz countertops, an undermount sink, and carpeting in various colors
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Home Bar - Eclectic Home Bar Shaker cabinets, white cabinets, glass countertops, and an undermount sink can be seen in this small eclectic l-shaped medium tone wood floor and brown floor seated home bar image.
#bar glass set table top#bar open shelves#medium dark wood floor#medium brown wood floor#medium brown wood floors#corner bar top
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Home Bar - Eclectic Home Bar Shaker cabinets, white cabinets, glass countertops, and an undermount sink can be seen in this small eclectic l-shaped medium tone wood floor and brown floor seated home bar image.
#bar glass set table top#bar open shelves#medium dark wood floor#medium brown wood floor#medium brown wood floors#corner bar top
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Home Bar Miami Wet bar idea with a beige floor, a single-wall transitional wall of porcelain tile, raised-panel cabinets, gray cabinets, granite countertops, an undermount sink, a gray backsplash, a mirror backsplash, and multicolored countertops.
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Contemporary Home Bar - Home Bar Small trendy single-wall medium tone wood floor and brown floor wet bar photo with raised-panel cabinets, gray cabinets, granite countertops, an undermount sink and multicolored countertops
#wine fridges & bar fridges#glass shelves#open bar shelves#bar open shelves#home bar ideas#liquor display#home bar cabinet
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Single Wall (Miami)
#Design ideas for a small transitional single-wall wet bar remodel with a gray-cabinet undermount sink#wood countertops#recessed-panel cabinets#a multicolor backsplash#mosaic tile#and brown countertops. custom built home bar#mesh front cabinets#mosaic backsplash / wall tile#bar open shelves#wire mesh cabinet front
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begging people to realize that the back warehouse of a grocery store is not a second, secret grocery store that has everything you need plus some extra secret items the first grocery store does not have
#look it probably varies from store to store#but at least where i work the back is a fucking mess.#like. you're imagining neat tidy shelves and specific sections for each product#that is not what the back is. it's a disorganized hellhole with every type of product piled haphazardly on top of each other#wheelers lying around with the most random items.#you have to understand that if a grocery worker were to 'check in the back' for something#it would likely take 10ish minutes if it WAS there.#and like. stuff like produce isn't just going to be kept in boxes in the back either. or meat or seafood.#if they have sellable meat or produce they're not just going to stick it in some deep freezer in the back#and wait for it to become two days away from unsellable before they bring it out.#with those departments especially if they have something you want it is going to be on display#and if it's not they don't have it.#stuff like soda is a bit easier to find usually#but even then there's so many different brands all piled together in crates on the same wheeler#not even opened#and i hate to say it but most grocery workers honestly just have more important things to do#than go rooting around like truffle pigs in the back for the stuff you want.#they might be doing price change or they might be stocking a new product#or they might be trying to fill a central display case#or they might be filling an online shopping order and thus on a time crunch#and even if none of those are the case a grocery worker can get called away to a different task on a dime.#they can't just drop everything to hunt in the back for whatever fucking granola bars you want so bad.#absolutely we can tell you where things are#and we can recommend alternatives to out of stock items. sure. but you'll only be wasting your time and ours#if you ask us to check for something in the back.
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IG beckiowens
#bar#butlers pantry#interior design#mixed materials#alcove#subway tile#moody#dark olive#paneling#french doors#drawer refrigerator#open shelves#glass storage
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Home Bar - Single Wall Small transitional single-wall dark wood floor and brown floor wet bar photo with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, black backsplash, soapstone countertops and mirror backsplash
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Kitchen in Denver Large elegant u-shaped light wood floor and brown floor eat-in kitchen photo with a double-bowl sink, recessed-panel cabinets, beige cabinets, quartz countertops, white backsplash, subway tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances and a peninsula
#light hardwood flooring#recessed lighting#black metal bar stools#kitchen peninsula seating#u shaped kitchen with peninsula#wall mounted open shelving#u shaped kitchen
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Contemporary Home Bar Vancouver Small trendy dark wood floor wet bar photo with an undermount sink, shaker cabinets, dark wood cabinets, granite countertops, gray backsplash and glass tile backsplash
#bar fridge#shaker bar cabinetry#home bar#shaker style#stainless steel hardware#granite#open shelves
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Home Bar Calgary Small elegant galley wet bar photo with an undermount sink, shaker cabinets, black cabinets, quartz countertops, gray backsplash, porcelain backsplash and gray countertops
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Contemporary Home Bar - U-Shape Example of a large contemporary u-shaped dark wood floor seated home bar design with open cabinets, onyx countertops, yellow backsplash, and stone slab backsplash, as well as an undermount sink.
