#n i love love music so much in general
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aroaceleovaldez · 6 months ago
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i would like to say my ideal PJO adaptation (if i was being physically forced against my will to have to pick a live action adaptation over an animated one for some reason) would be a combo like writing of the musical + casting of the show + visuals of the movies
BUT the show actually does have the playwright for the musical as one of the major writers for like three episodes and that did nothing for it. so...
#pjo#riordanverse#pjo tv crit#i do love the casting for the musical lots and lots though#it was really good#i do also have some nitpicks for show casting but they're largely inconsequential#like majority i very much enjoy and think are cast well#i only have one i'd say im actually disappointed with and that's Poseidon. idk he just feels. bland??? does that make sense?#like idk maybe it's the costuming but im not getting Sea God *or* Fishing Dad from him#like i think i kinda see what they were going for and i saw some gifs of him in another show where he plays a pirate and its like#okay. *little* bit better. but idk im just not getting Poseidon from it#in general most of the immortals in the show dont feel very Immortal(tm) but thats definitely mostly just the writing/show itself#not any reflection of the casting#my only other two are i would have liked plus sized Clarisse. i am VERY sad we didnt get that#Dior is a VERY good Clarisse though so i'm not too upset about it. i like her Clarisse energy. the yelling is fantastic.#my most controversial pjo tv take is im still meh on Walker. like he's fine. but like he's kind of Just Fine to me so far#its probably mostly the writing being bad but he hasnt grown on me as Percy yet. i can tell he has the energy though in interviews n stuff#and the main trio dynamic in interviews and stuff is *very* good. i just wish the show writing was better#because the casting IS very good but they have so little to work with. you can really tell theyre trying their best#i like to joke the show would be better if they just set the cast loose in the woods doing in-character improv#like its clear basically all of them know their characters SUPER well. id watch 8 episodes of in the woods pjo cosplay improv.
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sunmisbf · 1 month ago
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i really can’t decide if i should get vip or regular general admission tickets for purple kiss 😭😭😭😭😭
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jrueships · 2 months ago
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I HATEEEEE DYSPEXIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
#so im driving some little dude to his appointment i left like super early incase n it turns out i was given an address to a fking House ?!?!#obviously he doesnt know the address cus hes just some lil dude so im like ringing up his guardians and#the one that actually goes to the hairstylist cant answer obs cus i had to take his son cus hes busy duh#BUT THAT MEANS IM JUST DRIVING AROUND SOME PLACE IDK TRYING TO FIND PLACES THAT LOOK LIKE HAIR#& when i find one im like uh does this barber sound familiar cus im not taking him to some random one#andlike omg and the entire time im playing music real loud trying not to cuss out in front of this little kid#like IM ALREADY SHIT WITH NAVIGATION. & THEN U GIVE ME THE WRONG ADDRESS AND IT'S RAINING#and he wants to go get an icecream afterwards n im sitting at the barber chatting it up#but i am like actually on the verge of a breakdown cus i made him late bcs i cant just figure shit out#like#it's just so fking frustrating like it makes me feel like a failed adult or smthing like#i AM GOOD. I AM GOOD AT DRIVING#once i know a place im good but if im lost it's like my brain is panicking too much#i have to look at the road and signs and places#like i turned at a green light and completely forhot it wasnt an arrow like i just saw green and went#like i couldve killed this little kidlike#IM GOING FUCKING CRAZY#and i dont want anyone to feel bad or like have to be extra cautious when they need me to drive or smthing#like im alrdy very frustrated with my stupid limitations like in general so like failure kinda just heightens it like#iURGHHH I HATE BEING IMPERFECT I CANT FKING STAND IT IDC IF THATS NARCISSISTIC N PRIDEFULNIDCC#it's better than being EMBARRASSED i HATE BEINGNEMBRASSING AGRGHHHHHH#anyways it's fking raining and it's dark . idek where im gonna take this kid bro like hes hungry#imma go on google YIPPEE#my best friend. google maps who i cant tell distances on so i either turn too soon or too late or rlly fking quick#Ii LOVE MY LIFEEE
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lesbiansanemi · 7 days ago
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I should stop pretending I’m not southern
#post brought to you by an old cd of country music my grandma sent me#(she’s clearing out her house cuz she’s moving and she thought I might like it it’s an old burned cd of songs she and my grandpa liked#that I would always ask to listen when we went anywhere in their old pickup truck and I’ve been listening to it#it’s mostly Johnny cash Dolly Parton and various bluegrass and it’s like. yeah. I actually loved this music)#I should get back into a lot of the country artists I used to listen to#and then stopped when I started pretending I hated country cuz I didn’t wanna be associated with it or the south or being a fucking redneck#like damn did you know I used to wanna learn to play the banjo? maybe I should look into that…..#I’ve mentioned my rodeos n shit and I still have my cowboy boots and spurs and hats n stuff from when I rode horses#maybe I should stop consciously getting rid of my southern accent….#I mean I’ve never been able to completely shake it so most ppl can’t really notice#but if I tell them where I’m from they’re like ooohhhh that makes sense#but yeah if I don’t focus on it when I talk I have a much thicker accent than it sounds like#I should stop doing that…..#idk the older I get the more I miss the south and the culture and stuff#and also it pisses me off how ppl talk about the south#both in general and where I live now#actually had someone once tell me I didn’t ‘sound dumb enough’ to be southern#like man fuck you#anyways the point is I missed country music and I think I’m gonna start listening to it a lot more <3#cuz what point is there in pretending I don’t like it#and who cares if every person I’ve ever been close with fucking hates country music and would make fun of me if I ever even BEGAN to say#I liked it so anyways#kaz rambles
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spotsupstuff · 2 years ago
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What does your header mean? And I don’t mean that in a “I was too lazy to use a translation app” way, but in a “it sounds like a reference to something or maybe a poem but I’m not sure” kinda way…
i'll give my own translation too, but let it be known to you that i am genuinely happy that you clarified you're not asking in the "too lazy to try n look myself" way
it translates to "I won't wash my hands for a little while, I don't want to take the pollen from your skin away from myself" and it's a lyric from the czech song called Skládanka (Little Puzzle, i think) by Jan and František Nedvědovi. the song is about waking up with your lover in the bed, it's a lazy slow morning and you don't want to get up but you have to part because the world needs you in work. it's basically just singing about how endlessly the singer loves his wife, that he just wants to be with her
my other favorite lines from it are!: • "Snad se mi zdáš, nebo nechápu nic, snad jsem jen blázen, co chtěl by víc, ty můj vánku, skládanko hezká z kouzelnejch chvil." // "Perhaps I'm just imagining you, or I don't understand nothing, perhaps I'm just a fool, which would want more, my breeze, beautiful little puzzle made of magical moments." • "A tvoje tvář je plná stop mých, začnu se bát, jestli to moje rád ti neublíží." / "And your face is full of my traces, I start to fear, if that loving of mine won't harm you."
