#he doesn’t care that it’s better then his because a) he gets to read it and b) it’s bringing in readers to pidw

[corroded-hellfire]

Forever Young - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: It’s Eddie’s 40th birthday and when everything else is making him feel old, you aim to show him that he’s still young.

Note: in honor of our birthday boy

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m! receiving, older!eddie, Eddie still has his breeding kink of course

Words: 2.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

To say Eddie wasn’t excited about his 40th birthday would be an understatement. The closer it came to the day, the grumpier your husband became. He’d grumble under his breath, the words obviously not meant to be heard by you or the kids; but the sentiment was still conveyed.

Months before his birthday, Eddie made it clear to you that he did not want a party. Although he loved spending time with his friends and loved ones, he had decided that he only wanted to spend this particular day with his family. But just because he would be getting through the day unscathed by in-person jokes and ribbing from the likes of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson didn’t mean his own family wasn’t going to tease the patriarch.

“Happy birthday, Dad!” Luke holds a card out to his father. His grin isn’t necessarily mischievous, but it’s smart to always be on guard when it comes to the teenager.

“Thank you.” Eddie takes the indigo envelope from his son and slips the card out. Before his eyes can even take in the bold bubble letters on the front, a pamphlet slips out. Eddie catches it before it can fall to the floor and holds it up to take a proper look.

Hawkins Comfort: The Exceptional Home for Senior Living

The clenching of Eddie’s jaw causes Luke to snicker. Your husband tosses the pamphlet at your son’s face before reading the card itself. Luckily for Luke, the card itself was sweet and didn’t add further insult to injury.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie nods his head and closes the card.

“Thanks,” he reiterates.

“Aw come on, Dad,” Luke says, stepping forward and patting his father on the back. “I’m just messing with you.”

Freshly dressed for the evening out, Eliza zooms into the room, the three-year-old already tickled pink at the thought of having some cake after dinner. She runs into her dad’s legs and wraps her little arms around them.

“Happy birthday!” It’s the fourth time she’s told him this today and he knows it won’t be the last.

“Thank you, baby girl.”

“See?” Luke says, nudging his dad. “You have a baby. You’re not old.”

Eliza’s face goes from gleeful to rueful.

“‘M not a baby!”

“Excuse me, miss.” Luke bows to her before snatching the toddler up into his arms. “I meant to say that Daddy has a young lady for a daughter.”

Placated by that explanation, Eliza nods her head once. “Better.”

As you walk into the living room, a minute later than Eliza due to her rapid speed, Luke gestures to you with one hand while the other one supports his little sister.

“And look! You have a wife who is in her twenties.”

Eddie’s tongue pokes out of the side of his lips, internally trying to decide if that fact makes him feel better or worse. He does have a young, hot wife. But does that make him feel young as well or does he just feel each and every day of those eleven years between the two of you?

“See! Mama is young!” Eliza says.

“Are they ganging up on you, honey?” You playfully pout as you approach your husband’s side.

“Luke’s ready to check me into a nursing home,” he gripes.

“Why you need a nurse?” Eliza asks.

“He doesn’t,” you say before Luke gets a chance to be a wiseass. “Daddy takes care of himself and all of us. Right, Lize?”

“Yeah!”

“Are we ready to go?” Ryan asks, waltzing into the room as he pats his flat stomach. “I’m starving.”

“Didn’t you have a bowl of cereal an hour ago?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Ryan replies. “An hour ago.”

Eddie sighs, remembering the days when he too was a teenager and could inhale food all day and keep that small waist of his. As if able to read his mind, you slip your arm around your husband’s middle and give it a small squeeze.

“Alright gang,” Eddie says, “let’s head out.”

After you all return home, Eliza isn’t nearly as excited about cake as she was before. Her head rests on your shoulder, soft whines coming out of her mouth as you carry her into the house.

“We told you not to eat too much ice cream,” you say.

“Daddy said I could,” she groans.

The restaurant gave Eddie a free ice cream sundae for his birthday and he invited all of you to share it with him. The boys, of course, had room even after finishing off their dinner plates completely. But Eliza’s tiny tummy was already decently full of her noodles before she picked up a giant spoon and started scooping the vanilla dessert into her mouth.

“But you had too much.” You press a kiss to her curls before setting her down on the couch.

Eddie hangs his keys on the hook by the door before coming over and wrapping his arms around you.

“Thank you for a nice dinner, princess.”

You smile up at him and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Daddy?” Eliza asks.

“What’s up?”

She pushes herself to sit up straighter and tucks her legs beneath her.

“How old you now?”

He gives her a small smile as he drapes his arm across your shoulders.

“40.”

“Whoa.” Eliza’s eyes widen comically. It’s hard for you to keep your laugh in. “That’s big number. I don’t think we got enough candles for the cake me and Ryan made.”

This time you have to turn your head to the side and hide your smile in Eddie’s armpit.

Thankfully, Ryan is able to assure Eliza that they don’t need to put the whole 40 candles on the cake. With a gaggle of offbeat singing surrounding him, Eddie smiles and closes his eyes to think of a wish. Apparently, he takes too long for his daughter’s liking. She sighs, naturally dramatic as always, and everyone else laughs.

Eddie is able to blow out all the candles in one go and you cut the cake, giving pieces to your two sons who are eyeing the confection with glee. You’re unable to keep from snorting in amusement at their never-ending hunger and you take a seat next to Eddie to eat your own piece. Deciding to power through it, Eliza manages to eat half off a slice before she lays across her dad’s lap, hands holding her once again full belly.

The perk to her being so full is that it’s easier to wrangle her into her pajamas and under her covers. With one last wish of a happy birthday to Eddie, he presses a kiss to her forehead and her eyes begin to flutter closed.

The boys aren’t far behind. Whether or not they’re going to sleep, you’re not sure. But as long as they’re in their rooms you’re happy. Because you have one last surprise for Eddie today.

You come up behind him as he unbuckles his belt and yanks it out of the denim loops on his black jeans. His shirt raises up slightly and you take advantage, slipping your hands beneath the fabric, letting your nails gently scratch over his pale skin. Eddie starts to unzip his pants and you press trailing kisses across his shoulder blade.

“Baby?” Eddie steps forward out of your grasp and turns around to face you. “I’m pretty tired.”

A frown creases your brow. Eddie has every right in the world to be too exhausted to fool around and just want to climb into bed, but you’re not buying that’s really the case right now.

“Okay,” you say softly, stepping forward and gently cupping his face in your hands. “We can just lay down and cuddle if you want. But something tells me you’ve got something on your mind.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, Eddie sighs and steps backward out of your hands, and takes a seat on the foot of your bed. You move to stand in front of him and gently card your fingers through his bangs resting against his forehead. He rests one hand on your hip and appears deep in thought for a few minutes.

“I just…” he finally says. “I just feel like the older I get the more pronounced our age difference is.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that to be what’s on his mind.

“Hey.” Gently, you take his chin between your thumb and forefinger and lift his head so he’s looking you in the eye. “So what?”

Eddie’s brow furrows and he looks at you, skepticism dancing across his face.

“What do you mean ‘so what?’”

“That exactly. So what if you look like you’re forty and I look like I’m twenty-eight? Those are our ages. Just like you looked thirty-two when we got together and I looked twenty. And how in thirty years you’ll look seventy and I’ll look fifty-eight. What does it matter? Do you really think I give a shit what anyone else thinks? The only two people in this marriage are you and me, buddy.” You grab his shoulder and gently shake him back and forth. “I knew how many years apart we were when we got together. When I married you. When I had a baby with you. You think I would’ve stuck around all this time if I had doubts about our age difference? No way, baby. You’re stuck with me. Even when I get gray hair and all.”

A finger absentmindedly brushes against Eddie’s temple as you speak. Your husband stiffens, connecting the dots between your words and where you touched him.

“I have gray hair?” He jumps up and scurries to the full-length mirror in the corner of your room.

“What?” A heavy sigh deflates your body as you realize the conclusion he jumped to. “No, Eddie. You don’t have any gray hair.” His inspection in the mirror bothers you, so you walk forward and manage to squeeze between him and the mirror. “But even if you did, you’d still be the sexiest man I’ve ever met.”

Eddie sighs and rests his forehead against yours.

“I don’t feel forty,” he whispers to you. “I feel like a kid still.”

“Well, you are a big kid,” you tease, managing to pull a small smile out of him. Relieved to see him feeling a bit lighter, you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck. “And besides, I think I’m the last person in the world you have to convince that you’re still young.”

“And why’s that?” he asks.

Giving him a suggestive smirk, you lean in until your lips ghost against his.

“Because,” you whisper, “of how nice and good you fuck me.”

A low groan reverberates from your husband’s chest and he pulls you flush up against his body.

“Yeah?” His voice is dripping in lust. “You like how I make you feel, princess? How hard I pound that tight little pussy of yours?”

“Uh huh,” you whimper before pressing your lips against his.

Eddie’s fingers dig into your hips as you walk him backward towards the bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress, all it takes is a small push from you to have him falling onto his back. His eyes are dark with need as he watches you tug his open jeans down his legs. The two of you work together as he yanks his shirt off over his head and you tear his boxers off.