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Japandi | Living Room CC Pack |Early
Suprise, Suprise Simmers! I'm back with brand new CC pack for The Sims 4!
🌿✨ Discover the serene beauty of Japandi design in this Sims 4 living room setup, featuring 44 unique elements. This space blends Japanese minimalism and Scandinavian functionality with natural materials and a calming color palette. Highlights include a low-profile sofa with green cushions, a woven coffee table, a traditional shoji screen, and elegant wall art. The room exudes tranquility with its harmonious design and thoughtful decor. Perfect for creating a cozy and stylish home in your Sims 4 game! 🌱🪑
With this set you can create your own shelving system, open doors, closed doors, open space with doors, or closed closet, the choice is yours :) I'm continue my Japandi Collection with another room that is Living Room. In future I create more inspired Japnadi rooms so be sure to follow me on Instagram where I upload my progress on current projects.
Set contains:
Sofa
Arm chair
Loveseat
Coffee Table
End Table
Japandi poster
Single Shelf 1x1 ( Short/Medium )
Double Shelf 2x1 ( Short/Medium )
Double Shelf 2 2x1 ( Short/Medium )
Media Cabinet
Long Shelf
Short Shelf
Open Pillar ( Short/Medium/Tall )
Closed Pillar ( Short/Medium/Tall )
Closed Doors ( Short/Medium/Tall )
Open Doors Right ( Short/Medium/Tall )
Open Doors Left ( Short/Medium/ Tall )
Stereo System
CD Player
Mixer
Collection of Books ( 4 diffrent versions )
Book Organizer
Tea Pot
Ink Tray
Ceilling Lamp ( Short/Medium )
Little Weave Frame
THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW!
All items are Base Game compatibile
All of the textures and meshes are made by me, if you like to use them please mention me
Some of the objects are high poly so be careful
If you see any issues let me KNOW!
NOW AVAILABLE ON EARLY ACCESS!
Public realse June 27th!
You can find objects by typing "Japandi" or "S-im" in search bar in game!
#mycc#ts4cc#sims4cc#thesims4#ts4#sims maxis match#maxismatch#maxis match#ts4 custom content#ts4 maxis match#ts4 maxis cc#ts4 download#ts4 simblr#maxis match cc#sims4#sims 4 maxis match#sims 4 maxis cc
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Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻
Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀
You're onto something here
Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor
Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts
It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.
He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.
Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.
You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.
He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.
A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.
Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.
Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…
You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.
Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.
"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."
You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"
"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.
Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.
"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."
They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"
"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."
"Christ, she ok?"
"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."
"Need me tae check up on-"
"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"
Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.
Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.
You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".
A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.
Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.
You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.
You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.
Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.
Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.
Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.
On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.
“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.
He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..
His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.
You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.
“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”
Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.
You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.
“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.
This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-
“Simon!”
John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.
“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.
He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.
He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.
#bartender ghost#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost cod#call of duty#cod x reader
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sweet like honey ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:・˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:・˚₊ *˚
summary: logan ended up spending his evenings in the bar across the street from your bakery, watching you do your job. he never approached you, never talked to you, but he always kept an eye on you, until he has a bad feeling. pairing: logan x fem!reader warning & content: swearing, violence, reader almost gets assaulted (but logan saves the day), she/her pronouns for reader, wade being wade, unprotected p in v, fluff, angst, lots of baking and mentions of food, slightly ooc logan (if you squint), slow burn, sex in a bakery wc: 6k
a/n: i don't always write, but when i do, it's a fucking thesis. unedited.
︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵
Logan was never a fan of sweets. He hated chocolate, cheesecake, gummy bears — literally anything sweet. The only thing he could barely stomach was tiramisu, and only because it had coffee in it. Other than that, he steered away from sweets like they were the fucking plague.
Yet despite all that, he found himself enjoying the smell of freshly baked croissants, custard donuts, brownies, and whatever goods you baked in your little bakery, conveniently situated across the street from his go-to bar.
Cleverly named Flour Power, it was all pastel both inside and out, with little pots of hyacinths hanging from its window and a big sign above the entrance. Not that Logan ever went there, but he always walked past it when he went for a drink. Flour Power stood out from all the shops with its baby blue windowsills and bubblegum pink door. As much as he disliked vibrant colours, his eyes were always drawn to the bakery. But not because of how it looked or the way it smelled.