while not my all time favorite song from them (that would be Růže z Papíru, translating to Rose made of Paper, or Tulácký Ráno, translating to uhh... Tramp in the Morning maybe???), Nedvědi translated n also wrote n then sung songs that i've all found out about from my parents when i was very little. their songs just remind me of the good times from my childhood
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wavernot4love · 11 months ago
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hello i see ag 2morrow for the second show of boom done tour i am so excited
i haven't been to a show since thursday @ the end of january in typical northeast "no one, quite understandably, tours here in the winter" fashion & i very much need this i am so very much looking forward 2 it also this is gonna be a GREAT month 4 shows
#i may be manifesting this somehow reaches someone somewhere also going#also tonight is about to be spent absolutely cramming boom done etc#as despite the fact that i technically got introduced to homie's music via a boom done set#at that fest i was working in summer '22#i still am not really acquainted with it#i am primarily going for good vibes and to support#but that's just as of now#i can Entirely see myself coming to love these songs just like the rest of that dude's projects#anyways i am soloing and while of course i have no problem doing this for shows in general#i am a bit nervous since i'm used 2 just blending in with a crowd due to moshing everybody being packed in etc#whereas here that obviously won't be a thing and everyone will kinda just be standing there noddin along#but it is okay i always seem to find cool folks to talk to at ag related shows#and even if i don't i know i'll have a great time#also i really hope the epic wavernot4love x anthony crossover can finally happen#genuinely i have so much 2 say this dude's music has had such a positive impact on my life this past year n a half#and i wanna chat about that a little bit#anyways off i go 2 jam some ag tunes i am so excited also mohawk place is a gr8 venue i can't wait to be back there#also ah i'm gonna see if i can find anything setlist wise from the first show 2nite in pa since i kinda like to know what 2 expect#anthony green#ls dunes#boom done#wavernot4love gets 2 the gig#wavernot4lovetalksmusic#wavernot4love talks ag tunes#yippee
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gayemoji · 11 months ago
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jesus fucking christ.
#abt wilbur.#abuse#this is largely going to be my rambling immediate largely self centric thoughts so . yknow keep scrollin if you dont want that.#i have nothing meaningful to add to the conversation except watch shelbys vod.#at first i only saw wills tweet bc my brother told me about it#and i thought it was about his EX ex girlfriend or something so i brushed it off like 'oh okay damn a general misunderstanding'#then i searched tumblr saw shubble. found her vod . jesus christ.#hes always poked fun at himself being like 'yeah im shit and manipulative'#so theres always been a nagging. ick . in the back of my head. but never enough to actually. stop myself from liking his content/music.#so yeah. another lesson in 'no no red flags exist for a reaosn. listen to your instincts is a saying for a reason.'#all the love and support to shelby. her candidness & how obviously much she HAS been able to grow past THAT SHIT is genuinely inspirational#not that she needs to be inspirational etc. etc. its just good to know she'll be okay. shes in a good place. thank god.#all the stress for wilburs content friends. whether theyve been manipualteed whether theyve whatever i hope theyre . making good choices.#i say give them time. ik theres a lot of creators immediately coming out. therell be a lot who have to process this shit.#there'll be a lot whove. knowinigly / accidentally been complicit. theyre individuals treat them as such.#personally i just . have not cared about m a n y dsmp era mcyt for a W H I L E . so im happy to detach forever at thsi rate.#i havent been in the mcyt sphere for a hot fucking minute now. i hope youre all doing okay.#this shit hits weird. its okay to feel weird. if you want somewhere to vent my dms the replies on this post the tags are all free and open.#don't stew in it. you dont have to fear feeling selfish or self-centric or shifting the spotlight. you need to let that shit out.#thsis hit sucks !!!! a bunch of his/lvjy songs are comfort songs for me.#idk what the fuck to do about that. my immediate /want/ is to burn it. but thats easier said than done sometimes#if youre gonna 'separate the art from the artist' at least fucking pirate his music. youtube to mp3 that shit.#you can add local 'on your computer' files to spotify.#seperate art from the artist by seperating his monetary gain of YOUR consumption of it as much as possible. /AT LEAST/.#but also good luck separating his largely personal art from him.#im not tryna be condescending im in the same boat.#fucking white whine in a wetherspoons is no. 2 on my panic attacks playlist.#thats not his to take from me anymore. but ik if i listen to it ever again itll make my skin crawl.#ofc its not about me. its not about us the unaware fans. and im glad to know for sure now hes a REAL piece of shit.#m
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noxtivagus · 2 years ago
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i'm rlly happy i started listening to the 1975
#🌙.rambles#at first i thought they had more sus songs so i didn't listen to them for a while#n the first song i listened to them was fallingforyou n the only song i rlly listened to for a while#n then. i listened to some other popular ones at first which were more on the ballad slow type yeah#which i like too but then. i listened to more n now. oh my god#i really appreciate their views on society ! in abiiof i rlly. understand where they're coming from#that kind of thing is smth that means a lot to me yk? just. a lot of things in society in general n then#while i may not relate personally to the ones more on the topic of love n uhm yeah yk#i do understand them well n probably more than i shld 😭 i don't have experience myself but for me it's just#understanding n learning is just really important to me. so i know of more.. mature things still#i rlly love how. w their beats n the music. n then the meaning behind it. i really appreciate it. i love it so much#n then live they're just !!!! really performers#i really love how they just. do what they want yk? be who they are#n then. particularly since i know more of him w stuff i've watched n read#matty really is intelligent. he looks at life deeper than most. n i relate to a lot that i know of him#also like getting more into music w the bands n all rlly reminded me of how i rlly want to make my own one day#like. a lot of my goals n dreams r like. relating to literature n games n science n music#both in like learning or taking n then creating in a way#specifically in music here yk i really grew up w music. a lot of influences from so many artists n then#i played piano ever since 8 n then i rlly learned well but we stopped having lessons n i got more busy w my studies#since i'm.. an academic achiever as well n my grades have always been great in general n then#i love all genres. i can't even rlly write abt that rn bcs my love for music is rlly just so much#n then i don't know how to explain it but.. when i listen to music i really really Listen to it like. yk i take in everything abt it#i love music so much. oh man#i cld ramble on even more abt the 1975 too i think they're rlly special in the industry#i rlly love how they juxtapose darker topics w their upbeat songs?#i'm gna be productive now phew i'm rlly glad we have a long weekend. i'll make the most of this time.