As you fall to your knees between Eddie’s thighs, he sits up enough to pull your top off as well. Once you’re free of the offending fabric, you take Eddie’s cock in your hand. You move it up and down slowly, feeling him harden in your grip.

“Fuck,” Eddie growls.

On a swipe down you lean in and press a kiss to the tip. The resulting moan from your husband sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. You pump his cock a few more times before you can’t hold off any longer and have to take him into your mouth.

“Yes,” Eddie hisses.

You run your tongue along the underside of his length, making sure to keep eye contact with him the entire time. The way he watches you with lust-blown eyes and his chest rises and falls in rapid succession with his shallow breaths has you squeezing your thighs together.

You start to bob your head up and down, taking him a little deeper each time. He becomes impossibly harder in your mouth. A large hand gently cups the side of your head and pulls you off of him. The way you whine in protest makes Eddie chuckle darkly.

“Sorry, baby,” he says. “Feels too damn good, though. Need you up here.”

He helps you to your feet and shed the rest of your clothes. Eddie shuffles back towards the pillows, eyes taking in your every movement as you crawl up towards him. When he moves to sit up, you put your hand on his shoulder and push him back down.

“You just lay there,” you coo, lifting one leg to straddle across his thighs. “Rest those old bones and let me take care of you.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, playfully glaring at you and the shit-eating grin on your face.

“Fine,” he challenges. Eddie raises his arms and laces his fingers together behind his head. “Get going.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You line him up with your entrance and slowly lower yourself onto him. The two of you moan in tandem, the feeling of being united insanely pleasurable.

Once you’re fully seated on him, you start to rock your hips back and forth. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and bites at his bottom lip. His fingers dig at the back of his head, digging into his scalp to keep from caving and grabbing ahold of your body.

Sensing his resolve breaking, you rest your hands on his chest and lean in to speak softly.

“What do you think, Eddie?” you croon. “Want to get me nice and knocked up on your birthday?”

“Shit.”

Your words snap the last bit of restraint he was holding onto and his hands fly to your hips, helping your body move against his.

“Come on, handsome,” you continue through labored breaths, “fill me up with your cum.”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie huffs a laugh and tilts his head up, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m fucking forty now, I should be able to last longer than this.”

“You forget I know how to push your buttons.”

“Mm?” Eddie looks back down at you, raising an eyebrow as you bounce on his cock. “You mean like this?”

A ringed hand slides between your body and rubs quick circles over your clit.

“Fuck!” You bite down on your lip, attempting to keep your voice low.

“Let’s go, princess. Want you to come with me.”

Unable to respond in any articulate way, you nod your head and hum incoherently. With one hard flick against your clit, the coil in you snaps. Your head falls forward, your jaw hanging open as your high washes over you. The way you clench around Eddie has him following right behind you, the two of you rutting against one another as you ride out your orgasms.

“Holy shit,” Eddie groans as both of your bodies begin to come down.

Suddenly boneless, you flop down against Eddie’s chest and he instinctively wraps an arm around you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and lets his heavy eyes close.

“I love you so fucking much,” you mumble against his chest, slightly sticky with sweat.

Eddie breathes a chuckle and rubs his hand up and down your back.

“How are you so perfect?” he asks.

Now it’s your turn to laugh.

“I’m going to remind you that you said that next time you get all grumpy over me making fun of your age.”

Before you have time to process his movements, Eddie grips your waist and flips the two of you, smirking down at you as he settles his weight against your body.

“I’ll just have to keep proving how well I can fuck you then,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Is that supposed to discourage me?”

[sai-int]

Is it too much to ask for a dd/lg headcannon or Drabble with the 141 boys? Maybe even including others like graves, konig, Keegan, Alejandro and Rudy?

(Can I be 🍇 anon?)

never too much! you're actually the first person to claim an emoji! I hope this is okay doll ♡

cw : 18+ MDNI , dd/lg dynamics , this is so long, im sorry price, simon, johnny, kyle, könig, keegan, alejandro, rudy, graves

price – the definition of a firm but fair daddy. he’s got rules, and he expects you to follow them, but he’s not cruel about it. he’s patient, steady, always knows what you need—even when you don't. his presence alone is enough to make you feel safe, grounded. but he’s also stern when he needs to be.

"feet up, love. that's it. let me take care of you." he says, kneeling in front of you after a long day, pulling off your shoes and rubbing slow, firm circles into your sore arches. he takes care of you without hesitation, without asking. knows when you need a bath drawn, knows when you need to be pulled into his lap and held until your breathing evens out.

but if you brat? you’re bent over his lap, skirt flipped up, his hand smoothing over your skin before landing a sharp smack. "i warned you, didn’t I?" he’s got a low tolerance for brattiness but an endless amount of patience when it comes to taking care of you. calls you his girl, sweetheart, maybe even baby when he’s feeling soft. he’s got a warm, protective presence, safe but still in control. nothing gets past him. if you try to pout your way out of trouble, he just smirks, presses a kiss to your forehead, and hums a low, "nice try, love."

simon – quiet, intense, and possessive. he’s not big on pet names—mostly calls you love—but the way he looks at you? like he owns you, like he’d burn the world down for you? that’s where the power is.  he doesn’t have to say much, doesn’t need a long list of rules or punishments. all it takes is a look, the weight of his stare heavy enough to make you squirm. he doesn’t like bratting, doesn’t like games. when he tells you to do something, he expects you to listen.

"listen, come here, love." simple, direct. his voice is low, steady. when you hesitate, just for a moment, his head tilts. the mask makes it impossible to read his expression, but you know what’s coming.

"really gonna make me ask again, are you?"

and when you finally move, slipping between his legs, he rewards you with rare praise, making it feel that much better.

"that’s m'good girl."

johnny – playful, teasing, and so good with praise. he loves winding you up, watching you get all pouty just so he can break you down and build you back up again. his favorite thing in the world is turning your "no, I'd never" into "please, johnny, more."

"dinnae be shy, princess," he grins, leaning in, voice warm with amusement. "say it for me. tell me what y’need."

he’s big on physical affection, always touching, always holding, always making sure you feel how much he adores you. he’s the type to pick you up and spin you around just to hear you squeal, to kiss you breathless in the middle of the street just because he can.

his hands are always everywhere, his voice a steady stream of praise. "look at ye. so fuckin’ sweet for me. always are."

but when it’s time to be serious? he knows how to handle you. lets you push him just enough before he’s got you pinned against the nearest surface, smirking as he presses against your backside as you get shy, "thought you were a big girl, hm? what happened to all that attitude?"

or maybe you'll laugh, not taking him seriously, "think yer bein’ funny, aye?" his fingers trail up your thigh, the pads of them making dimples in your skin as he leans in. "let’s see how much ye'll be laughin' when a’m done wi' ye."

kyle – softer, more nurturing. he’s the type to tuck you into his side, stroke your hair, kiss your forehead and call you his sweet girl. loves taking care of you, making sure you feel safe and cherished. he’s the kind of daddy that knows exactly when to pull you into his lap and murmur, "what’s goin’ on, baby?" he doesn’t scold when you brat—he just guides, gently steering you back to where you need to be.

"i know, sweetheart. just need some attention, don’t you?" he coos, thumb tracing slow lines along your lower lip. "c’mere. let me take care of you, yeah?"

but he’s not a pushover. when you really push? he just sighs, shaking his head, the disappointment gets you the most.

"you know better than that, love. you wanna try again?"

könig – gentle but possessive. he knows how big he is, how easily he could overpower you at a moments notice, but that’s not what he wants. he cherishes you, treats you like something delicate, something precious. calls you mäuschen, liebling, mein süßes mädchen.

his hands are massive—capable of destruction, yet impossibly soft when they touch you. he holds you like you’re special, something his. he takes so much pride in you. his voice is low, rumbled with that thick austrian accent as he murmurs, "mein liebling, so brave… so sweet for me."

he adores caring for you. brushing your hair every night, wrapping you in his arms, tracing gentle patterns on your skin as he murmurs praises. but he watches you, reads you, because he knows when you’re acting out watches

"you are just testing my patience, mäuschen. do not disappoint me."

it’s not a threat, it’s a warning. his grip is firm, but never harsh, just a reminder of his strength. when you finally give in, whisper out a soft "i’m sorry, daddy" he's too weak to stay upset, immidiately praising you.

"awh, that’s my baby. knew you would come back to me." his lips press to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you tight. because you’re his, and he never lets what’s his go.

keegan – commanding but patient. he doesn’t say much, doesn’t need to. you and him communicate almost telepathically, always intune with eachother. when he looks at you, when he tilts his head just so, eyes sharp beneath that black face paint, it’s enough.

"pet." his voice is low, even, a quiet command. "come here."

you hesitate, just for a second, testing him, pushing. but all it takes is that subtle shift in his posture, that almost-imperceptible narrowing of his eyes, for you to realize exactly what you’ve done.

"you know better."

he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t punish you outright. no—he waits, lets the silence stretch until you’re squirming. he wants you to break on your own, to realize that disobeying him was never going to end in your favor.

"be good for me." his hand finds your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. his touch is firm, his thumb grazing your bottom lip, watching the way you react.

and when you finally, finally submit? he smirks, barely there, nodding once as his thumb brushes over your cheek.