No, Logan strategically sat down by the window in the bar to see you. Every evening, he watched you sell everything you had on display, from wedding cakes to éclairs, greetings customers with a warm smile on your face. He watched you turn the sign from open to closed, lock the door, clean the display shelves, the counters, the only two tables and four chairs inside, and sweep and mop the floors. Then you disappeared in the back for a while, perhaps doing the dishes or preparing dough and frosting, before you walked out, locked the door again, pulled down the blinds over the big window on the right side of the door, and left.
It became a ritual for Logan to watch you. In a way, it brought him some peace, despite him never speaking to you. To him, you were innocence personified, the type of girl who made others feel better simply by being there, and he didn't want to disturb that peace.
Tonight was an ordinary night for the 200 year old mutant. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, drank it all, then went to the bar to ask for another round, killing time until you closed the bakery, then he could finally go back to the apartment. You closed at 7 for clients and left at 8:30 every evening except for Sundays, when you didn't work. Logan knew your schedule a little to well, even knew you opened for clients at 8 in the morning, but you were there much earlier, because he could smell the pastries at around half 6. This time, however, you seemed to have a bit more work. It was past 9, it was dark, and you still hadn't left, and Logan was slightly concerned.
He watched you like a hawk, how you tucked rebellious strands of hair behind your ear when you mopped the floor, how you wiped your hands on your cute little apron after you finished scrubbing the countertops. Logan thought you had extra orders from customers, perhaps a wedding cake. He scrunched his nose at the thought of having to try so many flavours only to pick a damn cake that he probably wouldn't enjoy anyway.
But finally, you were done.
It was almost 10 when you locked the door to the bakery, double checking to make sure it wouldn't budge. Then the blinds and off you went. Logan was satisfied to see you go, but the hairs on his back suddenly stood up, his nostrils filled with the scent of danger. Bitter, sour, it went straight to his brain, and so he finished his drink and left the bar, following you down the street but keeping a safe distance.
You walked past a group of drunk men, gripping your tote bag with your left hand and your keys with your right one. You've learned to place the keys between your fingers, like claws, in case someone attacked you. Going home at that time wasn't something you enjoyed, and you always tried to avoid working late, but sometimes that was inevitable. When you heard footsteps approaching you, you picked up the pace, but paranoia kicked in, and you didn't want whoever was following you to find out where you lived, and so you took a detour.
Logan was like your shadow, going everywhere you went, until he heard something drop in a dimly lit alleyway and he sped up, finding you round a corner, pinned to a wall by a man while another guy had his hand up your dress. It was too dark to see, but Logan didn't need eyes to know that was you. He could smell the vanilla extract and icing sugar and fear.
"Take my wallet!" You told the men, but they weren't there for the money. They wanted something else from you.
"Nah, doll, I'll take something else from you. Somethin' more precious than money." One of the men said, his breath reeking of alcohol, the cheap kind.
"Hurry up and fuck her, bro, I need my turn-"
Something flashed, then a shadow lunged at the second guy who couldn't even finish his sentence before he was struck down.
"Mike?" The man who pinned you against the wall asked, his hands trembling on your body. "Stop fucking around."
But Mike was seeing stars somewhere on the alleyway. It happened so quickly you couldn't understand what was going on. When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you saw him, rough, handsome and very, very angry.
"Who the fuck are you?" The man asked, but all he got in response was a guttural growl. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble. My girlfriend and I were just talking. Stay out of it." He grabbed you by the neck, dragging you away from Logan.
You seized the opportunity and wrestled out of his grasp by biting your assaulter's hand, dashing behind a bin.
"Ow! Fucking bitch!" He lunged at you, but Logan was quicker, piercing his claws through his shoulder and holding him in place.
"That's no way to talk to a lady." The mutant snarled, and you watched how his claws retracted before he punched the man in the face, effectively knocking him down.
He was the Wolverine. You had seen it all over the news, how he saved your universe, how he came from a different world. You couldn't believe he was the one helping you when you thought no one would save you in that moment.
"You alright, kid?" His raspy voice startled you and you barely nodded, still too shocked to move or speak. "You sure?"
You shook your head and tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally started to process what just happened. Logan scrunched his nose — comforting someone wasn't his strongest skill — and instead he picked up your bag and keys from the pavement.
"Shit, um, don't cry." He handed you your belongings, and you looked up at him with a frown.
How could you not cry when you saw your entire life flashing before your eyes? Logan swallowed a lump in his throat and offered his hand to help you stand up. You looked at his hand, reluctant to grab it. The only thing he could compare you with was a cat — cautious, yet curious.
"No claws." He said when he understood the meaning behind your eyes. "Come, I'll- um, I'll walk you home."