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valodia · 2 months ago
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aeolianblues · 4 months ago
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joelsgoldrush · 5 months ago
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“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k
worst!logan howlett x f!reader
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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
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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?
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“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.”
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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.”
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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.”
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part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”
dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)
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angeltism · 1 year ago
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honestly yeah two years is kinda. not a lot DHAJHFSHH but considering everything that's happened in those two years yeah it feels like it, my brain chemicals have changed around 40 different times these three years and i dont know what to make of it man/SILLY
HEHE IM GLAD YOU LIKE THE NAME it just fits so well to whatever we have going on right now HSJSHSJSH AND OMG THOSE ARE SUCH CUTER NAMES WAA... hehe im The lovey anon now... im glad my asks have such an effect on you, i love making people feel well. Loved. so i hope im doing a good job at that, im doing my best just for you ~
SORRY IF THE ASKS ARE TAKING WAY TOO LONG I THINK REALLY HARD ABOUT WHAT WAY IM GONNA ANSWER NEXT FJSJFHSJH chatting with you is so so fun though thinking way too hard about everything i say really makes it feel like im hand writing a letter for someone special and well. you really are special so. ^_^
- 💌 anon
OUGH relatable n understandable . . . and yay omg it does !!! good pick . and yes uu are THE lovey anon nyeow !! the dear idol has bestowed this title upon thee >:3 !!!
and agh yes uur . doing a great job atbeing lovey actually . I feel a teeny bit embarrassed admitting that because we have had like 2 conversations but agh uu are so interesting n I wanna keep talking . like I am soso curiousies 2 learn more abt uu !! like uu purrobably know tons abt me from following me (? I'm nawt exactly great w nawt sharing nearly every thought on here) n I bet there's a lot of interesting n kewl things about uu y'know ^_^
also absolutely no worries I appreciate all the thought going into these like hello omg ?!?!? once again uu are flattering me sm how do uu do it honestly . . .
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netripper · 1 year ago
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THIS is the pharcyde song on my bf's 2011 johnny playlist btw
youtube
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cryptidapprentice · 1 year ago
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uhhh
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chronically-ghosted · 2 months ago
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i'm empty without you, so come grow within me
AO3 Link | main masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist
rating: explicit (18+)
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
word count: 9K
summary: with winter approaching, joel takes stock of what he wants and what he has in his life. he wants you, but he's not quite sure he has you, not in a way that only a life in Jackson can afford. joel's an old-fashioned guy, so he's looking for an old-fashioned love . . . if he can only remember how to do it right.
inspired by the songs 'why don't we just dance' by Josh Turner and 'the kind of love we make' by Luke Combs, this fulfills a request from @handsomehelmet for my 1k celebration (creativity struck and now i'm going to make it everyone's problem)
warnings: the nastiest thing i can possibly imagine which is romance and sincerity, some willie nelson lyrics, established situationship, no age of reader specified, body insecurity, feelings of unworthiness/shame, survivor's guilt, blatant disregard for old man knees by eating pussy on the floor, unprotected piv, a teenager bullying fully grown adult to quit being stupid.
a/n: i know everyone gets into a tizzy when Joel doesn’t name what Tess is to him in front of Bill and while there probably was a heaping amount of guilt that accompanied that omission, i wonder if it might be a bit more complicated: he simply couldn’t name one thing because she was all things to him. A friend, a lover, a guide, a support system, a protector, a partner. So he says it the best way he can: “she’s mine.”
come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers
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By the fourth bag, all you can think about is a warm shower. 
A chance to scrub away the dirt smeared on your arms, your neck, probably your face. You’d brought your own work gloves to bag fresh dirt for the greenhouse, but the longer you work, more sprinkles of dirt find their way down the lip of your gloves. You can feel it against your palms, under your nails. The cold winter air lurks beneath the crack of the door, stifled from invading by the artificial heat provided by the generator just outside, and it stifles you too with its oppressive weight. You’re fairly sure the dirt on your forehead has turned to mud, sweat and damp earth encrusted on your dry skin. 
By the sixth, you doubt your shoulders will ever move again without popping. 
You know Joel’s already do. 
Never a particularly chatty man even in his best moods, the greenhouse had become stuffy with heat and silence, both you and Joel too lost in the work to find the energy to even fake idle chatter. But, knowing this about Joel and a certain degree yourself, silences with him were never a bad thing. That was one of the things you enjoyed most about being with him; you two could do your own things together. Many snowy days were spent with him stretched out on the couch, reading, and you working on writing your sheet music on the floor, his knee hovering over your shoulder with your back to the cushions – spent in total silence, and they are some of the fondest memories you had since coming to Jackson and falling into the third and final piece of the Miller-Williams household. 