"that’s my girl."

alejandro – soooo teasing, full of warmth. calls you mi amor, bebita, princesa. he spoils you rotten, but he expects your obedience in return. loves watching you melt under his praise.

"mírate, baby" he murmurs, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. "tan hermosa cuando eres buena para mí." 

he lives to take care of you. always checking in, making sure you ate or what not. "estás bien, mi amor?" his hands smoothing over your back, pulling you into his chest. when you’ve had a long day, when you’re feeling small, he tucks you into his lap, cradles your face, murmurs soft praises in spanish, low and soothing in your ear.

"always so good, mi princesa."

rudy – soft but firm. calls you mi corazón , muñequita. he’s the kind of man who lets you brat, lets you think you’re getting away with it, all build letting it until he finally decides to correct you.

"are you done, muñeca?" voice calm, measured.

he doesn’t scold, doesn’t get angry. just waits. waits for you to realize that he’s not going to entertain your attitude. that he’s not going to play your game.

and when you calm down? he just smiles, welcoming you back to him with open arms. pulling you into his lap and cradling your face in his hands. because rudy doesn’t break. he just waits for you to come back to him.

graves – cocky and dominant, and always in control. he has that easy southern charm, the kind that makes you feel safe, wanted, but also makes it crystal clear that he’s in charge. calls you darlin’, sugar, his little thing. thrives on obedience, but he loves breaking you in, watching you go from stubborn and defiant to soft and needy under his touch.

"you’re makin’ this real difficult for yourself, sugar."

his voice is always calm, never rushed. he knows he’s going to get his way. when you brat, when you cross your arms and huff at him, he just sighs, shakes his head, tilts his chin down slightly so he’s looking at you, sharp blue eyes cutting through your attitude like a knife.

"can act tough all you want, sweets, but we both know how this ends."

his punishments aren’t harsh, they’re calculated. never does anything in the heat of the moment. he waits, makes you squirm, makes you realize that pushing him was a bad idea.

but when you’re good? fuck, does he reward you.

"now that’s what I like, darlin’," he murmurs, kitten licking at your clit. "my sweet girl, doin’ exactly what she’s told. ain't so hard, hmm?"

he’s big on ownership. likes having his hands on you, his arm draped over your shoulders, fingers ghosting against your neck. not because he doesn’t trust you, he just likes reminding you who you belong to.

"ain’t nobody else gonna take care of you like I do, sugar. you know that, don’t you?"

[bidisasterevankinard]

I love taking care of you

Bucktommy/fluff/ 507 words (you can read under the cut or on ao3)

Part of @bucktommyfluffebruary

Day 1: non sexual intimacy

Buck is almost done with soup, when sniffling, red-cheeked, sleepy Tommy, tangled in Buck's favorite blanket and in a blue hoodie that Buck is sure is his, but he hasn’t seen it for months in his part of the wardrobe.

“How do you feel after a nap, babe?” ending stir and looking for the bowl, he asks the man who buried his face in his neck, hugging his waist and sticking to his back with every part of his body that he can.

“A little better,” Buck frowns at the worse hoarseness in Tommy's voice, “my head doesn’t kill me so much and I don’t feel too cold.”

Buck still touches his forehead with his lips, nodding to himself that it feels less hot as it was in the morning.

“You really shouldn't have asked for a day off. I could be alone for twenty four, you know?”

Shaking his head, Buck finally finds the bowl in the dishwasher, nodding Tommy to the chair before getting back to the oven and pouring him a generous portion.

“And let you eat bad take out soup, and be anxious you overslept, forgot to take pills and now are dying with complications?”

He puts the bowl and the spoon near his sick boyfriend, kissing his curls, “eat and go lay down again.”

“I lived last decade without anyone taking care of me and survived the colds I got, you know it, right?”

Sighting, Buck gets Tommy’s face up with his fingers, making him look him in the eyes, “is that so hard for you to believe I want to be here, because I love you and want to take care of you when you’re sick?”

Tommy is silent, biting his lip and Buck can see in his eyes that yes it’s hard for him. Doesn’t mean he will stop proving it’s what he wants to do.

Buck kneels near Tommy, kissing his forehead, cheeks, and finally lips sweet and soft, so chaste his heart melts and he sees how Tommy’s face melts too, showing Buck’s favorite happiness lines all over Tommy’s face.

“I love you, Tommy. Not on just good days, ok? I want to be here. I want to cook your soup, bring you pills, make you sleep so you can get better faster.”

He’s words put a surprise expression on Tommy that Buck almost wants to cry, but he just smiles and tries to get up - his knees are not so young to sit on them for long - but before he can do it, Tommy puts his huge hand on his neck, getting him close and kissing his birthmark loudly.

“I love you too,” he wheezes. “Thank you, Evan.”

“Don’t thank me, babe. Eat and I can help you with showering if you need.”

Tommy nods and then sips the first spoon of soup, with a moan that makes Buck be proud and happy he learned to cook. It’s his love language and using it to take care of the person he loves the most is an incredible feeling.

[chleem]

request idea? thinking about how Drew would drop everything for his girl ❤️‍🔥 like if she showed up at his house crying because she needs him (something with her parents or something? maybe they forgot something important to her)

and Drew is with his roommates or friends (who love the reader) but as soon as he sees his girl sad, he has a soft spot for her and for taking care of her 🫶🏼

⋆.˚ Warnings: none, pure fluff (still, read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: enjoy! sry i haven't replied for so long, i was spending cny w/my family.

word count: 2.2k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

The sound of the basketball game is practically vibrating through the walls—close to the end, with the score tied and everyone on edge. 

Drew’s lounging on the couch, leaning back, eyes glued to the screen. 

The room is full of his friends, all hyped up, throwing out their commentary and joking around. It’s guys’ night, and it’s a vibe they’re all soaking in.

Then the doorbell rings for the second time tonight, and Drew’s eyes flicker to the door.

"Did we order pizza? Again?" Drew asks. 

“Dunno, man, check,” his friend says, not looking up from the game, clearly too invested. 

Drew sighs, a little annoyed at the interruption, but his feet move automatically toward the door.

When Drew opens the door, he doesn’t see pizza. 

He sees you.

His expression shifts instantly—his confusion giving way to something deeper. 

Drew notices the smudge of mascara under your eyes first—the dark lines trailing down your cheeks. The rest of your makeup isn’t much better: foundation starting to fade where the tears have blurred it, the eyeliner long gone from where it used to frame your eyes.

His heart skips a beat. The noise from the game and his friends’ laughter suddenly feel miles away, as if the room has gone quiet in an instant.

Then, through your teary eyes and blushed cheeks, you give him a smile. It’s weak, almost forced, but you try. You shrug your shoulders, like you're attempting to downplay whatever’s hurting you.

“Hey, Joseph,” you say, your voice cracking just enough that Drew hears it. Your smile fades, and the act you’re trying to put on crumbles just a little.

Drew’s heart sinks. He knows you too well. The moment you said his name like that—broken and vulnerable—he realizes just how much you’re holding back.

Without a word, Drew steps closer.

The easy-going grin he had on earlier is gone. His brows furrowed with concern as he reaches for you, hands cupping your cheeks. 

He holds you gently, but firmly—like he's grounding you, keeping you steady.

His gaze softens, and he watches, helpless for a second, as the first tear escapes and trails down your cheek. His heart aches seeing you like this.

His eyes never leave yours, and there’s an unspoken promise in them—I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

When you speak again, the apology slips out almost before you can stop it. “I’m sorry…” you start, feeling bad for interrupting his night with his friends.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” He says, as if he’s trying to erase that sense of guilt before it can settle in. 

He gives you a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, “don’t ever apologize for needing me.”

He takes a moment, watching your eyes carefully, making sure you understand that he means it. There’s no disappointment in his gaze—only warmth, care, and an overwhelming need to protect you from whatever’s hurting.

Your eyes flicker away, sparkling with unshed tears as you struggle to catch your breath, trying to muffle the cries threatening to break free.

“It’s just- it’s just my parents-“

Your words falter as his friends cheer loudly in the background, their excitement rising with each point scored in the game. 

Drew notices immediately—your discomfort, the way you're struggling to open up in this moment—and it hits him: you’re still standing out in the hallway, exposed to everything.

“Let’s, let’s get inside,” he murmurs. He doesn’t need to say more than that—his hands move to your shoulders, guiding you toward his room, tell you everything.

His friends, too absorbed in the game, don’t notice the subtle shift in the air. They’re still yelling at the screen, completely oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend has showed up crying. 

As he leads you down the hall, you finally feel the air change—calmer, quieter. 

The second the door of Drew’s room closes behind you, the outside world fades.

Unknowingly, you’ve sat down at the edge of his bed, the soft mattress dipping under your weight. 

Drew quietly moves around his room, as he finds a box of tissues on his dresser. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, though—watching the way you sit, the way your shoulders shake with each breath, how your chest rises and falls, unevenly.

Once he hands it to you, Drew settles beside you. His arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you closer but not forcing you.

He listens carefully to the soft hiccups that escape from you, tiny gasps caught in the air. 