The invitation had you perk up and gain courage, and you quietly took the bag from his hand. He walked with you in complete silence, until you stopped in front of a building. You lingered, unwilling to go in. Logan asked if that was your place, and after you nodded, he offered to take you all the way to your apartment, which made you feel relieved. He could see it on your face when you sighed. You guided him up the stairs, constantly looking behind you to make sure he was there.
You stopped in front of a tall wooden door, keys in hand.
"Go on. I'll wait until you lock the door." Logan encouraged you.
"Can you stay?" You finally spoke, and your voice was sweet like honey, fitting for a baker.
"I don't know, kid-"
"Please." You looked at him with glossy eyes, pupils blown from the fear that hadn't left your body yet. The fear he could still smell.
"Yeah. Okay, I'll stay."
"Thank you."
Logan followed you in, and you flipped the light switch on before locking the door behind him. He looked around and, just as he expected, the apartment was a direct reflection of your bakery — clean, colourful and calm. There were recipes stuck to the walls with pink pins, and between them little paintings of sunsets, skies, flowers, cats. All things cute. They weren't framed, and so Logan figured they were hand-made, his assumptions confirmed by the easel in the corner of your living room.
Of course your sofa had to be colourful, too — mustard yellow with sage green cushions and blankets. Even your curtains were sage green. Despite the explosion of colours, Logan found himself enjoying being there. Not everything had to be brown, black and grey, he thought. Probably the only vibrant thing in his life was his suit, since the only people that brought colour were his friends, and they were gone.
"Drink?" You cracked the walls he put up around his heart with that sweet voice.
You shook a bottle of gin to get his attention and he nodded. Logan wasn't a fan of gin, but he didn't expect you to have any hard liquors. He watched you pull out two blue glasses from the kitchen cabinet, and of course they had to be funky, with white flowers on them.
"Where'd you get these?" He asked, swirling the drink in his hand.
"I made them. Kind of." You said. "Bought them from a charity store and painted the flowers. Do you want some tonic water?"
"Fuck no." Logan choked on his gin when you asked him that question. Simply being in a place so... colourful was enough. He didn't need a girly drink.
"I'm Y/N, by the way."
"I'm-"
"The Wolverine!" You cut him off a little too eager.
"-Logan. Call me Logan." He cringed when the beverage tickled his taste buds. It wasn't bitter enough for him.
"Logan. Thanks for tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?"
The question was riddled with innocence, but he couldn't stop the degenerate thoughts that popped in his mind when you asked him that. You were just so pure that he wanted to both protect you and ruin you.
"Don't mention it. I couldn't just walk past without doing anything." Logan lied, because, really, he wasn't just walking by, was he? No, it was downright stalking.
"I could bake something for you." You offered and he shook his head.
"I don't like sweets, kid."
"What?" You were baffled. "Everybody likes something sweet."
"Not me." He shrugged. "All I like is tiramisu and only if those biscuits are doused in coffee."
"Ladyfingers." You corrected him with a chuckle. "They're called ladyfingers."
"Bullshit."
"I'm serious! Here!" You rushed to your pantry and pulled out a whole box of them, showing Logan the name.
"That's just stupid." He shook his head. "Who calls them ladyfingers?"
"Uh, everyone?" You laughed at his surprise, and the thoughts of your bad evening slowly dissipated, like a bad dream.
Logan truly was clueless about baking, but spent hours listening to you talk about types of sugar, extracts and their uses, and the difference between baking soda and baking powder in cooking. You rambled on and on and not once did he get bored. He could listen to you talk for hours with your voice soothing. Logan thought about it, and he genuinely never met someone like you before. The women in his life were all so different, but you took the cake. You were special in ways he couldn't understand. And he was just so drawn to you.
"I'm sorry, I haven't stopped talking once!" You apologised, realising how safe you felt with him there. You would never let a stranger inside your house, let alone talk about baking while having gin. But Logan wasn't a stranger. Not after he saved you.
"'s alright. It's not every day I learn about baking." He chuckled, finishing his drink. "Listen, I should get going."
"Right." You sighed, eyes darting at the floor. "No, of course. I've kept you too long."
Logan got up and you walked with him to the hallway. He was slow to put his leather jacket on, as if he was waiting for you to say something, anything, but when you didn't, he unlocked the door and opened it.
"Hey, Logan?" You tugged at his sleeve, whispering so you wouldn't wake your neighbours. "Are you sure I can't bake you something? Not now, I mean. I really want you to try something besides tiramisu. And that way I can repay you."
"Hell, why not?" He shrugged.