Like with the end of the world, you weren’t sure how you got there until everything had fallen into place around you; Joel and his adoptive daughter had been just another group who were taken in by the town of Jackson . . . until they weren’t. Ellie was just another foul-mouthed kid who had seen too much and had too much taken from her . . . until she wasn’t. Joel was your occasional patrol partner and a fellow Willie Nelson fan. . . until he wasn’t.
Until that unmistakable line, one that seemed to be lost on a global scale beneath the blood and the gore and the grief, had been crossed when he asked you out for drinks and the both of you knew the evening wasn’t going to end in a nightcap. 
And then you were partners, even outside of patrol. Partners in re-enforcing a weakened part of Jackson’s outer walls. Partners in cooking, attempting to recreate an enchilada recipe Joel only vaguely remembered from a Tex-Mex hole-in-the-wall fifteen minutes from where he used to live in Austin. Partners when it’s snowing heavily outside and there’s not much to do except to read and, well . . . Joel was a fantastic partner in that.
Joel Miller was a great partner for a lot of things. He worked diligently, quickly and, unless the conversation was started by someone else, silently. 
He, in short, was not someone who was easily distracted.
Which, in combination with your own exhaustion and a desire to scrub the first layer of your skin off with a loofah, is why you feel a flare of annoyance when you look up and see him staring off into the distance. His fingers loosely grip the handle of the shovel, his palm resting over the curved point, Joel’s expression is nearly unreadable, except for the small crevice between his eyebrows. He stands, fixated on the greenhouse wall, as if watching the blurry Christmas lights from the town square, suddenly oblivious to the work you two have been doing for the past hour and a half. 
“Joel.” Nothing. “Joel!” 
You raise your hand to smack him on the leg when, without looking down, he asks:
“When was the last time I took you out?” 
“What?”
His weight shifts, holds the shovel by one hand now. You catch a sliver of frustration in those deep brown eyes as he looks at you. He wears what you and Ellie secretly refer to as his “pouty-mouth”, a classic expression when he isn’t getting his way about something but won’t draw attention to the fact that it annoys him.
“Tell me about the last date I took you on.”
You huff, standing up with a pop in your hips. Your knees are aching from kneeling on the cold winter ground and your skin fluxes between overheating under your jacket and stiffly frozen on your extremities. 
“Joel, c’mon, be serious. We’ve got three more –,”
“I am being serious.” Dumb-founded, you watch as he digs the tip of the shovel into the ground with a hollow chunk. Crosses his arms and continues to frown at you like you just suggested doing away with the Christmas holiday entirely. “We’ll get to this, but I want you to tell me right now what we did on our last date.”
You roll your eyes, humoring him. “Fine, I don’t know what crawled up your ass, but okay. On our last date, we . . . we did . . . you took me to . . .”
It’s your turn to frown. He raises a petulant eyebrow and it’s eerie how many times you’ve seen that exact expression on Ellie. 
“Okay, fine, so it’s been a while. We’ve been busy – we’ve all been busy with the winter season coming. All of Jackson has been out battening down the hatches. What does it matter if we’ve let things slide a bit?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, quiet in his Joel way. He glances out through the blurred greenhouse glass and maybe he was actually staring at the string lights hung over Jackson’s square. Normally, you didn’t mind being unable to dissect his every expression, every sigh, every carefully wielded silence, but when it came to you and his feelings about you – feelings that were always implied in those silences – you wished you had a little window, some hint, as to what rumbled on behind those earth-dark eyes. 
Joel drums his fingers on the handle of the shovel, unease rolling through his body as he shifts his weight. 
“Matters some,” he tells the ground. “With the holidays comin’ around . . . matters for Ellie – her first winter here in Jackson. Matters for Tommy, with that new baby of his . . .”
“Your nephew,” you supply as much as prod. Sometimes the only way to get an honest answer out of him was when he was just a bit pissed off and less guarded. Instead he just nods, gloved hand on his hip, thick jacket widening his already confounding broadness.
“It matters because it’s important. To me. It’s important to me.”
He meets your gaze and you’re struck full force again with that feeling like you drank too much of the Tipsy Bison’s shitty whiskey too fast. Same feeling that couldn’t be drowned even with the Tipsy Bison’s shitty whiskey when you shared a drink with him for the first time. When you managed to laugh when he bet you a whole day of stable cleaning duties that Willie Nelson and Chris Stapleton survived the apocalypse somewhere in a shack in Tennessee. Joel Miller was disarmingly funny when he wanted to be.
And even worse, disarmingly sincere.
You take his gloved hand in yours. You feel the sensation of his fingers threading through yours but not the heat you’ve grown so accustomed to. 
“Alright, then. What do you want to do about it?” You ask quietly, to the upturned collar around his neck, his green flannel peeking out from behind the zipper of his jacket. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s a lot of snow on the ground so that makes our options for date night kinda limited.” You scrunch your nose at him because you like to see the light in his eyes bloom when you do.
He chuckles, a rumbling sound, and he drops his forehead against yours, fingers tightening their grip around yours. Suddenly in your throat, your heart pounds. He’s never this affectionate in public. Maybe it’s those miraculously blurred greenhouse glass walls. 
His breath smells like that peppermint toothpaste that came in last week, infused with the warming-coil smell from the greenhouse. 
“Dunno yet.” He admits. “I’ll think of somethin’.”
“No ideas yet?” You raise your eyebrows against his forehead and he grins, shaking his head.
“Not yet.” 
“Then can I make a suggestion?”
“‘Course.”
“We finish bagging this dirt, then head home for a shower. In a really sexy way, obviously.” 
He huffs, smothering a laugh, and quick as lightning he kisses you on the cheek. But in the same movement, steps away and grabs the shovel again. You don’t have time to react to the fact he just kissed you for the first time outside of the four walls of his house before he’s scooping up dirt. You drop to your knees to pick up the bag again, your legs already weak.
“We both know you’re going to pass out on the couch the second we’re home.”