He just continues to rub gentle circles on your back, his touch light and comforting. 

Finally, Drew speaks, but it is barely above a whisper, “what’s wrong?”

You grab a tissue, dabbing your cheeks where the mascara has ran down. 

When you see the dark spots on the tissue, your chest tightens. The tears come faster now, and you let out a shaky breath between sobs, “now my makeup’s ruined!” 

Drew can’t help but chuckle lightly at your reaction, the sound soft and gentle. His hand, still resting around your shoulders, takes the tissue from your trembling fingers.

With a small, reassuring smile, he dabs at your cheeks, wiping away the smudged makeup with care. 

“Don’t, don’t worry about that,” he says quietly. 

The tenderness in his words feels like a balm to your frayed nerves, and for a moment, it’s the only thing grounding you.

As you look up at him, your breath catching in your throat, you notice how close he is. 

His face is inches from yours, and his eyes hold nothing but softness, nothing but a promise of comfort. His hand lingers at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I…i had dinner with my parents,” you start. 

“I know,” he murmurs softly, his gaze never leaving yours. He'd seen the date marked on his calendar weeks ago, the reminder of your private dinner with your parents, and he had known it might be a tough night for you.

It was a dinner just for you and them—an attempt to reconnect, to have a moment where things might feel normal again. But Drew knew, from the way you’d talked about it in passing, that it wasn’t going to be easy.

“They still think, I made a huge mistake,” your voice cracks once again, and you swallow hard, as if trying to force the pain down, but it’s no use. It bubbles up too quickly.

Drew knows exactly what you mean. He remembers you telling him about dropping out in the middle of your final year. How it had been a decision made for yourself, even if your parents couldn’t understand it.

Drew watches you quietly for a moment, then speaks softly, “You did what was right for you. If they don’t get it, that’s on them, not you. Who cares what they think?”

He gives you a small, reassuring smile, before adding on, “you should see yourself through my eyes. You’re beautiful, smart, and more than enough as you are. You don't need a...certificate to prove that.”

His words settle over you, and for a moment, you feel your heart soften at the quiet sincerity in his voice. But you quickly look away, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. 

“Yeah, well…” you mutter, “we got into this huge fight, and I just stormed out- and look where I am. Ruining your - your guys’ night.”

“No, no,” Drew immediately interrupts, “you’re not ruining anything.”

Then, unexpectedly, without missing a beat, Drew throws the tissue in his hand toward the trash can in the far corner, and you watch, distracted by the sudden movement. 

You can’t help but let out a small chuckle when he makes a perfect shot, the tissue landing neatly inside with a satisfying swish.

Drew turns toward you, his smile both confused and amused, clearly unsure of what exactly made you laugh but happy to see you smile. “What?” he asks, his voice still holding that easy charm.

You stare at him for a moment, your eyes catching on his lips, the way they curve just slightly in that grin, and for a fleeting second, the urge to kiss him overwhelms you. 

It’s like everything else in the room fades away, and it’s just the two of you in this small, quiet moment.

Your breath catches in your chest, and before you can even think, the space between you seems to vanish.

Without a word, you lean in, your eyes fluttering shut, letting instinct take over. His hand gently cups your cheek, warm against your skin, as he tilts your head just slightly.

And then, you feel it—his lips against yours, and everything feels…right.

The kiss is calming, full of quiet affection—comforting in a way that eases all the tension, like a safe place where nothing else matters.

You could taste your own tears, salty on your lips, but somehow they only make the moment feel more real—more human. There’s something about the way Drew holds you, his lips soft and patient, as if he's absorbing all your hurt without needing to speak.

You pull away just briefly, catching your breath, but before you can even fully regain yourself, Drew leans in again, this time with urgency, as if he needs this kiss more than you.

His lips press against yours, deeper this time, gentle but insistent. His hand moves to your back, pulling you closer as if he’s anchoring himself to you, or to this moment.

You smile against his lips, hands wrapping around his neck. 

You want to push him against his bed, take him right there, show him how appreciative you are of him, but seems like, the rest of the world wants him too.  

The sound of his friends cheering from outside breaks through the moment, reminding you that Drew has guests over, and this isn't just your time with him.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his, closing your eyes for just a moment to catch your breath. 

When you reopen your eyes, you find Drew’s gaze already on you—soft, steady, and full of something unspoken. There’s a quiet intensity in the way he looks at you, like he’s taking in every detail, as if he’s memorizing this moment, just as you are.

“You have- you have people, in the other room,” to your own surprise, you’re stuttering. You pull your head away slightly, finding the fun in tracing the line of his jaw. 

“I wanna stay here,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place, but you feel it in your chest, a quiet certainty. 

He doesn’t break his stare, and in that moment, it’s like he’s asking you to stay with him too—not just in this room, but in everything he’s feeling, everything you’re both sharing.

“Ask them to leave,” you whisper back, a small smile tugging at your lips, though the words are more playful than serious.

You both know it’s not that simple. 

“Join me,” he says, referring to his guys' night, to his friends in the living room. 

“Well, at least let me... change, and redo my makeup.”

“I don’t know…” he lets his words trail off, his eyes scanning your features with mischief lurking in them, “they might like- like having a panda around.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch, unable to hide the small smile. You hear Drew’s throaty laugh escape his lips, a sound that makes your heart skip.

“Alright, just… take your time,” he says, his playful tone softening as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just a moment longer than expected, like he wants to make sure you feel it.

You watch him, your chest warming at the gesture, as he moves across the room to his dresser. 

He pulls it open, rummaging through his clothes, and then, almost casually, he grabs the hoodie you recognize to be 'yours'. It’s his, but with how often you wear it, it’s practically yours now. 

Then, in one smooth motion, he opens the top drawer and takes out your shorts, underwear, and bra. He places them beside you, not even needing to say anything—just a small, thoughtful gesture that tells you he knows exactly what you need, even before you ask for it.

You look up at him, surprised by the simplicity of it, but somehow it feels even more intimate than words could say. It’s the way he just gets you, without needing to make a big deal of it.

And because it felt right, you whisper, “I love you.”

Drew’s gaze softens, the teasing smile melting away into something more sincere. His eyes hold yours as he says, “I love you more,” his voice quiet but filled with warmth. 

There’s no playfulness now—just honesty, raw and real.

“…now get out of here,” you tease, the corners of your lips lifting into a smirk.

He leans forward, his finger lightly tapping your forehead in a playful push, “so eager to get rid of me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, and he smiles, shaking his head. 

With one last glance, he turns and walks to the door.

And once the door closes behind him, you’re left with a warm feeling in your chest—safe, loved, and entirely at peace.

-------------------------------

happy cny! angpao for everyone <3

i apologize in advance if this isn't good and has mistakes- i wrote it in a rush! (also, i realized there was a sudden pov switch- tf

other

[fashionteahouse]

Hi, I hope all is well. I was wondering if you could do a Jacob x reader imprint with Paul?

Reader is Jacob's imprint, but so is Renesmee. Since Jacob has also loved Bella and he ended up imprinting on Renesmee, he loves being with them. He has an imprint his age and also happens to be Paul's best friend. The reader makes plans and invites Jacob, but he always picks Renesmee over the reader because he doesn't actually like the reader. Paul finds out from Rachel that Jacob has been bulling reader and telling her she's not good enough and wishes he never imprinted on her and how Nessie is so much better and he can't wait to marry her when she's older. Paul gets pissed when he finds this out, and he also confronts Ranchel, saying that he's heard her say rude stuff about the reader to the other imprints and has gotten into a physical fight with her. Paul goes to the beach to find the reader and sees her jump from where he and the guys do . He freaks out, and his wolf tells him to save his imprint. Can it be long and have smut?

heyy everything is great hope all is well for you !😸 sure i would love to do this hope you enjoy :)

delete forever - jacob x reader ft. paul

The wise man looked between you both as you sat still, soaking in every word.

Imprinting.

It sounded foreign but yet so familiar in your ears. Jacob takes a look at you, it’s hard to read his expression which was new. You were used to being able to have a guess at what he was thinking.

“Are you alright, son?” Billy Black asked when he was finished.

Jacob stuck his lips out a bit nonchalantly before nodding, “Yeah. I’m good.”

Silence surrounds the small table. The scoot of the chair moves backwards as Jacob then tells his dad that he’s leaving.

“Where are you going, son?”

“Just going over Paul’s.”

“Y/N, why don’t you go? Rachel’s there.” Billy suggests with a smile. Jacob freezes at the door.

“S-sure.” you say.

You and Jacob ride in his car in silence. You were too afraid to ask questions. He didn’t care too much to get them out of you.

“Wassup, man.” Jacob says and goes in with the handshake, Paul hits his back once and waves to you. You wave back.

“Yup. She’s my imprint.” he says. There’s no feeling for you to detect. Rachel looks at you as you sat meekly on the couch.

“She is?” she asks her brother. He nods in confirmation.

“Congrats to you both. Now Jake can stop getting on me and Rach’s nerves.” Paul chuckles. Jacob laughs sarcastically.

You smile a bit and Rachel doesn’t offer you a kind look as she continues to stare at you.

You look down.

“Rachel’s party is this weekend. Y/N are you coming?” Paul offers.

