#bartender!adam

[xviruserrorx]

Title: "Love Out Of Plain Sight"

Because the author (me) is incompetent and cannot pace or restrain myself at all, my wonderful giftee (Adam) is going to get a two in one gift! Uh... Yeah long story short I have been writing your (hi Adam 😃👋) gift but I was like "No, this is THEE jewishadammilligan (also I should just mention now I may have squealed when I saw who I got) they deserve extravagance!" And then shortly regretted that as the fic got really long... Kinda freaked out, contacted the amazing @klayr-de-gall (who is running this awesome event might I add midamgiftexchange2022) which they handled frazzled and sporadic me so amazing and they gave me a grace period then as I pulled two all nighters writing I realized I still would not have enough time even with the grace period so, TA-DA double the gifts!

I wrote this rather quickly and no beta so I apologize if there's any Grammer mistakes. But I really hope you like it, your original "extravagance" gift written specifically for you is still being written as fast as I can write and hopefully I will get it to you within the week! Enjoy!!!!

Gifted to: @jewishadammilligan

Fandom: Supernatural

Prompt(s): "Fluff or silly AU's"

Relationship(s): Adam Milligan/Michael

Character(s): Adam Milligan, Michael (archangel)

Important tag(s): Bartender Adam Milligan, Fluff, Dash of angst, Accidental Engagement, Canon Divergence

Rating: Gen

Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply, Drinking, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 4,086

With a ducked head, he hesitantly brought the glass to his mouth with a brief pause before taking a sip. "We're… engaged?"

Adam reached to grab the empty shot glass and caught another glance of the ring around his finger, It was a simple small band but its presence was felt and known. He shrugged. "Why not?"

Or

Adam gets his "little job" but even then, that brings its own unexpected occurrences when your boyfriend is an Archangel.

Continue reading below or over on Ao3

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Something more than noise always accompanied Adam where he went. The sounds of his childhood were like pollen off of flowers, sticking and serving as a reminder of where things had once been and once were. He could find familiarity in them—comfort even.

But the sounds of a bar were far from that.

The constant clink of glasses against one another, against the wood of the table tops, or ice sloshing around. There was a constant buzz of minor sounds that clouded over the hum of chatter in the background. Though despite that, the bar quickly became a place of familiarity along with the noises that inhabited the space.

The only new and interrupting noises were coming from Adam.

A soft hum escaped his mouth to the tune of a song as he absentmindedly danced to it. Everything known as, rhythmically, he moved along to his own beat, chopping away at the limes on his cutting board.

The ones that weren't rolled were pushed off to the side as he did so to the ones that needed it. An alarming perfume, tangent from the pungent smell of sweet citrus that layered over the warm amber of the bar, stuck to his hands. A scent that would carry on long after he left for home.

Everyone, he found, was too busy in their own engagements to give a curious eye towards the humming and dancing of the bartender. Allowing him to do more than hum or move much to his own enjoyment just as much as Michael's.

Something that Michael, himself, thought nobody knew he was secretly thankful for… Much like his ignorance towards the specific song Adam had been humming for weeks with no end in sight. From the second he woke up, picked between the black combination of tie and waistcoat or bowtie and suspenders to the moment he stripped away his clothes at the end of the night before bed.

Much something, one and the same, if not already known, Adam very much knew of as well.

The odd mix of admiration in Michael's face but deep annoyance in his posture had kept Adam from concealing his smile around him for the lengthy time the tune had kept its space in his head. The catchy melody, on his lips in every situation even if deemed so inappropriate, or in a matter that definitely did not call for a song.

All things that kept him well entertained as he continued to cut lemons and limes.

He took a spin, still with the knife in hand, coming face to face with Michael. Eyes followed his every move but with that known something else Adam loved to poke and prod at. 

"What?" He questioned, playing innocent.

Michael took a deep resounding sigh and shook his head. "Nothing."

"That look isn't nothing," He chided him, haphazardly waving around the knife.

Michael all but rolled his eyes. "That song you were humming," He said, but kept his eyes on the knife as it sliced through the lime and hit the board.

"What about it?" He looked up from the last lime he was cutting into, receiving a done look from Michael. He chuckled. "Oh come on, you love it."

"I hate it."

"It's amazing!"

"It's terrible."

"It's the best thing ever created, Michael," Adam exclaimed.

Michael scoffed. "I could argue with creation."

"Well then—Ow!" The knife clattered down as he raised his index finger to his mouth. Blood stained the skin when he pulled back to take a look at the deep gash across his finger. A small moan of pain escaped as he put it back to his mouth in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Michael held out his hand instantly. "Let me."

He obliged, laying his hand in Michael's. A single finger was lightly brushed over the gash. The skin instantly healed, leaving behind only the trace of blood and phantom pain as evidence of it ever being there.

"Better?" He lightly brushed over his finger again as he looked up at him.

Adam smiled. "Yeah." Taking his hand back as Michael retreated his own hands, he eyed the area where the skin had stitched itself back together.

Though his awe of the situation was quickly interrupted by the ring of the bell above the bar door. A man dressed in a suit and coat trudged in, making a beeline for the bar.

"Crap," he hissed under his breath. He quickly cleaned up his mess and washed his hands before turning back to Michael. "We're not finished."

He threw the towel in hand halfway to hang over his shoulder as he made his way over to the man. "What can I get for you, Sir?"

The man didn't so much as bother with his coat as he sat down at the first chair he approached. "Whiskey—neat, please." 

"You got it." He pulled a clean glass and turned to grab the correct bottle from the bottom shelf. "Rough day?" He questioned, trying to make small talk.

The man scoffed. "You could say that."

He poured and then pushed the drink forward as it came to the line. "There you go."

"Thanks."

He shot Michael a smile as he got back to what he was originally doing before. He grabbed the last of the lime wedges he had cut, squeezing them into the awaiting drink he had been preparing.

But before he could even reach for another, he heard the telltale sound of an empty glass hitting the bar top. 

"Another, please."

He wiped his hands on the towel before walking back over to the man and doing as asked. "Sure, you're alright, sir?" He slid the re-filled drink back towards the man.

The man hung his head, his eyes red and far away as he asked, "Have you ever been in love?"

"Once," Adam answered. "The other time it was more… walking beside it."

The man sniffed. "Better than falling." He let go of the glass and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out something and depositing it on the bar top. "Been holding onto that for months… but I guess I wasn't quick enough."