"Great!" You beamed at him like a child on Christmas day. "Stop by my bakery tomorrow at twelve. It's on Granville Street."
"I thought you didn't work on Sundays."
"Oh, how'd you know?" You quirked a brow at him.
Caught red-handed.
"Educated guess."
"Fair enough." His answer satisfied you. "Be there or be square!"
Sleep was for the weak. All night, Logan tossed and turned and abused his poor pillow with with punches. The mere thought of seeing you, no, interacting with you, had him wriggle like a worm on the mattress. It didn't help that Wade instantly noticed something was up.
"Oh, my, did you shower, peanut?"
"Not today, Satan." Logan poured himself a cup of coffee.
"Mmm, and what do I smell?" Wade sniffed the air. "Wait, is that my perfume?"
"Forgot to pack mine when I swapped universes." The Wolverine barked back.
"Hah!" Blind Al chimed in from the living room. "I think tall, dark and handsome here has a date!"
Logan rolled his eyes while Wade pouted, plopping on the sofa next to Al.
"You never called me that."
"That's cause you’re a degenerate." The woman snorted.
"Takes one to know one, doesn't it- ow! Stop hitting me with your cane, I know where you hide your nose candy!" Wade fought back.
"Touch it and I'll bust a cap in your ass!" Al scoffed.
"And I'll regenerate."
Logan used the opportunity to slip into the hallway, but his roommate was quicker, and blocked the door.
"You're not going anywhere until we have the talk."
"The talk?" The Wolverine snorted.
"Ah, they grow up so fast." Wade told Al. "Now, son, when a man and a woman love each other-"
"I'll give you three seconds to fuck off."
"Oh, but I need to know everything! Who is he?"
"She." Logan rolled his eyes.
"Oh my god, is this you coming out to us? Al, he's straight! I promise we love you anyway." Wade went for a hug and all Logan could do was accept it. He learned to live with Wade, even though he dislocated his jaw a few times after he moved in.
"Alright, that's enough."
"Nooo, we're just getting started. Name? Age? Occupation? We could do a double date with Vanessa-"
"Absolutely fucking not." Logan pushed Wade off of him.
"Okay, okay. Just make sure you wrap your willy, and if you need any advice, daddy's here." Wade opened the door for his roommate.
"Actually." Logan lingered in the hallway. "What kind of flowers do girls like?"
The blinds to the bakery were closed but you were inside, pastries in the oven and dessert in the fridge. You couldn't help yourself and prepared something savoury as well, in case he didn't like the lemon cake. A knock on the door startled you, and you rushed to check who it was.
Logan stood there, a bouquet of peonies in his hand. You welcomed him in with a smile, but he could tell it was different than the one you flashed your customers. It seemed more genuine. And it felt like a date.
"These are for you." Logan handed you the flowers, taking in the scent of pork pies. "I thought you were gonna bake something sweet." He flared his nostrils.
"I did, I just thought I should have a plan B in case you didn't like my cake." You placed the bouquet in a vase on one of your tables. "How did you know I liked peonies?"
Logan couldn't believe Wade was right about those damn flowers. And there he was, thinking roses would be better. Maybe the Merc with a Mouth wasn't so bad after all.
"I had a hunch." He shrugged.
"Well, Logan, I love them! Now sit, sit!" You ushered him to his seat. "I hope you're hungry, because there's a lot for you to try."
"A lot? I thought you'll make me a cupcake or somethin', bub."
"A cupcake?? Don't be silly." Just as you said that, the oven made a loud ding sound, and you turned on your heels, heading in the back.
Logan waited patiently, observing every little detail from the front of your bakery, from the spotless display shelves to the neatly organised paper bags, to the fairy lights around the window. It was obvious to him that you had put your mind, body and soul into this bakery, and his expectations were quite high after all the fuss you made. But he decided to be nice not matter how the food tasted. He couldn't bear seeing you upset if he didn't like what you made.
You reappeared with a tray in your hand, and on it two plates, one with a small pork pie, one with a croissant, and a cup of coffee. Hell, even the cutlery was cute, with swirls engraved on the handles of the fork, knife and teaspoon.
"I decided to leave the cake for last." You said, placing the tray in front of him. "This is a simple pork pie, start with that." You urged him. "Careful, it's hot."
The Wolverine struggled with the cutlery, too small for his large hands, and the brief thought of slashing the pie with his claws crossed his mind, but he decided to be civil. You watched him butcher the food, eager to see his reaction, but he was taking his time.
"I'll let it cool off a bit."
"Ooh, that's probably a good idea." You nodded.