“Is she?” Rachel asks.

“She should.” Paul says to her before looking back to you.

“Sure..Will you be there, Jake?��� you ask quietly.

“I’ll probably show my face. I should bring Bella.” he says.

“Yeah! Bring Bella.” Rachel says with more enthusiasm. Jacob grinned.

“I thought you didn’t like her?” Paul asks.

“Well..She’s a good gift giver.” Rachel defended with. Paul shakes his head with a slight roll of his eyes.

Billy Black calling you surprised you the next day, early in the morning.

“You…Imprinted on Renesmee too?” you ask him carefully. You watch the grin on his face grow as you both sat on his living room couch.

“Yeah.”

“But…She’s…She’s young.”

“I’m going to be her protector. I am her protector.” Jacob says in total defense mode, it caught you off guard. He’s never sounded that way when speaking about you.

“Why two imprints?” you ask Billy.

“We are thinking it’s to reward Jacob for stepping up to be the Alpha. He gets to actually choose.” Billy says.

Ever since that day, it felt like you had to fight for his attention.

“Want to go to the movies?” you ask as you knew for a fact he loved action movies.

“Nah…I’m going with Nessie.”

“To see a Disney movie? Come on, Jake.” you say through the phone.

“You asked and I said no. Okay?” he says and hang up. You stare at the phone in total disbelief.

You sat by yourself as you watched Rachel greet guests and dance. You came by yourself because when you asked Jacob for a ride, he said the car was full from him picking Bella and Renesmee up.

Bullshit.

You tell this to Paul when he gives you something to drink while asking where Jacob was and why you both didn’t come together.

“I thought Bella couldn’t be here because of the treaty?”

“You know Jacob. He made an exception for her. Now that…Nessie….Is his imprint, it’s allowed by the elders.” Paul whispered.

He sits next to you to keep you company. It wasn’t long before Rachel shimmied over to him and grab his hands, “Dance with me!”

Paul chuckled, “You’re drunk already?”

“I’m just tipsy.” she slurred.

“Sure.” he replied dripping in sarcasm.

You watch as Paul danced with Rachel. You kind of wish it was like that with you and Jacob. They weren’t imprinted but yet, they were defining the odds.

Paul joked all the time that he did so much that even his ancestors believed he shouldn’t be tied with someone. His bloodline would end with him. He still hasn’t found his imprint. Just to be safe, he didn’t mind getting cozy with Rachel because she was apart of his tribe.

“Bella! Nessie!” You hear and there they are, standing with gifts for Rachel. Renesmee gives a shy hug to Rachel and you watched a rare sight. Rachel hugged Bella. Jacob smiled at the moment until he looked over at you watching them.

After Paul mingled about, Paul tells you that he’s only grabbing Rachel’s cake and he will be right back.

“The girls are in the backyard. I’m sure you’re bored of the guys.” he says while grinning.

The sports game was playing as the pack make deep conversation about the plays.

You slowly get up and go to the backyard.

Renesmee sits on Bella’s lap as the girls sit at a table while laughing loudly and talking.

Every eye goes to you once you come out.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” they all say off key and awkwardly.

They watch you take a chair and sit in total silence. They blink at you for a moment before one speaks out, “Why do you do that?”

You look up to Jared’s imprint, Kim.

“Do…What?”

“Just sit there.”

“Because she’s a little slow. Leave her alone.” Rachel says. They burst into a laughing fit.

You look down as you felt angry at such low blow of an insult.

“Don’t be rude.” Bella says low.

“What? Well, she acts like it. No wonder Jacob would rather hang with an extroverted child than someone his own age.”

You get up and make your way to the door, leaving the backyard. You didn’t want to hear them talk, they continued to talk and laugh even with you out of the room.

You were silent as everyone else happily sing happy birthday to Rachel. You blink as she blew out her candles.

You sit again by yourself after she opens gifts.

“Can you give me a ride to Port Angeles? Please!” Quil asks Paul once the night was late.

“Dude, seriously?”

“Please. I will give you gas money and everything. I’m linking up with this girl and she’s...” he then whistles a bit as he thinks about what she looks like.

Paul sighs loudly before he grits, “Get in the car.”

Paul smooched Rachel before telling her he will be back.

He then tells you, “Go ahead and take some cake home. It’s going to do nothing but sit there anyways.”

You quietly tell him thank you and he leaves out.

You walk through the home and Jacob kneels as he helped Renesmee with her jacket.

“You’re leaving?” you ask.

“Yeah.” Jacob says quietly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.” he says quickly and grabs the child’s hand as his tone changed, “Come on, Ness.”

You enter the kitchen and the giggling stopped once again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rachel demanded from the table.

You held up the knife, “I’m just getting some cake.”

“Who said?”

“Um…Paul said I could take some home.”

“Answer me this. Is it Paul’s birthday? Or is it my birthday?”

Giggles started to form and you eye the clock. It was after twelve.

“Neither. It’s past 12AM. Your day is officially over.”

Rachel stomped to you, “You’re trying to be funny?”

You stare blankly at her.

“Well, I got jokes.” she says and shoved you. Hard.

The knife was still in your hand as you stumbled back and you heard one of the imprints say, “Girl. She has a knife.”

Rachel grabs it out of your hand with no fear.

“You were gonna stab me with this?”

“N-no. I would never.” you stammer out. She sets it down on the counter with a clatter and takes your paper plate away with a snatch.

“I said…You’re not getting cake.”

“But-“

“What did I say?”

“Don’t be a bitch about it Rachel.” you say.

Gasps and ooh’s erupt the room as they instigate.

A hard slap hits your face. You tearfully hit her back before Rachel grabs a fist full of your hair and you both punch at each other before people get Rachel off of you.

“I’m gonna be a bitch if I want to. It’s my birthday. Mine.” she says.

You bounce your leg when you prayed Jacob would pick up the phone as you sat on the beach. The party was a week ago and you haven’t seen him since.

“Speak.” he says after the second time you call. Impatience was the last thing that he suppressed.

“Um..Hi.”

“What do you want, Y/N. I’m kind of busy right now.”

“I just wanted to hang out.” you say and let him know that you’re at the beach.

He sighs on the other side of the call, “Did you seriously call me just to come hang out with you a beach. Like, are you seriously forreal right now?”

“Yeah..I just..”

“Look. I get that you’re my imprint and all but we can be…Acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances.” you repeat back like a parrot.

“Yeah…”

You watched when you would go over Billy’s house how the little girl had Jacob in the palm of her hand. She was innocent. Him, not so much. He was babysitting her and he ordered you around like you were staff.

“Get her a cup.” he ordered you.

You set the cup down and he poured her juice as he cooed to her.

“Do you play dolls?” Renesmee asks you as she innocently stands while you watch television.

You smile and before you could open your mouth, Jacob enters, “I can play with you, Nessie.”

“Can Y/N join?” She says with excitement.

“No. Come on, Ness.”

Footsteps retreat as you soon heard the bin of Rachel’s old dolls be poured on the floor.

That’s what you did when you had to hear the time that they were spending together. It was hard to just leave because the pain in your chest was only soothed when you were around him.

You began to think you were in hell.

It was a sunny day on the beach and Paul sort of invited you last minute when he noticed that everyone except you were there.

“Want to make a sandcastle?” you heard Jacob ask Renesmee. She nods happily and grabs her bucket.

You slowly walk over as they were building. Jacob’s face drips with annoyance.

“Can I help?” you ask.

Renesmee smiles and gives you a shovel and you sit on your knees in the sand.

“We’re good, Y/N.”

“What’s wrong with trying to help?” you mutter.

“You messed up what we were building.”

Resnesmee leaves off to refill her bucket.

“It’s fine. I’ll just fix it.”

“Would you quit it?” he hissed.

You freeze.

“Damn! You….” he huffed angrily, “Why the hell did I even imprint on you, huh?” he says to you only you could hear.

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Because I’m frustrated! I choose Nessie. Not you. So, you don’t have to keep inserting yourself because you don’t soothe me or my wolf. She does. You’re not good enough for us. Nessie is. When she grows up, she will be able to see our bond and we can get married and I can’t wait. Until then, butt out.”

You drop the shovel as your sight began to be blurry. Your heart broke in a clean split. Resnesmee watched in confusion as she tries to return to the sandcastle with a bucket full of fresh wet sand.

“Are you leaving?” she asks in a small voice. You nod sadly not wanting to let a child see you cry.

“Have fun, okay?” you say with a smile that you tried your best to muster up and walk off.

You look over before leaving and Jacob is immersed in the time he’s spending with Renesmee. He looked up once and the look gave you a shiver down your spine. Almost like disgust.

You accept this. Jacob didn’t want you. You definitely didn’t want him. As you went home, you felt like you were leaving the bond right at the beach.

That night, Paul sat on the edge of the bed with his hands clasped together.

“He said all of that?” Paul asks quietly with furrowed eyebrows.

Rachel chuckled a bit, “Yeah. That’s why she left.”

Paul sighed in disbelief.

“He stays bullying her. He must really hate the imprint bond they have.” she says as she laughs.

“The fuck are you laughing for?” Paul speaks darkly.