Adam stayed quiet and continued to listen as he looked down at the discarded ring band that glimmered under the dull lighting of the bar.

"Twelve years… down the drain, all just because I came home early." He shook his head in disbelief with a tight pained grin. "If it's one thing, take love by the hand while it's still beside you." He brought the glass to his lips and downed its contents in one go.

Adam stayed still as the man pulled out his wallet and left more than enough for what he drank.

"Keep the change." He stood from the chair and started to make his way toward the door.

"Sir!" Adam called, he picked up the ring still on the bar top. "You forgot this."

The man gave him a somber smile and a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Keep it. I think you'll find more use for it than I ever will." The chime of the bell on top of the door followed him out into the night.

Adam twisted the ring between his fingers. The metal caught the light with a glimmer before he pocketed the object. He spared another glance towards Michael with a smile before grabbing the empty glass. "What's that look for?" 

Michael's eyes widened. "Hm?"

"That look," he stated. He grabbed the drink he had been working on and walked back towards him. "You act like I don't see it every time anyone sits here."

"And that is?"

"If looks could kill, Michael. These poor guys." He shook his head. Though almost like it were yesterday, vibrant memories flashed in his head of instances where a single look from Michael was someone's death. "I take that back actually." He quickly countered. "No smiting any of my customers."

"Unless none of them are demons, there won't be any smiting of your customers," he soothed.

"Thank you. Now—" Adam placed the glass he had in hand in front of him. "Drink up." He smiled.

Michael all but glanced at it for a brief second as though it was a plague before looking back and cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on, humor me," Adam pleaded.

"This stuff will kill you."

"But not you. Try it, I made it special." He scooched the glass an inch closer with a finger.

Michael gave him a wary look before picking up the drink and giving the liquid a few swishes around the glass. "Special?" He questioned.

"Mhm," he hummed. "Special."

The glass was raised to the light as Michael contemplated the mixed drink. He lowered it with another glance inside and towards Adam who beamed a smile and wiggled his eyebrows. Taking an uneasy breath, Michael took a decent-sized drink.

"Well…?" Adam proded. "Are the molecules any good?"

He brought the glass a safe distance away from himself, licked his lips, furrowed his eyebrow, and cocked his head to the side. "It's… sweet?" He swallowed, his tongue moving in his mouth as unrecognized flavors danced, masking themselves behind ones he could distinguish.

"Well, then that's good for you." Adam bit his lip at his reaction.

Michael cleared his throat, grimacing at the aftertaste. "What is that?"

Adam shrugged his shoulders as if he hadn't been the one to make it. He made sure to leave him hanging as he saw one of the guys sitting at the far table stand and make his way toward the bar.

"My little mystery for you, figure it out." 

He slung the towel back over his shoulder and walked towards the guy. "What can I get you?"

"Four shots of vodka and three cokes."

"Coming right up." He got to collecting everything he needed.

The young man leaned against the counter. "Are you new here?"

The comment caught him off guard but he continued, keeping up conversation and doing the task at hand as best he could. "Yeah, just started a couple of days ago."

The man gestured back at the table he had been at. "Me and my friends are regulars here, you could say."

"Guess I'll be seeing a lot of you then." Adam pushed a polite smile. 

"And you as well." 

Adam gave a curt nod before sliding the shots his way. "Here you go."

The man grabbed the extra shot and took it down, passing the glass back. "Say… when does your shift end?"

Adam froze. "Excuse me?" He jerked up the coke he was serving as he missed the glass towards the end.

"I mean, could I take you somewhere once you're able to get out of here?"

"Oh…." He said, letting it sink in. "Oh! Uh, I…."

"Were you…?

"No, I—um…" He panicked. He fumbled with the ring in his pocket. His last-second decision of his judgement failed him as he shimmied the ring on his ring finger in his pocket. He raised his hand to clearly see the band. "I'm—I'm taken."

He saw Michael visibly choke on his drink out of the corner of his eye. He tried not to grin as he peaked over before letting his eyes fall back on the customer in front of him. "I'm sorry if I…"

The man shook his head. "No, don't, I apologize. You didn't do anything of the sort. Should had know a good-looking guy like you would already be taken."

He watched Michael bristle at his comment again.

"Engaged? Married?" The man questioned.

He turned the band around his finger with his thumb. "Uh, engaged—newly." He slid the ready-poured drinks towards him.

"Congrats. Lucky guy." He grabbed the drinks and left with a smile back to his table.

Adam let out a slow exhale. "Not a demon. Can't kill him either, Michael," he chided him for safety measures. He ran a cloth over the counter from the few drops that had split. He smiled to himself before looking over, expecting the same look back from Michael but instead just saw the opposite.

His glance was locked in one spot on the counter, not breaking even when he brought up his hand and rubbed it over his mouth before going back to the glass. His posture and everything screaming flashing red lights had Adam worried about how to approach it.

"Michael?" He waited for a look, an answer—something, before closing the distance between them. He pushed the cloth aside as he leaned in and lowered his voice. "Hey," he snapped his fingers a few times. "Earth to Michael."

Michael's attention snapped back to him. "Sorry…" he shook his head.

"Where were you?"

"Here… always," he answered.

Adam smiled. "With me?"

"With you." He held the glass from the rim and gently swishes it around.

Adam tilted his head. "You okay?"

"Okay," Michael repeated. Words lacking any and all emotion. With a ducked head, he hesitantly brought the glass to his mouth with a brief pause before taking a sip. "We're… engaged?"

Adam reached to grab the empty shot glass and caught another glance of the ring around his finger, It was a simple small band but its presence was felt and known. He shrugged. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Michael repeated again, a chuckle edging on disbelief as he shook his head. "Shouldn't this at least be… proper then?" He took a drink, eyebrows furrowed both from his question and the still unknown flavour in his sweetened drink.

"I mean most people get engaged a few years after dating. What's ten… hundred years?"

Michael put down his glass, pushing it a small distance away from himself with disdain. "Dating?"

"Nonsensical terms." Adam waved his hand. "All this really. Rings, vows, the whole getting down on one knee and clandestine white weddings." Despite his claims of nonsense though, he looked off with something wanting. Knowing that was always what he had imagined for himself all through his life before everything happened. "Just something created for one person's used and pushed on everybody else."

Michael cocked his head, an all too knowing look on his face complete with a small content smile. "Nonsense you say?"

"Nonsense, Michael. Full of it."

"You haven't taken it off." He remarked with a gesture towards his hand.