Your voice is steadier than you feel, as you look up at him. His face is flushed and that worry line between his eyes is gone. 
“You got me pegged, Miller. You got me pegged.”
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Two days later, he stands in the middle of his living room, hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork. All of the furniture has been pushed to the far ends of the room, up against the walls or against the staircase out in the hallway. He’s kept the overhead lights off and put the standing lamps in the corners, bathing the room in a despondent glow. He thinks, after a quarter of a century never even entertaining something like this, it might be interpreted as romantic. He hopes you’ll see it that way at least. 
He hears it now, in his head, even though she’s out in the disconnected garage, snug and warm as he could have possibly made it – you worry too much, old man. 
Ellie knows there’s something going on between you two. Hell, the entire town has cottoned onto whatever this is; you’re often seen leaving his house early in the morning, and he’s been seen on occasion strolling up to your house with flowers. It’s not new, it’s not a secret, but it is . . . it just is and that’s about as far as he’s gotten. 
He hasn’t had you over for dinner with Ellie in that very specific way that very much needs to happen, as it often does when there is a new presence added to an established dynamic – as Maria often reminds him. But that almost feels like presenting your head on a silver plate to Ellie to either sniff with disinterest or tear into – both terrifying scenarios, even though they seem unlikely. Ellie does in fact seem to like you very much, as her riding teacher and occasional greenhouse buddy. But would she continue to like you in the context of you being one half of “You and Him” as a pair? Together. As a couple . . . of people who are seeing each other, whatever that means in a world filled with the most aggressive form of fungus imaginable. 
This life in Jackson, this fragile second chance to remember and rekindle his own natural instincts, is too precious to bet on a question like that. 
So he doesn’t ask it. At least not out loud. 
That’s one of the things he likes so much about you: his silences aren’t entirely indecipherable and often are encouraged by your own. Except this silence about this particular thing doesn’t feel like one of your shared, comfortable moments and instead it’s encroaching rapidly into avoidance. 
Standing in that greenhouse and seeing the string lights over the town square reminded him of a long ago Christmas, dancing with his favorite person under a Christmas tree, and how good it made him feel. How special it made him feel. All these years later, safe in a way his body has almost forgotten, there’s an urge he has to share that feeling, to recreate it under entirely different circumstances, with someone new. Someone else. To not try and fight the smile that constantly threatens to buoy up every time he’s around you. 
It’s foreign, that feeling in his chest, but it’s not entirely alien, at least not of late. 
He knows he’s white-knuckling it because he knows firsthand how painfully quick it can all be gone. Taken away. Left and buried by a black river while the world burns.
But he’s worried he’ll crush it with how tightly he holds on. How hard he begs a silent universe for it to last just a little bit longer. 
His knees ache, his left shoulder goes tight when it rains, his body is not what it once was, but his mind is still there, still clear, and he remembers how romance used to feel, where it used to reside in his younger body, and as he stares out at the cleared room, listening to your footsteps overhead as you attempt to follow his vague instructions to “make yourself feel pretty” (because you already were to him, even covered in dirt and sawdust), he thinks this feels like the old world. An old world romance. It’s foreign, that feeling, but for the first time in a long time he doesn’t want to hold it at arm’s length.
“Joel?” You call from the top of the stairs, your voice tentative and cautious. But not cautious like you peeking around a corner to look for clickers. But cautious as in unsure, doubtful. You are a woman made up of a lot of things, with foundations unlike he’d ever seen before, but doubt is not a part of you. You never doubt him. 
“Yeah, baby?” Your nerves make him nervous and he futzes with a lampshade while waiting for you.
“Are you done down there?” 
He has to breathe slowly through the fluttering beneath his breastbone before he can answer. “Yeah, baby, all finished. You can come down now.”
“Okay . . . but you can’t laugh.” Him, laugh at you? There’s the instinct to smother the faint grin that spreads out across his mouth, but he told himself he wasn’t going to fight whatever came across his face tonight. If you see it, then you see it and he’s come to accept that. 
(Maybe even want that.)
He shakes his head, his only pair of nice boots (a thank you from a former rancher when Joel fixed his family’s heater) clicking on the hardwood floor as he stands at the bottom of the stairs. You must be hiding behind the wall because he can’t see you. 
“I’m not gonna laugh, sweetheart. Why d’ya think I’d laugh?” 
Silence faces him at the top of the stairs, and then:
“Because quite frankly I forgot my tits could look like this and I don’t know how to feel about it.” 
The snort that comes out of him is a poor attempt to muffle the chuckle. He thumbs the wood finial at the top of the bannister. 
“Can’t remember ever having any complaints before and I don’t think I’ll have ‘em now, no matter how they look.” 
“Whatever, Miller, you’re just a horn dog.” 
He rolls his eyes, fingers rubbing anxiously together at his side, as if he could tug the fluttering out of his chest. He leans on the other foot, the one with the bad knee, to adjust the slightly uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. A dark swirl in the second step of the stairs has become wildly interesting.
“Baby, just come down here. I’m not gonna laugh. Promise.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” you grumble, still out of sight. “I know where you keep your feral child and I will not hesitate to let her loose on you.”
Joel nods, grinning faintly, still focused resolutely on the whorl in the floor. “That’s a real big threat from someone who –,”
The words die in his throat.
In fact, he’s quite sure he won’t be capable of speech for a very long time. 
That foreign feeling – that feeling he’s worked for twenty years to suppress – is ignited in his chest. 
You walk, no, maybe you float down the stairs in the most stunning red dress he’s ever seen. It’s definitely not yours – he knows every inch of your closet because he had inspected it studiously when you offered to keep some of his clothes at your place and he was trying very hard to delay putting a handful of his belongings beside a woman’s things in a move that felt heart-stoppingly domestic. 
No, he has never, ever seen you in this dress. 
Come to think of it, he’s never seen you in any dress and you were entirely correct that your tits look wildly different. Fantastically different, but –
“Maria didn’t have any heels that fit me to go with the dress,” you announce airily, your chin up. But your eyes dart over his face as if looking for something you need to find. “But it’s fourteen degrees outside, Joel, and I’m not doing whatever this is in just socks because that’s ridiculous so you’re just going to have to deal with the boots.”