She pauses as she looks at Paul’s dark demeanor. He turns to her and expects her to answer so he asks her another question, “What? You think that shit is funny?”

She’s silent as she looks at him.

He rolls his eyes and turns back forward.

“You’re acting like I’m the one who said that.” she tells him.

“I’m not dumb Rachel and you’re pretending like I am and that’s pissing me off.”

“How? Did I call you dumb?” she quizzed him.

“No, but I know what you did at your party.”

Silence dropped like a dead weight.

“Forgot to get my keys when it was time to drop Quil off. I heard you talking shit with all of the imprints. Why did you feel the need to put your hands on her?”

“She had a knife! She embarrassed me on my birthday!”

“She’s better than me. Blood would’ve shed.”

Rachel scoffs, “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Takes one to know one. Isn’t that right?”

Rachel rolls her eyes and grabs your belongings, “I’m out.”

Paul didn’t care. The door slammed and he lay back in bed as he made plans to apologize to you on behalf of both Rachel and Jacob.

He blinked awake as he made his way to your house. You weren’t there. He knew your next favorite place was the beach.

He scanned the shore but didn’t see you either. He puts two hands on his hips as he knew for a fact you wouldn’t go to Jacob’s, especially not after what happened.

He saw a figure, high up on a cliff. He called your name but you couldn’t hear him. He called it again with two hands around his mouth to echo it. No use.

He ran to where he would have to get to the top of the cliffs.

The wind whipped on your skin as you stare down at the moving water.

You close your eyes. You blindly jump and Paul screamed your name louder as he was almost there to the top and seen your body jump off.

“Mine.”

“Imprint.”

“Save her.”

He listened to the determined voice of his wolf.

He dived right behind you.

You weren’t moving, you let the current of the water drag you down, pulling you into the darkness. The darkness that matched your damaged heart.

Paul’s strong hand pulled you out and he pressed and pressed on your chest on the shore until you gasped for air. Water couched out of your mouth as he sat you up. He rubbed your back as he patted it to make sure you coughed all of the water up.

You blink at him and it was like you saw an angel. The angel was Paul looking down at you in worry. It hit you both like whiplash as Jacob was forgotten. Rachel was forgotten. It was just you and him. You and him against the world. He saw a bright future. You saw a shimmer of hope.

He hugged your wet body then.

“Fuck…What the hell were you thinking, Y/N?” he whispered emotionally.

You couldn’t speak. He didn’t pressure you to.

You peel off your clothes in the bathroom and set them outside of the bathroom door like Paul instructed. He threw them in the dryer while you stood in the shower. You don’t rush.

Your mind racked with wonders and fear but your heart reminded you that you were right where you belonged. As you scrubbed your skin, you felt yourself being able to call his house, your home. You shake your head.

You clutched the towel as you sat on the toilet lid. You didn’t want to leave and face Paul.

A knock at the door startled you a bit.

“Yes?” you answer with a small voice.

“Are you alright? You’ve been in there for a while. Your clothes are dry.”

You were shocked that you were in the bathroom for that long.

You twist open the door but you sit back down on the toilet lid.

“Y/N? What’s going on?” he asks carefully. You clutched your towel tighter.

You opened your mouth but the words wouldn’t fall from the tip of your tongue.

He kneels in front of you.

“I heard what happened yesterday. It was fucked up.” he whispered. You look down.

“I don’t know if…I dont know if it’s me just completely heartbroken…But, when you saved me…It felt like it did when I looked at Jacob for the first time.”

“Y/N, I imprinted on you. That’s why you felt what you felt.”

Your bottom lip wobbled, “Just reject it. Reject it please. Delete forever.” you say and shake your head.

“No. No way in hell I’m doing that.”

“My old imprint threw me away like garbage. Don’t toy with me. Just let me know where my clothes are.” you say as you get up but the towel fell from your distress. Paul bit back on his lip before a shaky hand picked up your towel. You leave out the bathroom as you glanced about in the hallway.

He gently takes your arm.

“I’m not toying with you….Jacob is an idiot.” he says quietly.

You don’t say anything still not believing him but you couldn’t detect the lie you were looking for.

“Look at me.” he says encouragingly soft.

You look up.

He then slowly smiled, “Are you listening?”

You slowly nod.

“I feel on top of the world right now…Being around you brings me peace…Do I bring you peace?”

You think for a moment before you eventually nod. He rubbed your arms. His touch made you melt like ice cream on a hot summer day.

“You don’t ever have to worry about them, alright?” he says. You nod again.

“Do you…Accept the imprint with me?” he asks nervously. You never seen him nervous before. You nod again.

“No, I want to hear you say it.”

You crack open your mouth and whisper out a very sure yes. The smile he gave you made your heart pound in your ears.

Slowly, the gap between you two were closed as he placed a sweet kiss on your lips. You blink as you pull back. His thumb brushed your bottom lip to keep them slightly open. He leans in again. It was addicting just to do. You raise your hands to touch his face while he titled his head into the kiss.

You gasp as you realized that the towel had dropped again.

“Don’t worry about it.” he says in your ear, he pulled you to him and you felt the delicious heat from his skin.

His hands make your body respond in ways you never knew it could. The kiss was more sensual and passionate. You’ve never been kissed like that before and you found out very quickly that you liked it.

He takes your hand and let you feel the hardness in his shorts. He groaned in your mouth as you break out a breathy but soft moan.

He lifts you in his arms as if you were the most delicate china dish known to man.

Laying back, you pant slightly as you look at him. He shoved his shorts down and takes your hand again to feel him. He was so heavy and so veiny.

Breaths were heavy as you watch him groan and move his hips while you held him in your hand.

He goes in for another kiss which makes you feel achy and horny. You’ve been excited before but this was something different.

A set of warm hands caressed your body as you lay back on his comfortable bed.

Lips and tongue circled the nipples the your breast before he sleeked his fingers in your wet center. You sigh out.

He relaxed your thighs as he whispered for you to keep them open for him. You stutter out your breaths as he licked and ate at the moist center that was in his face.

His hands never stopped feeling your skin and you felt like you were in flames.

You didn’t know what was what. All you knew was that it was daylight when you arrived to it now being dark.

You breathe in and out when you pushed him away from not being able to take it anymore. You crawl away from him but he follows you.

On your hands and knees, you moan out shakily as he kept gliding himself in between you as his hands were firm on your waist and hips. He picked up the pace and you wished he was inside of you as he did so because it felt so good that you were crumbling all over again. He held you against him with your back to his chest as you fell apart once again.

He kissed your neck and felt the front of you. His hand caressed the center that was dripping wet.

Circling and dipping his fingers, you gripped his strong arms as you whined his name. Your hips moved to the sunken fingers that were inside of you as he traced his tongue with your ear. Your body gives out as you saw the same stars once again.

He lays you on your back as he slowly entered into you. He makes sure to keep your nub stimulated with his thumb as he does so.

You felt so full as you blinked at the darkness.

He moved and you felt like you were melting inside and out. He felt like he was in a wet dream. Both of you were so in the zone of each other, that you both forgot how to breathe at times.

Sitting hand in hand at Billy’s table, he smiled to you.

“When a door closes, a window will open.” he tells you both.

You look at each other with a smile that each other displayed to show that you both were happy. The feelings were mutual.

[cupcakeatsea]

Chris knows, okay? He’s fourteen and given the shit he’s seen he’s more than a bit hyper-vigilant. It means he watches more than most teenagers, he sees more. It doesn’t lead to much other than some anxiety in traffic and that he’s good at reading people. But because he’s fourteen and surrounded by other hormonally charged teenagers, it mainly just means he can spot crushes. He knows who likes who in his class, it’s not hard to figure out. The staring when they think the other isn’t looking is the big one. The laughing too hard and jokes and teasing is the next step. And then, for the brave, blushing compliments. It’s not hard, it’s just watching.

Adults are a bit different, for sure, but he knows his dad and he knows his Buck. And he knows about the staring, sees them doing it to each other. He takes part in the teasing and jokes. He knows, okay?

And he’s figuring out how to be around girls he likes. Knows what he likes to do spending time with them. Getting to know them. Maybe he just copied his dad and Buck on that one? And sure, he got a bit weird about it but fuck, his dad got even weirder. He spent so long saying sorry and proving he was sorry to his friends. That’s the bit that sucked - those girls were his friends and he acted like they didn’t matter.

It’s better now, he was gone for so long and he missed all his friends and they all missed him. So even the girls he hurt, when he got back, they were happy to see him. Leaving mended a lot of stuff even if it didn’t feel like it at the time. Even if ignoring his dad hurt, he needed him to know how fucked up everything was. How fucked up he was. For a split second he thought his mom was there, back from the dead. His heart soared then broke in that split second. He was seven again and she was under the tree then she was drowning in his dreams - in a split second. He couldn’t imagine the damage of a car accident back then, but he knew what water did to bodies, how it killed, so that’s what happened to his mom in his nightmares. But fuck, let’s not get caught up in that again, that shit’s for therapy.

The point is, he knows. And it’s fine, great even, that his dad loves Buck and Buck loves his dad. God, it’s been an unspoken fact for so long to him that he went a whole year thinking they were together together. And yeah, he knew about Ana being his dad’s girlfriend but he didn’t really sort out the picture of how all these adults fit in relationships because his dad and Buck just seemed right together. He doesn’t even feel stupid about it because it’s so obvious to him they love each other. Not just friend love, but are properly in love.