Adam put his hand straight out in front of him, allowing the ring to catch the dim lights of the bar as he admired the ring with a small wiggle of his fingers. "I think it looks quite good, don't you?" He lowered his hand and showed it to Michael.

"If I agree?"

"You did put a ring on it."

"Technically you put that ring on yourself," Michael corrected.

He waved his hand. "Same thing, angel."

Michael tilted his head, eyebrows in that worrying position again like Adam had seen so many of the angels do before; just never Michael in so many instances. His gaze, temporarily lost in his unwanted drink while Adam stopped in his actions.

"Does it mean the same thing?" He earnestly asked.

Adam froze in what he was doing. Hating that despite Michael being the first-born archangel the whole knowing humans before their creations and watching them from the beginning of time, he still asked questions that at times reminded Adam that he was in fact an angel. Though at the same time, he began to wonder if it didn't make him all that different from an everyday human being. Questioning what he held a lack of understanding for; love, feelings…. Things that Adam wished he could ask as so plain and simple about.

He took a deep breath. "No, Michael, it doesn't. That's just how these types of things work."

"These types of things?" He repeated in a question.

"You, Me—" he smiled. "Us…. This." He gestured around at their surroundings. "Everything, Michael."

"It's hard to understand all of this sometimes."

He chuckled. "I'm not the wisest of teachers either."

"I wouldn't have anyone else, or rather can't… you're the only one who knows you after all," he admitted.

Adam smiled. "And you?"

"I'm learning."

"Then… us?" He asked.

Michael shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

"If I do?"

"Then explain it to me."

"Fine." Adam wiggled the ring off his finger and leaned over the counter, grabbing Michael's left hand in his. He cleared his throat. "Michael… you don't have a last name do you?"

"Celestial being," he stated. "And that's what is worrying you right now?"

"Yes, and it's a good thing I have one then," Adam remarked. "Uh…" he aimlessly waved his hand, "something about love and togetherness—"

"Togetherness?" He questioned.

"Hush, I've only ever seen this done in movies."

Michael ducked his head, hiding a smile in his glass.

Adam sighed. "What do people say when they propose?" He suddenly wished he had watched all those soppy romance drama movies with his mom.

Michael put down his glass. "Is that what you're doing? Proposing?"

"Do you need me down on one knee too?" Adam teased.

Michael cocked his head with an amused grin. 

Adam shook his head, a warm chuckle escaping his mouth as his grip on Michael's hand tightened. He took a breath. "I'm proposing… that we've been together for hundreds of years, locked in a place I never really saw the true horrors of thanks to you. We only had each other and I… care about you, and even though this ring means nothing, you mean something—everything to me. So—" he raised the ring, "will you take my proposition?"

A grin was placed on Michael's face nonetheless, but a hint of confusion was buried underneath something Adam didn't know.

"With careful consideration?" Michael half questioned. Hesitance hanging for a drop and catch of reassurance.

Adam shifted his hold, gripping his hand tighter with a smile. "I wouldn't know any other way from you."

"And if I say yes?"

"Yes? Then this—" he raised the ring, "—will belong there—" he tapped Michael's ring finger.

He watched his expression change into something unreadable, leaving his heart to jump with worry that his mind pushed aside…. 

Then Michael spoke.

"If it doesn't belong there?" The question was as nonchalant as could be.

Adam gasped for a breath he didn't realize he has completely exhaled at Michael's words. "Oh… well, I—"

"No," Michael lightly chuckled over his sputtering. "This." He grabbed the ring from him in one hand and Adam's left hand in the other before sliding the ring back onto his finger.

"Oh."

"Like you said. It looks quite good there."

Adam straightened back up once his heart had found Its place and his breath had returned. "It does, doesn't it? Nice fit." He gave another small wiggle of his fingers, the cold band rubbing against the insides of his pinky and middle finger.

Michael scoffed a laugh. "What did I say yes to exactly? Loving you is understandable but I know marriage is usually tied in."

"Not fond of the whole commitment thing?" 

He tilted his head for a second. "I'd rather not engage in anything that has to do with my father." 

"Most people don't," Adam explained. "We'll just elope."

Michael caved. "I'll bite. Where?"

He shrugged. "Anywhere."

"Anywhere to me means a matter of things," he informed.

"Well, usually people do Vegas or something, not Mars or the Milky Way…. Not that I'm complaining or anything."

Michael smiled. "Whatever you wish."

Adam smiled in the moment but found it cut short as the bell above the door once again yanked his attention to look. He straightened and gave a friendly but curt wave to the older man coming in the door as he recognized him from the previous days he had worked.

He turned back to Michael. "Well, until then…" He ducked behind the bar and came up with something in hand. "I have another customer." He reached over and pushed a strawberry on the rim of his glass. "Fiancé."

He watched Michael's eyes on the strawberry before he looked back at him with a criticizing look from the newly placed nickname.

"Yeah, I know, felt weird for me too. Remind me to never do that again." 

Michael nodded. "Will do."

He pushed himself away and over to the older man. "Same thing?" He questioned, receiving a single nod back.

He went through the steps in his head as he finished making the drink. "Try that." He set it down in front of him.

The man took a long sip before putting it back down. "Perfect," he said.

Adam mentally applauded himself, letting a bright smile shine through at his self-satisfaction.

"See, told you you'd get it down with a few times for practice."

"Fast learner," he boasted. Though he knew it had taken him multiple attempts plus practice during his free time and much feedback from Michael and his 'tastes like molecules' to get it in drinkable condition. If the previous days were any proof of too much of one thing or too little of another.

The man's eyes widened. "That's new?" He pointed to his hand.

Adam looked down, smiled. "It is." He pretended to be casual about, maybe even forgetful about the ring around his finger despite the fact that it had all happened within the span of the last hour.

"Well look at you. Who's the lucky person?" He questioned.

Adam twisted the ring and took a brief glance over to Michael who was more preoccupied with staring at his drink. He smiled. "I am…"

The older man raised his glass. "Congrats."

All he wanted to do was rush home and to be alone with Michael how things once were and always had been. Just each other and nothing else. But first, he still had something to do.

He finished and walked back over to Michael. "Figured it out?" He looked towards the glass.

Michael wore a soft smile. "Strawberry…" he announced. He tapped and traced the rim of his glass with his middle finger. "It was strawberry."

He leaned into his space, lowering his voice for just them. "If you're right?"

Michael cocked an eyebrow. "A reward?" He questioned. 