"Aren't you having some?" Logan asked.
"Noo, no. I like to bake for others, not for myself."
"So what do you eat, then?" He sipped on the coffee.
"Instant noodles usually. I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I do occasionally have leftovers, but whatever isn't sold I take it to the local shelter." You explained.
Christ, you couldn't be any kinder. Logan was stunned by your beauty and your soul, which was why he decided that after today, he will stop any interaction with you. He couldn't ruin you, not with his lifestyle, not with the danger that followed him everywhere.
The only problem was that the conversation flowed naturally, and he felt safe with you, just as you did with him. Like you were the missing piece to his puzzle. Logan pushed away those thoughts and decided to try the food. He took a large mouthful of the pie, chewed and swallowed, and you waited expectantly.
"Shit."
"What? Is it bad?" You jumped from your seat.
"Fuck, this is the best pork pie I've ever had." Logan wiped his mouth with a tissue you provided. "I'm serious, kid. Did you put drugs in it?"
You laughed, shaking your head as he finished the rest of the pie. He truly seemed to enjoy it, and you felt so satisfied. But the real test came after.
"Pistachio croissant." You said. "I thought about making almond ones, but I figured pistachio wasn't that sweet."
"Right, let's see." Logan took a healthy bite out of the pastry, and lo and behold, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. If heaven had a taste, it would be that damned croissant.
"Is it good?"
"Good? Jesus, this is the best one yet." He finished the rest of it, the pistachio cream tickling his taste buds in all the right ways. "Who taught you to bake like this?"
"My grandma. She was the best cook I knew." You smiled.
Logan noticed your use of past tense, and he didn't want to bring up any bad memories. He wasn't the nosy type, but something possessed him to ask you about your life, your family, your favourite colours. He needed to know more about you, and you answered all his questions, opening up to him like a flower in bloom. But when it came to him talking about himself, Logan was reluctant.
Talking to Wade was easier, because Wade didn't take anything seriously, nor did he ask personal questions. Well, he did, but in his own stupid way that provided Logan some distraction, as well as a reason to punch him. But with you it was different. He felt like he owed you serious answers that he wasn't yet ready to tell a stranger who made a mean pistachio croissant.
"The cake!" You spun on the chair, changing the subject when you saw Logan dodging your questions like bullets.
Although he didn't say it, he was grateful that you didn't put any pressure on him to talk. He wasn't a talker. That was definitely Wade. You came back with the whole cake, and it looked so good that Logan didn't want you to cut it. Perfectly round, a layer of cream in the middle and white frosting on top. You even went so far as to decorate it with all kinds of yellow flower petals and what seemed to be mint leaves.
"Alright, hit me. What's this one called?"
"I call it the Mojito Cake. The sponge cake has lemon zest, the cream is made of lime, mint and rum syrup, and the frosting is buttercream with a dash of actual rum." You explained.
"Shit, I can't tell if that sounds disgusting or incredible."
"Only one way to find out." You cut him a thick slice, and Logan wasted no time trying it.
"I think you found yourself a new customer."
"You're too nice."
"I'm anything but nice, kid." He took three more spoonfuls. "But I ain't a liar. This is delicious." Logan spoke with his mouth full and it made you chuckle.
"Oh, there's a bit of frosting on your face."
"Hm?" He used the tissue to wipe his chin. "Did I get it?"
"No, it's still- here, I'll get it." You leaned forward and delicately ghosted your thumb over the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with his.
Without thinking about it, you dragged your tongue over the frosting, and Logan couldn't look away from you even if he wanted to. A gesture so innocent, but it destroyed any form of restraint. He pressed his lips onto yours, tasting the rum and the cream, but before you could kiss him back, he pulled away.
"Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have-"
You gave him no time to finish his sentence when you placed your hands on his shoulders and kissed him with fire on your tongue. God, he hated being touched, but when you did it, he melted in your hands. Lust battled reason and prevailed, and you found yourself straddling Logan's lap, arms around his neck and chest pressed against his.
His large hands found their way under your dress, fingers digging in the plush of your thighs until a moan escaped past your lips. Logan could've sworn you were pure in all ways — a virgin — so, naturally, he was surprised to see you eager to jump his adamantium bones.
With the last shred of reason left in you, you glanced at the door and window to make sure they were covered, and pushed Logan's jacket off his shoulders, peppering his neck with soft kisses. He wasn't the gentle type, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't need to be when he felt your hips grind in his lap. It was more than obvious that you wanted him then and there.