The Boots. The ones you wear while crushing clicker skulls and tending the stables. They still bear damp spots from where you tried to clean the blood and dirt from the leather.
It’s rather incapacitating how arousing he finds this particular combination.
So much so, he doesn’t realize he hasn’t said anything in a full minute until you bark at him, a cold tinge of panic in your voice.
“Joel!” His eyes snap to yours. Of course, you’re fucking beautiful – your eyes seem bigger, cheeks pinker, mouth wet – fucking Christ, where did you get make up? 
“Say something!” Those rosy lips drop down and to his horror, you’re upset. “Please!”
“B-baby, you look . . .” He doesn’t mean to grab your entire ass in one hand; he just wants to feel as much of that velvet on your skin as possible. You stumble into his arms, another something that is so unlike you, as he tugs you forward. Bends his lips to your ear to discover how fast you’re breathing. How fast your pulse races in your neck. The shudder that breaks the rigidity of your body when he brushes his mouth, the short bristles of his beard, against your skin is no surprise; you told him exactly what that sensation does to you in no uncertain terms the first night he ate you out on the table of your kitchen. “You look incredible.”
Your fingers bite into his biceps. Push back out of his arms, despite the obvious warmth in your cheeks. You level his arousal in a single glare. “Joel, I asked you not to tease.” 
Tommy once told him he was a pain in the ass to be around sometimes because he displays every negative emotion as anger and so it’s damn near impossible to figure out whatever it was he was so bent out of shape about.
Sadness as anger.
Shame as anger.
Guilt as anger.
Fear as anger.
With your fingers balled up, it's the tremor in your fists that gives you away. 
He had genuinely intended this to be a quiet night away from the cafeteria, away from the Tipsy Bison, away from anyone else. He wanted you all to himself and in his greed, he didn’t see it until he saw it in your eyes. 
How vulnerable being pretty made you. How vulnerable privacy made you. 
How being vulnerable made you so deeply, deeply afraid. 
Almost as afraid as he was. 
Without a word, he turns to the record player, strategically hidden behind the couch and puts on the carefully selected record. The silent scratches for a moment before –
Your eyes widen as Nelson begins to sing his most beautiful love song (in Joel’s humble opinion). Your shoulders slacken, hands lose their grip, you blink up at him in total bewilderment. You aren’t an indecisive person, you’re quick as a whip, rarely confused – so this befuddled look on your face is kinda cute. 
Tucking that rare look on your face away for another time, Joel wanders to the center of the room, in the heat of the light from the fireplace, his good boots clicking over the wood. He opens his arms, hand out to you.
“Let’s try something new tonight.”
I'll always be with you for as long as you please
For I am the forest but you are the trees
The decision you make is a visible one. 
Your palm is warm, weighted as it slides over his. This time his hand respectably settles on your waist, then on your low back when (to his surprise) you come closer. He’s delighted to watch you smile at him, distantly aware of the stretch of his own on his face. 
Willie strums on his guitar, crooning softly, the sound warm and deep. With the weight of you against his chest, that feeling crackles like the flames over the wood logs in the fireplace. You drop your head, turn your cheek, and just before you come to rest on his shoulder, he sees your smile slide into a smirk.
“New, huh? What’s new look like for a sixty-five-year-old man at the end of the world?” Even with teasing, your voice is soft and sweet, the soft powder of cinnamon. Slowly, as if not to startle either one of you, he leans his chin against your forehead.
“You n’ I’ve been burning both ends, keepin’ the lights on. New to us is having a goddamn break.” His voice is low, meant only for you, and in the tremble of his deep bass, the words elongate in his mouth. He brings your intertwined hands just under his chin and when that goes well, he tightens his grip around your back, drawing you flush against him. It reduces the dancing to more of a sway but Joel can’t find a single thing to complain about. You gently tap the pad of your middle finger in the hollow of his collarbone to the beat of the song.
I'm empty without you so come grow within me
For I am the forest and you are the trees
And the heavens need romance so love never dies
“‘N ‘m only fifty-six, jackass.” 
You grin, twisting in his grasp, rub your nose on his chest to wrap your arms around his neck. He clutches to your back like a key finding its lock. 
You'll be the stars dear and I'll be the sky
And should any of this find us let them all be forewarned
That you are the thunder and I am the storm
“This is nice, Joel,” you murmur in his ear. The backs of his arms are growing warm by the fire. He presses his lips to your exposed shoulder, unsure of what to say, or what not to say, only nodding. He closes his eyes, trying to hold this moment forever in his memory. The soft flare of your waist, the winged-spread of your ribs, beneath his hands brings him back into your arms.
"Yeah?" Quiet, into your skin as if to muffle the question entirely, to muffle the unsure wobble in his voice. "It's good?"
He feels you nod beneath his chin, the smell of fresh soap escaping from the back of your neck, and the clamp around his throat loosens. He breathes, unimpeded for the first time all night, a low exhale taking the tension from his body as the air leaves his lungs.
Relief. A sinking down into the moment, into your arms.
You chuckle with your cheek against his chest and he feels the vibrations down to his stomach.
"Yeah, Joel, you did good. Really good." With the hand he holds in the air, you rub your thumb over the knuckle of his thumb, soothing. It used to bother him you could read the lines of his emotions as well as you read a book, as well as you write your own name, effortlessly, as if you had been given a guide no one ever thought to show him. But now, now that you understand how much this means to him, that you know he needs to be told he made you happy, it's more than relief. It's an unburying – a resuscitation of pieces of himself (seed-like bone fragments) that he thought had long since died in the soil of his ribs. "Thank you. I needed this."
He wants you to see the whole of him. Lift up an antiquated silver plate and show you the dents and scratches in his reflection. When you kiss his cheek gently, the hope floating in his chest flares, a solar explosion with tendrils that reach into the blackness of space and it asks him, what would you do to keep her?