Adam grinned, he reached over and plucked the strawberry from the glass, taking a bite of half of it before leaning back over and holding out the other half for Michael. 

Mischief played on Adam's lips, something Michael could hardly miss. His eyes never once left; a gaze like desire yet to be broken as he took the offering from his fingers.

Adam's left hand went over Michael's, the now prominent ring joining both of them together before back to each other. He brought his non-occupied hand back, dropping the leaves and stem to the side and licking the juices from where the strawberry had been between his thumb and forefinger. Tied eye contact not breaking to anything that dared to call attention.

Michael swallowed and licked his lips. "If I'm wrong?" He asked.

Adam cocked his head, sporting a faux expression of contemplation more to tease and play than anything. "Don't you want to know." His words were anything but a question.

"Do I?"

He always figured change was tied in with life-altering choices like proposing or marriage. But this—Michael, was anything but change; a warm wave of nostalgia that was there and always meant to be there.

Michael turned his hand, giving Adam more access to thread their fingers together. Both of their holds on another tightened for a pulse of breath before loosening yet still firm, neither one of them letting go. 

And like a fish with a hook in its mouth, fighting against the line, reeling closer as the waves moved with gentle ease that was otherwise so; they were both weak. They had caught each other looking for the same thing but found one another, pulling and fighting for the unknown at the end of the line until they faced what they knew all along that had led them to be so weak.

Adam's attention was tied to the slight tilt of Michael's head and that subtle upward curve of his lips. A gentle taunt as Michael studied Adam just as close as well. The way his hand flew and went in every which direction with every word he spoke, or even his bright light-up-the-world smile that shined every moment it could.

And in the end, he did just that, both of them aware of the other and everything in between, he cocked his head and smiled…

[elitehoe]

Hangman lost the gauntlet in big wembley. So that'll do it for me. Bartender, go ahead and make me and adios mf I need to blackout my day is ruined.

[thewiglesswonder]

As dictated by the poll, Mac's origin story in comic form! Some details under the cut.

That relic is a Cybertronian Data cylinder, partially unearthed by a construction crew.

Its beacon protocols cause major electrical pulses, that, in this case, killed the battery on Mac's car.

Because the Cylinders predate factions, they regard any contact from organics as reason to activate their failsafe protocols.

Much like their counterparts in Prime, this failsafe protocol ejects the data in a concentrated stream, and this particular set of data, focused on the history of the Decepticon faction, is going straight into Mac's brain.

[todayisafridaynight]

youre so right omg literally barely see anybody talking abt mine and Daigos special bottle of sake like that’s so ???? tragic????? it’s so sad and gut wrenching in a way i can’t explain like it’s probably still there in shellac collecting dust on the shelf……. they make me feel SICK

i cant stress how special Kirin's Dream is to me, like genuinely it's probably my favorite rggo story bar mine and daigo's goofy bar date gone wrong because it makes me so indescribably emo after reading it

[entrusted-hatchling]

@incubabe

It was a simple job. 3500 seg to bag the target, an extra thousand to keep her alive. These anonymous jobs always rubbed Samus the wrong way, but money was tight. The posting had a basic Dossier. Name, age, sex, species, occupation, and location.

"Earth. Original birthplace of the human race. It has developed very little since the advent of interplanetary travel. After the resource wars, Earth gained the reputation of being a barely inhabitable, backwater planet." Adam's monotone, synthesized voice rang through the ship, "It currently recieves little support from the Galactic Federation, and gives little support in kind. There are two active starports remaining."

"Thank you, Adam, for the history lesson. Where am I landing?" Samus cut in.

"There is a shipyard near the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. You're to find the target and bring her in alive. We need that extra thousand seguru. Any objections lady?"

A sarcastic roll of her eyes and a thumbs down were Samus's only response. Before long, she was landing the starship and saying her goodbyes. She left the armor in the ship, for now. She could take a human with her one arm tied behind her back, and with how little interstellar traffic the planet got she doubted she'd find much else around.

It took a moment to adjust. It always did. But Samus had been doing this for years. A little bit of gravitational difference wasn't enough to slow her down. She followed the map to a bar not far from the target's last known location. It wasn't a guaruntee, but it was a decent bet. Besides, she needed a little fuel to really get the hunt going.

"Give me the strongest stuff you've got for 200 seg!" She barked to the bartender as she took a seat.

[aesthetics-for-harry-potter]

Moodboard of a lonely Ravenclaw bartender working at Hog’s Head.

Face-claim: Adam Driver.

Requested by: anon.

[lupismaris]

The bartender has given me several free Three Wise Men shots (jack, johnny, and Jameson) I think I have a new favorite shot

[treba-neco-napise]

i want another the adam projcet but this time it's the adam is trans and their younger self is like "no you can't be me, you're [not the same gender]" and "adam"'s eyes just start welling up and they give this kid who's kind of like their younger sibling this sad and slightly happy and proud-of-you smile like "yeah kiddo. you'll figure it out"

or just let me talk to the little girl who was bullied at a summer camp who didin't know she was actually a trans guy with adhd (and maybe autism, the guy's still trying to figure it out...) and just needs a fucking hug

[bludhavenbirder]

we can stay up late, swapping manly stories, and in the morning... i'm making waffles!

@aculeonervus

"The waffles are tempting, but I think closing is a late enough night for me," Dick says over his shoulder as he unloads a bussing tray of dirty glasses into the dishwasher. He puts in the drip mats and closes the door, wiping his hands on a rag before returning to the bar. He rarely had the closing shift, but another bartender had called out sick and given how often Dick dropped off the face of the earth, it felt like a good way to garner good faith from the manager. The last customers had left and the doors were locked. It was just the two of them at this point into closing.

Dick had plans that night, as always— even if his patrol was shortened, he didn't want to abandon Gotham the whole night. He had leads to follow up on. There's a part of him that wants to leave it for tomorrow, but even thinking it only makes him feel worse. As he cleans, he goes over the coming days. Dick was needed in New York the next day through Monday, and then back to midday shifts and Gotham patrols until something else calls him away. There wasn't time to offer to his new friend.

Dick didn't get to spend much time with Adam outside of work, but he enjoyed the moments they had together. There was no pity over Jason, no expectations of helping carry a city on his shoulders. Dick could at least enjoy this. He begins to wipe down bottles, fitting the caps over them as he goes. Once he's finished with the first three, he tosses them into the air and begins to juggle. He would at least take his time with his own closing tasks while Adam is still working.