Logan lifted you up as if you weighed nothing and slammed you down the empty table. His roughness sent a chill down your spine, because you really wanted him to manhandle you from the moment he stepped foot in your bakery. He kissed you again, pressing his whole against yours until your back hit the table. You felt like a cornered animal with nowhere to go, and the thrill of it turned you on.
"Are you sure you want this?" Logan asked despite you unbuckling his belt.
"I don't want this, I want you. I need you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." You unzipped his jeans, and although he was taken aback by your sudden use of filthy words, he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing that side of you.
"Greedy little girl." Logan's hand slithered between your legs, fingers rubbing circles over your clothed clit. "Shit, you're soakin' wet. Can feel it through your fuckin' panties already." He flared his nostrils, taking in the scent of your arousal.
With his jeans loose around his waist, you palmed his cock through his boxers, and it didn't shock you for a second that he was rock hard. What did shock you, however, was the size of it. It was probably the biggest you've ever taken, and you didn't want any other man anymore.
You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, making it clear that you didn't want to waste any more time. Not that you didn't want to suck his dick or explore every inch of his body and worship it the way a man like him deserved it, but you were impatient.
Logan got the hint when you whined and scoffed, and he tore the pink panties off of you, tossing them on the floor. At least he had the decency not to put them on the table, which you were going to disinfect anyway. He pushed his boxers down, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look at him, and it was a sight for sore eyes indeed. He had perfectly sculpted abs, you could see them under the half-lifted t-shirt, but it was his cock that made your mouth water.
"Like what you see?" Logan was smug, confident in his good looks.
"I need to permanently imprint this image on my retina." You told him, and he couldn't help the chuckle.
"Likewise. Now spread 'em."
"Yessir!" You very quickly obeyed, parting your legs for him, and Logan couldn't deny that he enjoyed being in control.
He wasn't one to take orders, nor give them, but watching you comply scratched an itch he couldn't get rid of. Logan pressed the tip of his cock against your slick folds, earning another whine from you. You bucked your hips, craving more, and he scoffed.
"That desperate, hm?"
"You have no idea." You dug your manicured fingernails into his shoulders, bracing for temporary pain, because you knew damn well it would hurt.
"I don't know, I didn't hear you say please." Logan frowned, and you understood what game he was playing. A game you yearned to be part of.
"Oh, please, please, please fuck me, Logan! I'll be so good for you! I'll do anything you want." You clung to his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. "I'll even take it in any hole you want." You whispered, dragging your tongue over his lips.
"Shit." Logan was weak in the knees from your words, and the worst part was that he believed everything you said. But there was a time and place for everything.
You were the perfect mix of sweet and spicy, and you begged so nicely that the Wolverine just couldn't say no. You felt the leaking tip of his cock push past your folds and you audibly gasped at the size of it, drawing blood from his skin with your fingernails.
"It won't fit-" You whined with lust in your voice.
"I'll make it fit." Logan promised, painstakingly slowly thrusting into you.
He gave you time to adjust to his girth, constantly checking if you were alright, if you wanted him to carry on or stop, and while you loved that he was so caring, you needed him hurry up and fuck you.
To assure him that you would survive his monstrous cock, you planted a soft kiss on his nose, and there it was again, the change in your personality, from sultry to innocent. It was as though you embodied everything he ever wanted, and his desire to never contact you again went down the drain. How could Logan ever leave someone like you?
"I'm ready." You nodded, and he pressed his forehead onto yours, slowly rolling his hips.
You weren't ready, because it hurt like a bitch when he stretched out your velvety walls. But the pain was soon replaced by pleasure, and Logan picked up the pace when your whimpers turned to moans, and the slight frown on your face disappeared.
"So tight." He hummed, forehead resting against yours.
Were you tight, or was he just so incredibly big? Either way, you were a panting mess already, clinging to him for dear life, and Logan forgot his worries, even if it was just for that one moment. You were too good to be true, with your parted lips and glossy eyes — a beautiful sight for his sore eyes.
"Fuck, I- fuck!" You wrapped your legs around his waist, the table screeching under you. Not a single coherent sentence could come out of your mouth. "Logan, shit, I-"
"What's the matter? Need something?" He cooed, fingers bruising into your hips. "Use your big girl words."
"Need it ha-harder!" You cried out but he slowed down, confusion written all over your face.
"Where are your manners?"
"Please, daddy, please give it to me harder!"
The term of endearment had Logan quirk a brow at you, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that you had a daddy kink. And he basked in being called that.
"Are you sure you can take it?"
"Yes!" There was no hesitation in your response. "Fuck, yes!"