Everything. Anything.
He shuffles closer, feels the warmth of your body lined up against his, the clean scent beneath the edge of your jaw blooming in his nose and throat. The hope hums, pitches dark like the forest floor in the rain, and grows teeth. His want for you digs into his skin and evolves into a needy, unsatisfied thing.
“Where’d you get this dress, hm?” He asks, lips half an inch from your shoulder. It falls and rises, never catching on your skin as he plays with the fabric. He runs his palm up your spine, the velvet coming with him, and watches as the swell of your thighs and the tease of your ass is revealed. Dirty old man. “‘N who do I have to kill to get you to keep it?”
You laugh into his neck. He wonders if you’re intentionally twisting his curls at the base of his neck to send sparks of arousal down his spine or if you are completely unaware of the cause of his insanity. Your hands are littered with scars and calluses and every time you touch him, he could melt through the floorboards.
“They found it in some strip mall and were actually going to strip it down for material. But Aaron at the sewing center owed me a favor and you said wear something nice, so . . .” You thumb the lip of his collar, your fingertips brushing the knot of his spine every time you drag your fingers back and forth. 
And I'll always be with you for as long as you please
For I am the forest and you are the trees
He knows you well enough to know that something lingers in your mind, but even after all this time, even after what he’s seen with you, been through with you, the things he’s done to you – he isn’t quite sure if he has the right to ask. 
Instead, he squeezes you. He means to do it just with his hands, but ends up swallowing you in his arms. 
Your mouth is pressed up against his chest when you finally go on. 
“It just seems silly to keep, Joel.” 
The high he’s been riding on all night falters, since you first walked down those stairs to him. Your eyes are wet when he pulls back and cups you by your cheek. He stops swaying with you.
“Why’s that?” 
There it is, that all too familiar flicker of fear. You can’t look at him, despite his every touch, his every glance pulling you into him, to be near him. 
“Because other people should have it. They should have a chance to . . .” 
You withdraw your head from his hands, his thumb brushing your jaw as you retreat. He might actually lose a piece of himself if you let go now, but instead you clasp his wrists in your fingers. You stare at your hands and his between you, as if this whole thing between you could solidify at your feet, finally real. 
Willie has stopped singing, only that musky drone on an empty track.
“Someone else should have a chance to feel pretty, to feel this way, because it shouldn’t be wasted and I’m afraid – I wonder if –,”
He knows he’s being a bit too rough when he takes your jaw and straightens your gaze to him, but his heart might fly out of his chest before he has a chance to say anything. His stomach turns, not knowing he’s not at the peak of a roller coaster drop, that he’s standing on solid ground, even if it swims under his feet.
“What you feel is not wasted.” A murmur, stern, as steadily and as serious as he possibly can be.
That feeling aches in his chest and you haven’t even gone anywhere. You haven’t left . . . yet. “What this is, is not wasted time. I spent twenty years wasting time, looking for something that wasn’t there, and with you . . . I can’t say I’ve found it –,”
“Why? Why can’t you say you’ve found it?” Your grip around his wrists tightens, eyes hard. “Why can’t you name it, Joel?”
“Can you?” He pulls his hands out of your grip and you let him go. “How can you ask for what you want when you can’t even ask to keep this dress?” 
“Because I don’t deserve it!” It’s not silence that follows; it’s emptiness. You face away from him, pressing the heel of your hand into your brow bone, teeth slightly bared. Your arm bars across your stomach like you are literally holding in your guts. Finally, you lift your head, the few scant tears on your face sparkling in the firelight. “I don’t deserve you, Joel. I don’t deserve any of this. Ellie, the way she . . . I’m here, warm and happy, acting like the fucking world hasn’t ended. Playing house, playing pretend. Pretending like I’m your –,”
You swallow the words caught in your throat, gaze leaping away from him. At your side, your hand trembles again. 
Oh, honey, the shit I’ve done . . . 
With wide, wet eyes, you watch him approach. He doesn’t look at you, instead seeing exactly where he’d like to put his lips on your stomach beneath the fabric. 
“Then what do you want, hm?” There’s a fold in the front of the dress and he runs his fingers along the edge of it. “We can’t fix it. Can’t go back ‘cause there’s nothin' to go back to. I don’t care what you had to do to get here, right here, with me because I’m so fuckin’ glad you are. I’m not pretending, not wasting my time, never was. ‘Cause you’re right.” 
Your hand over his stills his endless roving and then it stays, scarred hand over scarred hand. Your gesture says something to him, something so meaningful he has no idea how to put it into words. He swallows his attempt and instead, slowly, drags both hands over your hips, where they stay. Heavy against the velvet. 
You rest your own against his forearms, neither pulling him in or pushing him back. 
“I was right about what?”
His eyes flick to yours and maybe it’s presumptuous, maybe he really is an old man afraid of his feelings, or maybe living this long – despite everything that ever tried to make it otherwise – living this long has granted him the privilege of knowing with perfect clarity what you’re thinking when you look at him like that. How he wants to whisper it back to you and he decides he will the next time your skin is warm and tacky, body helpless beneath his. 
Your eyes shamelessly track the brush of his tongue against his bottom lip.
“That you’re mine. Just like I’m yours.” 
The hands at his forearms glide up to his chest. The rims of your irises have gone a bit blurred, a bit unstable, and you can’t decide whether to look at his mouth or his eyes.
“Joel?” Suddenly breathy, all begging, pleading.
“Hm?”
“Get me out of this fucking dress.” 
When your lips crash into his, his entire world narrows down to where on his body, yours touches: 
your rough hand cradling his cheek, the other fisting the collar of his shirt. His fingers digging into your skirt, the heat from your thigh nearly driving him to tear straight through the fabric to get to you. Your sweet, perfect mouth smeared against his, lips puffed pink, nose to your cheek. 
That warm, wet cunt he thinks he can feel through his boxers, jeans, the dress and your underwear. 
It’s not enough. 
The cry you let out is some mangled mix of a moan and his name when he licks the soft supple skin behind your ear and nips your earlobe.