"I also don't know if I have any manly stories off the top of my head, so you start," Dick says. After another moment, he catches the bottles and sets them down, picking up a fourth to wipe down.

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

��I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’d like to entertain and enliven you now with the saga of my Slut Era.

I’ve always been a serial monogamist and my shortest long term relationships clocked in at three years. So perhaps that’s why when I finally broke it off with my ex I went insane on dating. Part of it was definitely just that between anxiety and loneliness I wanted to fill up my time.

This happened when I was living alone for the first time, no roommates, just me and my little cat Leeloo. I didn’t want to come home to an empty house so instead I set up dates.

Most of these were disastrous. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I had a lot more first dates than second because they’d seen enough, including the one where people aggressively complimented me.

But after a few months I had four people I was seeing simultaneously. I was up front with all of them that things were not exclusive, and they all agreed, so no infidelity took place here, just a lot of hijinks.

Here’s who was on the dating roster:

• An apprentice woodworker that we’ll call Jill. I honestly thought at 26 years old that her being 21 wasn’t a problem age gap and I quickly learned that there was a vast gulf of both maturity and life experience between us. Jill described herself as “heteroflexible” and had just dumped her first boyfriend to flirt it up with me.

• A married woman looking for a friends with benefits. We’ll call her Alice. I insisted on meeting her husband first to be sure I wasn’t part of a cheating mess and he gave me his blessing when I stayed over at her house. Years later when he and Alice had divorced I would go on to sell him and his new fiancée an engagement ring and we both realized at the end how we knew each other and it was wildly awkward. Alice was nice, but a hardcore vegan who insisted I brush my teeth if I so much as ate string cheese before I could kiss her. She was also unhappy in her marriage and was feeling out if I’d want to get serious.

• A bartender dubbed Snakebites, so called because of her signature piercings. She cooked me a steak so raw it was still mooing and some of the best asparagus I’d ever had. In our singular sexy encounter she bit my nipple and I never got over it. Really don't bite someone if you don't know their preference and work up in pressure. We weren’t terribly compatible but neither of us were willing to admit it yet. Truthfully I considered still dating her solely because I desperately wanted her bathroom. It had all black tile, black toilet, black sink, a rain shower in the corner and a jacuzzi tub. I may not have loved her but god I loved that bathroom.

And finally,

• My beloved, who I would go on to marry, who was dealing with a lot of personal stuff at the time. Obviously that meant I liked them the best of all the people I was seeing because we were both disasters at the time.

So that’s the cast of this little misadventure. Now, our story begins with Jill.

Jill was someone who heightened my anxiety. Each of the three times she came to my home she brought and left more stuff. A self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans collection of DVDs. It was like she was trying to move in. She also liked to deride my taste in things, frequently calling me a pleb when I mentioned a band or show I liked.

She was working on a gorgeous little decorative table in her woodworking program. The main wood for the top had a beautiful dapple of knots like jaguar spots, and when she showed me a picture I exclaimed how pretty it was.

“Do you want it?”

“Oh- I mean it’s lovely, I wouldn’t mind having it, but you should sell it and make some money!”

But she was adamant. She’d give me the little side table. At about this time, Alice was starting to get awfully lovey for a FWB. I knew she wasn’t happy with her husband but I also knew we were not a good fit. Fun fact: Alice and her husband were step siblings with a pretty hefty age gap. They got together when he stumbled upon a kink photo shoot she’d done with vegetables. None of their family was happy about the relationship but they weren’t related by blood so it was fine.

So I was fending off more overt romantic advances from Alice, and feeling increasingly like I needed to break things off with Jill. Snakebites wasn’t ever initiating communication and I decided to pull a lot of plugs at once.

I ghosted Snakebites, told Alice that I thought we should cool it, and in a move worthy of a rom-com I asked my beloved if I could pretend we were exclusive to put off Jill. They agreed and I texted Jill to let her know that I was no longer single.

I was not prepared for Jill’s response. She. Was. Devastated. She flew off the handle. She’d just been waiting for the right time to tell me how she felt about me! How dare I do this to her!

What about the table?!

“You should keep the table, it’s gorgeous, you’ll be able to sell it, but I don’t expect a free table.”

Silence met me after that text. I worried and fretted and eventually headed home.

There on my doorstep. The table.

It was a small little end table, reeking of oil and polish, but very beautiful. I brought it inside. The little drawer didn’t even have a knob or guide rails. But it did have a handwritten bill proclaiming that it was costing me $500.

“I can’t afford a $500 table, Jill!” I texted.

“Well you kept saying how nice it was. I spent a lot of time on it.”

“I’m not saying it’s not worth $500” (it wasn’t, it was a tiny side table made by an apprentice) “but I can’t buy a $500 table.”

“Make me an offer.”

I stared at the little table. I did actually like it, but I worried about the repercussions of entering into this deal. Hesitantly I typed back, “$300.” I didn’t think it was worth that much but I didn’t want to insult her too badly.

This suited her for the night. But the next day she informed me she needed a new bed, and that she’d take her $300 in credit toward a new mattress. I spent the whole next day basically wrangling with her over what she wanted and eventually she spiked back up to demanding $500 for the damn table.

“Let me just give it back,” I begged. It was not the first, second, or even third time I’d asked to return the thing but this time she finally relented and gave me her address. Since she lived with her parents still I’d never been over.

I called up my beloved and said, “Hey, I need moral support, can you run an errand with me?”

They agreed which is how we loaded up a self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans DVD collection, and the table from hell into my little car together. Jill had said to meet her at one o'clock. I intended to drop everything off at noon and be done with this madness.

But while my beloved and I were on the doorstep leaving everything I heard, “Jill? You’re home early,” through the door. Her mom opened it to peer at us in confusion.

“I was just bringing Jill’s stuff back!” I chirped in alarm.

With little tact and a lot of speed we left her with Jill’s collection of things and then I sped out of there like my tail was on fire. I handed my phone to my beloved as I zoomed away instructing them to block Jill’s number. I was free. The tabletross around my neck had been returned.

It was about a month after that when my beloved and I officially began dating exclusively. I had wrapped up all my messy dating threads and it was a relief to be in a relationship again. They went on a trip to Mexico shortly after we made it official.

So I knew they were out of town. But next morning I walked out to my car and beheld a lipstick kiss pressed to the drivers side window.

I was petrified. I had just dumped three girls at once and had an extremely messy back and forth with one of them. Did I have a stalker?!