Just maybe not obvious enough to them. God, how is it not obvious to them? Buck has lived on their couch more than once to help care for his dad. His dad has quietly sobbed in the night when neither of them knew if Buck was going to wake up. He heard because he was crying too and when he swallowed his tween pride to crawl into bed to hug his dad, they both whispered how scared they were to lose someone so important, someone so loved. They whispered their hopes and desperation that he’d wake up too. They’re all so linked with how much they’ve been through together, he doesn’t know how they’re here and still so far apart.

But we’re getting off track again because he knows, okay? And he’s going to figure it out for them because he loves them. Even if they are stupid and it’s going to take a fourteen year old to make them see it. He loves his dad and his Buck and they love each other. And it’s going to be okay.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Shen Yuan rewrote PIDW ridiculously well with beautiful prose and detailed characterization and well crafted plot arcs as a fanfiction just to prove that it could be well written and Airplane is obviously just a sellout hack who couldn’t write himself out of a paper bag and obviously Shen Yuan only did it to prove a point because he’s petty like that and he absolutely does not and never will love the story enough to write 999k+ words about it at all no sir no how no way HE’S JUST PETTY DAMMIT!!

[sailforvalinor]

The thing is I want an accurate but GOOD Mansfield Park adaptation so so bad but I don’t trust anyone except for 5 or 6 people on this webbed site in the depths of the undercity of the internet to make it because NO ONE understands Edmund Bertram except for me, the author, and a handful of my beloved mutuals and friends

[ahalliance]

an important thing to understand with qetoiles is that he made every one of his relationships feel special without ever placing the importance of a person over another . he was naturally closer to some people than others but he never had A special person, if you get me

[formereldestdaughter]

ok wait i need to hear more of your thoughts on peeta owning a bakery....

This is one of those rare times where I’m pretty sure this anon isn’t someone I know personally bc I’ve subjected anyone who will listen to my rant about the Peeta Bakery Headcanon. Anyway, you’re gonna regret asking this anon bc there are fucking Layers here.

I know this is probably a controversial take based on the number of fics where I’ve seen it, but I simply do not think that Peeta would open a commercial bakery after Mockingjay!! Like on a metatextual level, I don’t think it really fits with the point of the ending of the series. It actually sort of fascinates me that it’s just such a common headcanon because the ending of Mockingjay is exceedingly vague. I think that vagueness invites us, as readers, to imagine a better world post-revolution. A world where Katniss would feel confident that her children would be safe from injustice, where she’d feel confident that her children would never know want the way she did as a child. A just world. A kinder world. Can a capitalist society ever be just? Is a capitalist society where a disabled teenager has no other means to subsist himself (or feels like there’s no other way he can be a contributing member of his community) really the post-revolution world we dream of? Is that really the best we can imagine?

(This got so insanely long I’m adding a read more lmao)

I get that showing a better world is not always the point of post-mockingjay headcanons/fics. Like there are plenty of really great post-mockingjay fics I’ve seen where, yeah, part of the fic is that society like ISN’T all that different or all that much better. I’ve seen that really well done! Hell, I’ve written them myself! It’s easy to imagine how a lot of aspects of society would not get an overhaul, a lot of the same structural inequalities would continue to exist. One headcanon that really stuck with me (I can’t remember which fic it was from) was that Peeta sells basically mail order baked goods to people on the Capitol, sending them iced cakes and pastries by train, because there are still people who were “fans” of theirs during the Games. And idk this doesn’t actually have much to do with my point lol but I liked it because it’s kind of fucked up and like! Yeah! It makes sense! If he needed money that would be a good way to make it! War often makes people rich, often for horrible reasons, and often it’s people who already have capital in the first place.

Anyway, more about the hypothetical bakery because alright. I bring up the fact that “yeah society not being all that different post-revolution and still being an unjust capitalist hellscape” could be a reason why Peeta re-opens a bakery because that’s actually never the types of fics where I see the bakery headcanon. Fics where Peeta opens a bakery are usually trying to make the exact opposite point. Like. Things are getting better, now he can open a bakery! Look at how much better the world is now, plus he’s got a bakery! Peeta is healing, that’s why he can open a bakery now! And I am so, so sorry to inform everyone who’s never had the grave misfortune of owning a family business, but there is truly nothing further from the truth lmao. Like just putting aside the immense amount of emotional baggage that Peeta has about his family, running a small business is an insane amount of work in any context and being a baker especially is physically grueling and involves early hours (and long hours) that aren’t really the best fit with the multiple ways that Peeta is disabled now. (I could go into this more because I have a lot of thoughts. But I will spare you.). I also think it’s seen throughout the books that Peeta is someone who needs time to pursue creative outlets to process his feelings and someone who values leisure and values quality time with his loved ones. And having grown up in his family’s bakery, I think he’d understand the reality that running a bakery wouldn’t leave much space of those pursuits and wouldn’t leave much space for him to have the things that keep him healthy and stable. I think he’d know that the way he is now— after two Games and the war and unspeakable torture at the hands of a dictator—isn’t compatible with the lifestyle necessary for running a commercial bakery.

And tbh with that in mind, I don’t think he’d push himself to re-open a business (one that would be a constant reminder of his dead family and his complicated relationships with them that got no closure) that would require him to sacrifice his physical and emotional well-being. Like I think he might look into the possibility, I think he might even start trying to open a bakery out of a sense of obligation/duty, maybe harboring some idea that this is who he was supposed to be, who he would've been without the Games, or that it’s this last piece of his family that can live on, or that it’s this last connection to his family so he can’t let it die too. But ultimately, I think any attempt to open a bakery wouldn’t get very far. Maybe he'd start wading into the logistical nightmare that is small business ownership and realize it's not for him (because it's probably also true that as much as him and his brothers were involved in the business, there's almost certainly parts they weren't involved with and didn't see, i.e., filing taxes). Or maybe looking into opening a bakery— how triggering it is, the stress of it— causes a downward spiral. Maybe he hates how much he's worrying everyone by unraveling. Maybe having a breakdown from the stress of just trying to open a bakery makes him realize, yeah, maybe in another life he would have ran his family’s bakery but the way he is now just doesn’t work with running a bakery, not without great sacrifices he's not willing to make. I just can’t see a bakery coming to fruition.

I know a lot of fics include Peeta deciding to reopen a bakery as a big step in his healing or include him rebuilding a bakery as part of his healing process but honestly, I think the opposite would be more true: I think Peeta either trying/failing to open a bakery or ultimately deciding not to open a bakery would be hugely healing for him. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way he is now as a person, his new limitations but also his strengths. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way his life his now and accepting that he likes his life the way it is, that he’s satisfied with his life without needing to own a bakery. I think it would be an important part of him coming to terms with the loss of his family. I think he knows he can never have things back as they were and I don’t think he would try to recreate them, especially because his family’s legacy isn’t a business. I think he’s emotionally intelligent enough and self reflective enough to realize that what mattered to him about the bakery— taking care of others by feeding them, being integrated into his community and being actively involved in it, brightening people’s days with delightful things whether that’s beautiful cakes or hearty food or delicious treats— and the things he learned from his family through the bakery, are things that he can carry on in other meaningful ways.

(Do you regret sending this ask yet, anon? Because if not, you will soon. I’m not done yet. There’s more.)

I wasn’t really sure where to put this next part in what is rapidly becoming an essay because it sort of combines the points about like “what do we imagine a post-mockingjay society to look like” with the practical difficulties of starting this bakery but here’s another thing: do people really think that the Mellarks owned the land the bakery was on?? Like, sure, the merchants are the petit bourgeois of Twelve but I still don’t imagine they really own anything. In a society where houses are assigned to people upon marriage, where property ownership and capital are so closely interconnected with citizenship (as shown by the Plinths who, by having immense capital, are able to leave their District and become citizens of the Capitol) do people really think the Mellarks would be allowed to own the land their bakery is on?? I always imagined it sort of like a tenant farming situation: the Capitol gives them the raw materials for the bakery and in return the bakery give them some absurdly high portion of their profits, or the Capitol sells them a year’s supply of raw materials at a premium on credit and at the end of the year the Mellarks have to use the money they made with those materials to pay it back, except it’s never enough to turn a profit so they always have to buy next year’s materials on credit and the cycle continues.

We (understandably) get a really skewed view of the merchant class through Katniss’s perspective so I can see why people come to the conclusion that his family owned the property and, as the last surviving member, he would’ve inherited it. I’ve seen the inheritance thing in fics a lot or a hand wavey “well Twelve was decimated to no one owns anything anymore so it can be his” or even like an almost sort of reparations type situation where he’s entitled to the land as a surviving refugee of Twelve. But I don’t know. I guess I don’t think it fits with everything else we know about Panem that the Mellarks would’ve owned that land and I think the question of whether the government would’ve let him take ownership of the land post-revolution brings up a lot of issues about the structure of society post-Mockingjay that I find more interesting to explore in other ways, especially when, from an emotional perspective, 1) I find the idea of Peeta not opening a bakery more compelling and 2) I don’t think it really fits his character arc by the end of Mockingjay to reopen a bakery, as I went on about at length above lol.