Logan growled when he felt your pussy clench around his cock, and he delivered, thrusting deeper, harder and faster into you, until the sound of skin on skin echoed in the bakery, and your breathing became heavier.
"Fuuuuck, I can feel it in my gut!" You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix.
"Filthy. Little. Slut." Each word came with a thrust and a groan, and he filled you up so good, you became addicted to him.
Your toes curled up, and your legs began to twitch when you felt your orgasm build up. Each push and pull made your vision blurry, and Logan's grip on you tightened as his hips stuttered. He was feral, and he was close, you could feel it in your bones.
"Fuck, Logan, do- oh- don't stop!" Words spilled from your mouth incoherently, and after a few more thrusts, pure bliss rushed through your body.
"That's it, let go." Logan buried his face in the crook of your neck, slamming hard into you until all you could do was chant his name like a prayer.
You felt him fill you up, pussy hot and sticky and sore, and he slowly pulled out, eyes darting at the tissues on the table. He grabbed them, gently cleaning you up, and you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was just something about a man like him be so gentle. And you were absolutely delighted to have him take care of you.
"You know," Logan said licking his lips, "I'm beginning to think you didn't want me to just taste your pastries."
"True." You told him smugly. "But you liked them."
"I like you more." He blurted out without thinking.
You felt your cheeks burn at his sudden honesty, and after sliding up your underwear and fixing your dress, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek.
"I like you too, honey badger."
"Don't ever call me that again." Logan chuckled.
"Not happening. Now, could you pleaaaase help me clean up this place? The last thing I need is a surprise hygiene inspection tomorrow."
He couldn't even imagine what the inspectors would do if they found out you had sex in a bakery, and with a nod, Logan zipped up his jeans and began disinfecting the tables and chairs while you swept the floor.
In less than half an hour you were done, and the shop was squeaky clean. You were satisfied with the end result, and told Logan that you wanted him to have the rest of the cake, pies and croissants. He thought Wade and Al could eat something, and decided to accept your offer.
"Can I come with you? There's quite a few boxes of food." You told him, a sheepish grin on your lips.
"Is that your way of finding out where I live?"
"Maybe. I'll go home if you don't want me with you."
"No, you're good." Logan assured you. "Besides, I'm sure my roommate's gonna devour everything. He'll probably lock you up in our apartment and force you to bake for him."
"I don't know if that's a threat or a promise." You laughed.
"Both. It's both."
You walked with Logan down the street, boxes in your arms, and you were surprised to see him open up to you more. He answered almost every question you had, and you felt him more relaxed. And he was. Logan forgot how much he needed that kind of connection with someone. You were so easy to talk to, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you listened.
He guided you up the stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door, because he couldn't reach his keys with so many boxes in his arms. You baked for a damn army.
Wade opened the door, and you were taken aback by his appearance, but it didn't scare you. Instead, you introduced yourself as Logan's personal baker, earning a chuckle from him.
"Come on in, Martha Stewart." Wade opened the door enough for you to walk through it with the boxes and not drop them.
"Wade." Logan came back from the kitchen with a croissant. "Eat. Seriously, eat."
You watched Wade wolf down the pastry without hesitation and his eyes lit up. He chewed and swallowed, then moaned, eyes rolling back. The look of disgust on Logan's face was priceless.
"Holy fucking shit, Y/N, what the fuck did you put in this?" Wade grabbed your shoulders, giving them a good shake. "It's so flaky and creamy and buttery, like a bunch of unicorns came in my mouth."
"I'm glad you like it." You giggled. "Try the cake."
"There's cake?!" He ran to the kitchen, leaving you and Logan in the hallway before coming back, a slice of half-eaten cake in his hand. "I am officially impressed. Can you make Rocky Road?"
"Yes."
"Dulce de leche?"
"Yep."
"Baklava?"
"Uh-huh."
"Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte?"
"Yes, Wade!" You rolled your eyes, then turned to Logan. "Sugar rush?"
"Oh, you have no idea. And this is him on a good day."
"Listen, sweet cheeks, if old man fuckface here won’t marry you, I will. Just don’t tell Vanessa." Wade whispered.
"Don’t even think about it, you degenerate limp dick."
"Ugh, fine. And here I was hoping all four of us could be a happy dysfunctional family. Five if you count Al. Six with Colossus. Wait, actually, eight with-"
"Wade, have you tried the pork pies?" You asked, effectively shutting him up.
Yeah, Logan could definitely get used to being around you from now on to sweeten up his life.
#logan howlett#wolverine#mcu#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett smut#wolverine x reader#wolverine smut#fem!reader#marvel#deadpool 3
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