Of the girls, Alice seemed like likeliest candidate, being of a stronger lipstick variety girl than Jill or Snakebites. We had ended things a bit stiffly, but still cordial. She just laughed when I asked if she knew anything about it. “Nope,” she said, “but good luck.”

I’d rather have walked over broken glass then text Jill, and I’d firmly ghosted Snakebites so I was scared to reopen communication to ask if she was stalking me. I had to drop it. But it haunted me, that lipstick kiss.

For months I was jumpy, wondering which of my spurned lovers had done it. And why. Was it a threat? A goodbye? I lay awake thinking about it, worrying about how everyone I’d dated knew where I lived, which car was mine.

Finally, nothing else happened and I moved on. The kiss would remain a mystery and I had to be content with that.

It was a year later when I finally started filling my mom in on my dating escapades that I finally got closure. She was hooting and laughing as I went over the table debacle. Then I paused and added, “And then this kiss showed up on my car.”

“Did you like it?”

“What? No! I’m pretty sure one of them was stalking me! Who else would leave a kiss on my car?”

My mom started bellowing with laughter. “I did!” She wheezed.

Apparently. My mother had been driving by my place. And decided that a cute little gesture would be to leave me a kiss. And then decided to never mention it to me even though she’s never done anything like that previously.

“It scared the crap out of me!” I yelled while she collapsed with helpless laughter. “I thought I had a stalker! How could I possibly have known that was you?!”

“How could I have known you’d just broken up with three girls at once?” She wheezed in rejoinder and like. Fair play.

So that’s how my mom convinced me I had a stalker and I got out of buying a $500 table.

[genus-militum]

Anonymous asked - “Do you like oranges?” Cassandra holds out an orange to the stranger. ( theorphanalchemist for Adam )

@theorphanalchemist​​

It was rare for Adam to be outside during the day, but the Nest was strangely noisy for the day time, making the outside the more quiet option. 

He was sitting on a crate down the street from the Nest, the hood of his coat helping to block out the sun. Usually he was asleep by now, so things were a bit too bright for his liking. Perhaps he looked sketchy, or homeless, but people where leaving him alone, so he wasn’t about to complain. But he wasn’t expecting to be approached by a random teenager.

"Um. They’re alright. I guess.” Adam answered, turning his attention to the green haired stranger.

“Do you go around offering oranges to everyone, or just the freaks like me?“ He questioned, reaching for the offered orange.

[chaoticace2005]

Rules for the Hazbin Hotel, authored by Vaggie:

1. No drugs.

2. No fights.

3. No pranks.

4. No problematic language.

5. No murder (OR TERRITORIAL GENOCIDE WHAT THE FUCK ANGEL)

6. No smuggling in of drugs. Not by sticking them up your ass. Or by hiding them in a pizza box. Or by slingshotting them to the roof. Or getting someone else to. Not at all.

7. No sexual rendezvous with outsiders in the hotel. No SHOWING sexual rendezvous with strangers to people of the hotel either.

8. Make sure the pig/future pets stay in the patron’s room. (This includes eggs!!)

9. No singing Limit singing to once twice per day

10. Stop flirting with the bartender Angel

11. Don’t call Husk “Husker” unless he allows it.

12. No harassing the staff at all. This includes asking who tops.

13. Don’t suggest anything sexual/romantic to Alastor unless you want your head cut off.

14. NO CUTTING OFF PEOPLE’S HEADS

15. NO EATING PEOPLE

16. NO MAKING CHARLIE CRY.

17. Don’t ask me to put my spear “inside you” Angel, what the fuck?

18. Don’t turn the interior of the hotel into a swamp?! Keep it contained in your room if you must!

19. No stabbing staff or residents. No matter how much they look like bugs! (OR IF THEYRE NAME IS ANGEL)

20. Don’t try and stab bugs if they’re within 10 feet of another demon.

21. Don’t call anyone a “bitch” OR TALK ABOUT HOW MY NAME SOUNDS LIKE “VAGINA”

22. Limit Niffty’s access to sharp objects.

23. NO DEALS ALASTOR

24. No drinking. Limit drinking at bar.

25. No mentioning the Stock Market Crash of 1929. For everyone’s benefit.

26. Don’t blow a hole in the wall.

27. Try to keep roast battles OUTSIDE the hotel. (Or stop picking fights?? Please Alastor I swear to God…)

28. No spying on the hotel for outside sources or putting technology that can be used against us.

29. No evil laughing in the middle of the night, what the fuck Alastor?

30. No building weapons/war machines.

31. No eggs! (Fine the eggs can stay.)

32. Someone please keep an eye on Niffty. (And the eggs.)

33. Stop touching people ANGEL.

34. Don’t make other people storm off HUSK.

35. Respect boundaries.

36a. If Angel looks like he’s about to pass out/cry don’t comment. Let him do his thing.

36b. Don’t try to talk to Angel if he’s on the phone with Valentino. Honestly don’t even mention his phone calls with Valentino.

37. Please don’t call Lucifer “Daddy”

38. Don’t turn into a 20 foot tall demon-eating creature unless absolutely necessary.

39. Don’t cause angry loan sharks to show up at the front door.

40. NO EXPLOSIONS!

41. Rule #2, “No fights” can be broken if the person you’re fighting is Valentino. Or Adam.

42. Don’t lie to your girlfriend or hide the fact you were secretly an angel.

43. DONT TALK ABOUT PEOPLE’S TITS (or lack of)

44. KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING A BEDROOM ESPECIALLY IF SOMEONE’S HAVING MAKEUP SEX

45. Don’t give people makeovers while they’re sleeping, ANGEL!

46. Don’t pretend to eat someone’s pet, ALASTOR

47. Don’t die.

48. I never want to hear the words “cum-plete” again.

49. STOP HAVING FIGHTS ACROSS THE BUILDING LUCIFER AND ALASTOR!!

50. If Charlie is passed out on the couch LET HER SLEEP

51. No making bombs in the hotel Cherri!

52. Stop breaking rules and then saying it’s “FOR SIR PENTIOUS!”

53. Angel don’t try to shoot someone if they break spaghetti.

54. Don’t break spaghetti. Or “ruin” Italian food. Whatever the fuck that means. This apparently includes pineapple on pizza.