On the flip side: literally who cares!! Do whatever you want!! Headcanon whatever you want!! I get why people go for the bakery!! It’s fun, it’s wholesome, it’s a built in bakery AU that isn’t even an AU. It doesn’t matter if it’s practical or realistic!! It doesn’t need to be practical or realistic!! It’s fanfic of a dystopian YA series!! My unfortunate affliction is that I grew up in a family that owned a restaurant and that I have multiple degrees in the social sciences so I can’t see the bakery without being like “What about the overheard? What about the start up costs? Who’s spending long nights balancing the books? Is Peeta covering shifts when an employee calls in sick? Is Peeta the sole person working there until the bakery is open long enough (often a year or more) to start turning a profit? How does that sleep schedule work with his nightmares? How does that work with Katniss’s nightmares? What happens when he has an episode and suddenly needs to take the day off before he has any employees? Does the bakery just remain closed for the day? Can the profit margins withstand regular unexpected closures? Can the supplies withstand regular unexpected closures?” And if the answer is “Elliott none of those things matter he’s not doing the bakery because he needs the money but because he wants to”, then my question is why does he want to? Does he not get the same sort of satisfaction out of feeding his loved ones? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would rather give away baked goods than sell them?? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would prefer to make cakes for people’s special occasions upon and then when they insist on paying him for it, he only lets them “pay for the ingredients” which actually cost significantly more than he says they did??

So yeah my point is that it’s a matter of personal taste! It doesn’t fit the way I see the series but that doesn’t mean it’s like wrong, I’m not an authority on Peeta lmao.

It’s also a matter of personal taste in the sense that I find the themes that most resonate with me at the end of Mockingjay (and the end of Peeta’s arc specifically) more interesting to explore in other ways. Grief, living with loss, relearning yourself, finding hope, figuring out your place in a dramatically different world when you don’t even know who you are anymore, healing, building a new life after such complete and total destruction of your old life— those are all things I find compelling about the end of Mockingjay but for me the bakery isn’t the most compelling way to explore them.

Not to say I find the concept of the bakery totally uninteresting. I have this fic about Johanna that I’ll probably never finish where the point sort of is that, yeah, her life really isn’t all that much better after the war. It’s been years at this point and she’s still miserable and she doesn’t know how to be a person but by the end she’s trying to figure it out. And towards the end, Peeta tells her that he’s spent years sort of passively, half-heartedly trying to figure out how to inherit the land his family’s bakery was on, only to find out it was never theirs in the first place. They’d been renting it the whole time and he’d never even known as a kid. So he sort of passively, half-heartedly went on another wild goose chase to find the owner and now, finally, after years of writing to various government agencies and being sent in circles and things being barely functional, he’s managed to track down the owner. Now it’s owned by the daughter of the man who owned it when he was a kid because the original owner (who was likely up to some sketchy war crime shit) died during the war and she inherited it (the irony…). He got in contact with her and asked how much it would take for her to sell it and she told him she’s not interested in selling but in light of the situation, in light of the fact that he’d have to build a new building in order to operate a bakery, that she’d cut him a deal— she’d only require 50% of the bakery’s profits as rent instead of the 80% his family used to pay. And of course Johanna is outraged, that’s not right, the owner shouldn’t be allowed to do that, they should do something about it, they should fight back. And Peeta is like. Not interested. He was actually sort of relieved that opening wasn’t very feasible. Getting the answer was a lightbulb moment where he saw that over the years of trying to look into this, he’s built a life that he likes— one where he’s stable, where his loved ones are stable, where he’s cared for and can care for others— and he doesn’t really want to change it drastically by opening a bakery anyway. He just needed an answer, one way or another, before he could get some closure and move on. (And the point of the conversation is Johanna is having her own lightbulb moment that it’s okay to move on, it’s okay to change, it’s not a betrayal of the people and things she’s lost but that’s not my point here!!).

But anyway. That’s obviously not about running the bakery— it’s about the choice to not run one.

Anyway!! Anyway… are you satisfied anon? Is this what you wanted?

Lastly, here is my most important qualm with the bakery headcanon: must Peeta be gainfully employed? Is it not enough for him to be Katniss’s boytoy? Can’t he just paint and garden and bake and hang out with his girlfriend all day? Is that really too much to ask?

[deityofhearts]

good thing I am “that person” who acknowledges that characters aren’t one dimensional girlbosses who have zero flaws and make the right choices forever even when going through immense stress and trauma <3 unlike some people in manhwa comment sections 🤭

[lesbiansanemi]

For the first time since I can remember I did not hate every second around my family and… not only that actually…. Kinda enjoyed myself? Idk, just got home and I’m real tired but I think that’s just cuz I was up early and busy and then had the drive home. Christmas stuff and all that. My mom did…? Get me a pair of shoes that were lesbian colors…. I can’t tell if that was some insane coincidence and she didn’t know or her trying to say/do something all things considered. Apparently my siblings kept telling her I wouldn’t like them when she picked them out (which is fair I wear almost exclusively all black and mostly boots over tennis shoes) but she insisted so…. Mmm…. On the one hand I wish she would just like… say something? But if it was some weird way of being supportive I guess it was kinda sweet? Idk. I might be reading into it and it was just a coincidence

They also all insisted on helping me move in February which kinda has me like ???? Because I’ve moved four times since I’ve moved out and they have never once done a THING to help even when I lived much closer but I’ll take it cuz that means I won’t have to rent a truck cuz they’ll bring theirs and I won’t have to hire ppl to move the big furniture so that’s a lot of money I’ll be saving

They're also giving me one of the beds and mattresses from my great grandma's house since they've been clearing it out after she died a few months ago because when they asked what all I would I have to move and didn't say a bed and then explained my bed is a 20+yo mattress laid directly on the floor they were like :/ which obvi I know wasn't ideal I just couldn't afford to get a new one but now I won't have to. Obviously it's used but it's still only a year or so old they said, and I don't think I've EVER had a mattress that wasn't at least 15 years old so that'll be nice. I hope it helps some of my back issues...

Anyways, idk what fucking happened to these people in the span of a couple months but it kinda feels unreal

[biddy-biddy-biddy]

maybe i should talk/show more about my oc now that i’m thinking… idk! everyone is doing something for their ocs/self inserts idfkkkk…

like i just made her for funsies like haha what if i’m eltingville also everyone is eltingville/northwest why not do it…

[arolesbianism]

Doodle of my boy

[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!!! :)

[amandabbbbb]

summary: rafe who protects maybank!reader from luke bc jj is too busy finding gold to protect his sister

tw: parental abuse, mention of drugs, rafes sweet but kinda demanding

word count: 526

you covered a shift working at the wreck because kie could never be bothered to take a shift at her dad’s restaurant, too busy running around the island trying to find whatever gold bullshit that john b has got your brother’s friends and him hung up on. you call jj, overwhelmed from the morning of dealing with your father luke’s fit of rage.

“are you gonna be home tonight? dad just bought a bunch of drugs from barry’s and i don’t want to be alone. i’m scared.”

“sis, you know i love ya, but do you want our lives to get better or not? i’m tryna get us out of this hell, alright? so just stay in your room and don’t come out. love ya, bye.”

he hung up before you could squeeze in another cry for help. just as your salty tears fall, rafe cameron motions you over to give him his bill. you wipe your tears away and give him the fakest smile. he orders you to sit in the opposite empty chair.

“are you alright, sweetheart? i heard that. you know, i know your dad’s a druggie dick. i’ve seen him at barry’s. I gotta get you out of that house. i see your bruises. you know all that makeup doesn’t cover it.” he grabs your arm and rolls up your sleeve, showing your bruise from your father. you, flustered, pull away as his tone was demanding.

before you could even respond, kie’s words ring in your ears: “rafe cameron wouldn’t be caught dead eating here, especially alone. he usually spends his time at the country club. to a kook like him, the wreck is a dump. but ever since you started working there, he always sits at the same table almost every day, staring at you your whole shift, and if you aren’t his waitress, he makes a huge fuss. he’s so sweet to you, always.”

“rafe, really, i’m alright. don’t worry about me.”

“stay at mine tonight, y/n. i’ll take care of you.” he sets 1000 dollars down on the table. he usually gives you a 100 or 200 dollar tip but never this much. you barely know rafe.

“rafe, no. i can’t take this. i don’t even know… uh, uh, rafe, i can’t.”

“stop mumbling and take it. your dad spends all his money on drugs and your brother’s too goddamn worried about god knows what to even be home to take care of you. so i’m going to man up and protect you, okay? so shut up.”

that night after your shift, you stay at rafe’s house. he lets you stay in sarah’s room since the camerons are away. for the first time in ages, you finally relax, safe from your abusive father. you fall asleep almost instantly, exhausted from the stress. rafe makes sure you’re comfortable, checking on you throughout the night. when you wake up in the morning, you find a note and breakfast waiting for you. the note reads:

“good morning, sweetheart. had to run some errands. i know we’re very different but i know what you’re going through. stay as long as you need. you’re safe here. - rafe.”