55. Don’t mention Valentino unless Angel brings him up first.

56. Don’t comment on Angel and Husk’s flirting.

57. Only call Angel “Anthony” if things are serious (or if you’re Husk)

58. Don’t use any of the nicknames Husk and Angel use for each other. This includes but is not limited to: “Whiskers”, “Legs”, “Kitty”, “Webs”, “Tony”, “Love”, and “Baby.”

59. It’s better not to question whatever facts Husk gives about his past.

60. Family dinners at 6 pm unless you can’t make it due to prior obligation. Game nights after on Sundays.

61. No hunting people for sport and NO KNIFE MONOPOLY.

62. Don’t attach knives to a roomba so you can have a “boyfriend” Niffty.

63. Keep Niffty away from Roombas.

64. Alastor, treat people with decency. Really, it’s not that hard.

65. No making giant ducks that breathe fire to chase people around the hotel just because they call you short.

66. Therapy. Everyone.

67. DONT HAVE SEX ON THE BAR WHAT THE FUCK GUYS?!

68. If Valentino enters the property you have permission to stab him.

69. “Hell is forever” is bullshit. You guys aren’t. You can do this.

[thechampagnesocialist]

The nd need to replay one line again and again because the brain likes how it sounds

[demonictacobeard]

Adam, coming out of his room for the first time:……Alright what the fuck do you guys even do here? Therapy, or some shit

Lucifer who had been waiting for him by the door: Charlie has activities usually, and is more then willing to talk to residents about their feelings and how they ended up in hell so that’s like therapy. I’m surprised you know about that, has heaven finally implemented it?

Adam, grumbling: No Heaven doesn’t fucking have therapy, but for the last ten years the newer winners have been asking why and the older angels had to find out what the fuck it is

Lucifer, humming: I do have to wonder how all the therapists up there don’t fall from utter frustration

Charlie, watching them come down the stairs excitedly: Hi Dad! Hi Adam! I’m so excited you came down. How are you feeling today, do you think you might be up for an activity? Or ooh, I never got to show you around the whole hotel just to your room. Whatever you feel like! Adam, stepping back: I knew she was excited during the meeting but Is she always this fucking cheery? It’s like Emily has a long lost twin from Hell

Angel Dust, from the bar: It’s the new resident joy, you’ll get used to it lambchop!

Husk, snorting: You act like you don’t adore that girl

Angel, pointing at him with three pointer fingers: You, shut up

Lucifer, beaming with pride: She’s very passionate about her work, always has been

Adam, groaning as Charlie looks at him with glimmering eyes: Dear fucking god, shit alright, fine I’ll take the tour

Vaggie, walking up to them with her spear: Good, because todays activity is Alastor’s idea and I don’t trust him not to ‘accidentally’ scar you emotionally instead

Charlie, gasping: Vaggie! Come on, Alastor wouldn’t do that

Lucifer and Vaggie, deadpan: Yes he would

Adam, crossing his arms: I don’t know the fucker, I just beat his ass, but yes the shit he would. Do you see that smile he has going on all the time? I haven’t seen one so fake since Michael’s

Lucifer, gaging: Hech Mike

Adam, nodding: Fucking Mike

Vaggie, vaguely remembering the angel: Do you mean….the Mike who was your bosses boss, the one who came around and inspected the exterminator’s once every ten years. That Mike?

Adam: That’s the bitch, Vag

Vaggie, her cheek twitching in anger: The ARCHANGEL MICHAEL?

Adam: Adding his title doesn’t unmake him a bitch

Lucifer, laughing: Nothing can

Charlie, smacking her head: Awful uncle Mike! Dad told me about him, don’t worry Adam Alastor is nothing like him. The smile is just….a tool for him? It’s harmless

Adam, rolling his eyes: The bartender just looked at you like you lied to gods face and then fucking spat on it, but whatever. I’ll do the activities and shit, later, but only ones you’re in charge of- why does your face look like that?

Charlie singing to Vaggie, after grabbing a confused Adam’s elbow and happily dragging him on the tour: He trusts meeeee!

Adam, flushing: ONLY MORE THEN THAT FUCKING DEER!

Lucifer, following them: Thats still a little, you know

Angel, laughing at Alastor when he walked in ten minutes later: Hey Alastor, guess what sheep boy trusts the devil and the devil’s daughter more then you. How’s that make you feel?

Alastor, his smile becoming more genuine: Positively ‘devastated’

[broodybuck]

Title: Broken Rules

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Rating: E

Tags: 18+ explicit smut, one-night stands, rough sex, plot what plot/porn without plot, no kissing rule

Summary: After you get dumped, you want to stick it to your ex with a no-strings-attached, filthy one-night stand. You find an attractive man sitting at the bar, he should do.

[ao3 link]

That's it, I'm having a one-night stand, you decide. You're adamant about the idea even though it's not typically your vibe. You like connection, you like relationships. But if your boyfriend can break up with you on your seven-month anniversary then you can have a fucking one-night stand.

You see him at the bar. The place is pretty dead since it's a Tuesday night so there are limited options. Still, you would label this guy as out of your league. Too hot for you. He has short brown hair, cheekbones straight out of Hollywood, and a sharp jawline to match. He's dressed in a tight leather jacket and dark jeans.

Normally, you wouldn't go for a guy like this. Because as much as you know your beauty, you're typically labeled in the cute category, the pretty category. But he's gorgeous, model-level.

You stride up to him as confidently as you can manage and claim the seat next to him. He lowers the drink from his mouth slowly, glancing over at you skeptically. He's probably wondering why you chose the barstool right next to him when there are about eight other ones open. To get in those tight pants of yours, you answer him in your mind.

You smile at him, glad you kept on the tight red dress that was meant for dinner with your ex tonight. He notices, his eyes scanning down as subtly as possible. You feel a flash of heat hit your cheeks. The thought of this stranger getting under your dress, having access to every inch of you, makes you feel insane and hot all over. But tonight is different. Tonight, you're having a one-stand stand with a handsome stranger.

You smooth your hand over the sleeve of his jacket. He tracks your movement like a hawk.

"What're you drinking?" you ask sweetly.

"Whiskey," he clears his throat.

He seems more thrown by this than you'd expect. You would have assumed he gets hit on constantly, has one-night stands by the plenty — wherever he cares to.

You signal the bartender over and order two shots. The man beside you keeps eyeing you quizzically. But when the shots arrive, he accepts the one you slide over to him. He downs the shot with you.

You smile, licking your lips as you mask the face you want to make from the bitterness burning your throat. He looks impressed. Good, you think, you're here to impress and get fucked.

"I've had a shitty night," you tell him. "Really looking for a distraction."

Your tone is hinting enough. His eyebrows lift with surprise. He turns his body toward you.

"Another?" he asks and you nod.

You both take another shot, then it feels much easier to ask if he lives nearby. He does and after staring him down, he invites you back.

He keeps a hand hovering over your lower back as you walk to his place. You only stumbled twice so it's really unnecessary but it's a sweet gesture, you suppose. He helps you up the stairs of his stoop by taking your hand. You thank him but remind yourself that tonight is meant to be dirty, quick — meaningless.

Inside his apartment, you decide another rule for tonight.

"No kissing," you tell him.

He looks so confused, it's honestly cute. The way his brows furrow so deeply and his mouth parts open. He looks like a lost puppy, begging to be kissed.

Stop it, you reprimand yourself. He's not cute. He's here to fuck you.

You march forward, grab onto his leather jacket, and yank it backward down his arms. He doesn't stop you, he seems aware of what's about to happen regardless of his prior confusion.

His face dips forward and then stops. He blinks, pressing his mouth tight, and you try to ignore the fact that he almost kissed you. Already. You move onto the belt of his jeans, prying it open along with the fly of his pants.

"Gonna make me do all the work?" you tease.

You yelp when he hooks your legs and instantly lifts you up in one quick motion. You wrap both arms around his neck and ignore your impulse to inhale his mouth hungrily.

He carries you to the bedroom and lays you down carefully on the bed. Your legs remain helpfully spread around his hips. He moves slowly now, more slowly than you'd like, as he glides both hands up your thighs. He pushes the hem of your dress up as he goes. This dress is so damn tight that it moves rigidly but he works it over your hips to reveal the lacy thong you're wearing.

He breathes in heavily, staring down at it. You flush warm again. He's so hot, you want him inside you. And you don't normally think something like that so quickly.

You reach out, instinctually moving to frame his face and drag him down into a kiss, but you stop yourself just in time. You still pull his face down but instead, move his mouth in between your thighs.

You hear him breathe sharply once more. Then he dives forward so quickly that you gasp when he tears the thin material of your thong with one hand. His mouth, his tongue, is on you the next moment. You suck in a moan, your thighs unintentionally squeezing together, but he holds them apart with his hands as his tongue flicks over your clit repeatedly. Next, he kisses it, mouths around your most sensitive area, and then sucks.

"Ooh god, yes," you cry, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

This was a damn good idea, you think, as you cry out again when he adds his thumb. Switching between his mouth and fingertip.

"Fuck, please," you pant.

He cruelly stops right then and sits back. The sight of his mouth glistening with your wetness makes you shiver. He reaches into his boxers and pulls himself out. He barely gives you a chance to get a good look before he's pushing inside of you.

His face hovers above yours as he bottoms out. He stares down at you, and you want to kiss him, but you need to stick to your dumb rule. This night means nothing, this night is only a fuck you to your ex.

He swallows, then his mouth stays open in a pout as he thrusts into you again. Your eyes squeeze shut, you grab onto him tightly.

Each thrust gains strength but he fucks you slowly. Ramming into you harder each time and stilling when he's buried inside of you as if for you to savor it. He's big which means each slam of his hips jolts you back on the bed and you feel yourself stretching to fit him each time.

His hands find your breasts now, cupping them in his hands, and his breath shakes. You find yourself amazed that he seems so taken with you. You're not sure your ex-boyfriend ever looked at you this way. Like you're an art piece he has to study, memorize.

He presses into you again. But this time when he draws back, he gives up the slow, hard pace and fucks you faster, steadily. It instantly makes your skin blaze, you pulse around him, your body hungry for him.

He groans, feeling it. He falls forward so close to your face, but his eyes snap shut. You hold him by the jaw, craving to close the space, but you refuse. He pushes forward and fucks you harder.

"Fuck, right there," you squeal.

He keeps himself there, fucking you right where you want it until you're too close.

"Yes—more—please," you whimper.

He grunts in your ear and doesn't stop. He grabs hold of your thighs, pushing your legs up, still plowing into you.

Then, you're coming so fast you can't think straight. It's never usually so abrupt, so intense. But you're levitating up, clambering to hold onto him as your body jolts and shakes with the shock of your orgasm flooding through you.

"God, god, ahhhhgn," you yell right in his ear but it doesn't phase him, he's still fucking you like his life depends on it, like you'll die if he doesn't prolong this orgasm for as long as humanly possible.

And it's so much. Waves of pleasure won't stop washing over you that when he plunges into you and groans brokenly, you're actually relieved that he's coming.

You're holding onto him so tightly, he doesn't pull out of you for a long time. He lies with you, breathing into your neck, warming your skin as you try to recover from your high.

And fuck, how was that so much better than the last seven months with your ex? Why haven't you been having more one-night stands, you wonder.

Finally, he sits up and looks at you.

"I'm Bucky, by the way," he smiles crookedly.

It's adorable, goddammit.

"I'm y/n."

"Don't hate me," he says and you're about to question what he means when he leans down and kisses you.

You don't hate him, far from it. You grab his face and devour his mouth, his tongue. You're desperate for it. You never thought you'd miss kissing so much. What a dumb, dumb rule.

You whine when he pulls back, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

"That was torture," he huffs, "not kissing you."

You swallow thickly. "I didn't want tonight to mean anything."

He makes that endearingly confused face again but this time, it's mixed with discontent.

"My boyfriend just broke up with me," you explain quickly. "I was mad."

He slowly pulls out of you and backs away from you. You want to pull him back, not let him leave. He rolls next to you on the bed and lets out a long sigh.

"It's not you, that was… more amazing than it should've been," you confess.

He looks over at you and blinks, his face softening.

"Forget that guy," he says and rolls onto his side to caress the side of your face. "I'll make you forget about him... if you let me."

The offer is more tempting than it should be. This wasn't supposed to go anywhere. When you first saw him in the bar, you didn't even think he'd be interested.

"As long as I can kiss you," he adds.

You laugh unexpectedly because it sounds so ridiculous that this incredibly hot, well-endowed man not only wants to fuck you again but needs to be allowed to kiss you. And you want it all too. So much you need to laugh at how wrong... or right this night has gone.

You dive forward and kiss him. Through the elated breath he inhales, he sounds pleased and kisses you more deeply.

"Sorry for my dumb rule," you break to say. "Kiss me all night."

Bucky smiles and happily pulls you right back to his lips.