“Baby, please – please – bedroom, we have to–,”
He grunts his disapproval at your words, overwhelmed by the scent that makes his mouth water as he stains the column of your throat with wet, humid kisses. 
“Joel, c’mon, honey, just upstairs –,” 
The last flickering tiny speckle of logic in his brain fights with itself; take your right here or haul you over his shoulder – which isn’t great for his back and, quite frankly, he intends to spend most of the night on his knees. 
First option it is. 
You mumble in confusion, eyes shut, chin brushing the thread of gray curls on the top of his head as he purposefully sucks a bright hickey into your collarbone, one hand cupping your breast, the other pushing you backwards. You go willingly, of course. 
Until the backs of your legs hit the couch and there’s nowhere else to go. In the stumble, your dress rides up even higher and those thighs he’s actually lost sleep over appear to him. He drops to his knees, hands like meat hooks as they squeeze your waist, pulling that warm cunt even closer to him over the edge of the couch. You groan when he pushes the skirt up even higher, practically to your tits, as he explores your outer, then inner thighs with soft strokes of the back of his hands. He presses his nose to the crevice between your thigh and hip and inhales. 
“B-baby, the windows,” you swallow thickly, slurring like you’re drunk, grabbing at his shoulders like you’re trying to steady yourself, or turn him towards the windows. “I mean – the curtains, baby, the curtains are –,”
“It’s a fucking blizzard outside,” he explains tersely with his eyes still closed, as if irritated to have a conversation instead of focusing every ounce of concentration he has to the heat and smell beneath your black panties. He drags his teeth over the elastic band around your hips and makes you whine his name for an entirely different reason. 
You don’t make him stop or wait when he tugs those panties down your hips. In fact, you help, lifting your hips, the irises of your eyes so wide and black, you look halfway out of your mind.
Good.
He gathers the skirt he was once so fond of and stuffs it into the cushions behind you. You watch him as he moves, eyes half-lidded, finger scraping your bottom lip. Around his ribs, your knees dip back and forth, moving targets, like he’s forgotten why he’s here and needs reminding. 
His big paw, the size of which makes you feel indescribably small, catches your knee and stills it, gaze dark and heavy. Do not test me right now. You try not to moan. 
“Can’t believe I’m going to let you fuck me with my boots on,” you whisper airly, watching with delirious fascination as he puts one of your slender legs over his shoulder. His mouth is actually watering at the sight of your damp curls. 
“Not gonna fuck you. Just gonna eat your pussy. You’ll know the difference.”
“Semantically, it’s the sa-a-me thi-ng, Jo-e – ah, Joel!” 
His tongue up inside you turns you into a whiny, high-pitched, feminine mess. He eats like he does everything else: diligently, quickly, and silently. 
Until you bury your fingers in his ash-flecked curls and tug. 
That first deep, loud moan ripples through his body, rolling him up just off his heels, his crotch seeking some kind – any kind – of friction. 
The feel of his mouth humming against your cunt has your eyes rolling back in your head. “Please, oh fuck, please –” 
You are a grown woman. You should not be making these noises. 
You also shouldn’t be using a man’s face to get off . . . but you do it anyway.
“Tha’s it, baby,” he mutters when your hips grind against his face. His nose catches your clit and around him, your thighs wobble. “Use me, fuckin’ use me.” 
His grip around your calf over his shoulder turns rough and he knows he’ll bruise you, but fuck, the thought of you walking around town with a mark in the shape of his hand where everyone can see —
He briefly lifts his grip from your thigh to adjust his iron-hot cock in his jeans. From his view over your cunt, it doesn't seem like you noticed, or even saw him leave your skin. He watches you writhe, try to capture your breath, eyes crammed shut as your hips rock almost without your control. He takes a chance to lick the musky dampness from his upper lip when your cunt rolls back from his face a fraction of an inch — and then he sinks in again.
Call it age or the fact that you both are here at the end of the world, but the first night he ate you out, you told him exactly how and where you like it, unabashed and in control and honestly it’s the hottest thing he can think of in recent memory. 
He would have written it down on the backs of his eyelids if he could. 
He follows it to the letter.
“Joel – Joel, baby, please don’t stop –,” You buck and moan beneath him as he spells out your instructions with his tongue along your cunt. He dots the i’s with a tap of his tongue or a lick on your clit. Just inches above his head, your chest heaves, your fingers locked into his curls, gently pushing him closer to your puffy pussy as if he’d ever waste a drop of what leaks out of you. 
With a flat-tongued brush against your suffering clit, you arch off the couch, your sighs now verging on desperate, high and whinging, because it’s just not fair how good he makes you feel. He can feel your foot curl against the planes of his back, the rubber heel heavy, your mouth open and wet, with your eyes locked on the ceiling as you try to ride out your humming orgasm with a semblance of control.
“Look at me.” 
No other man has ever been able to make you come with just his mouth, you told him once.
And no other man ever will. 
It’s sweet, the way your eyes soften briefly when you lock eyes with him, crouched between your thighs — before your head tips back, lips wrenched apart in a silent scream, and you come, as hard as he has worked for the flush of slick down his chin.
There’s goosebumps on your thighs, he notes. He rubs his thumb against your raised skin and you shudder, head rolling against the back of the couch.
He’s already feeling a slight twinge of shame at the noise his knees will inevitably make when he stands, but for now he’s content watching you glide down from your high, his head against your knee, shoulders still stretching your legs open wide. 
To his delight, you manage to laugh, your hand draping over your eyes. You can see the shine of the dull light all across his lips, his chin, his nose and you have to close your eyes. He should make you lick it off him, but not tonight.
“Top marks, Miller, as usual,” you mumble, “but the threat of voyeurism really deserves the extra credit.” 
He grins. Still waiting for your breath to slow, he wipes his mouth with his palm and slides the leg over his shoulder down in between his own thighs. Propped up on one knee, he begins to unlace your boot. He holds your calf like it’s delicate as he gently drags the boot over your heel. 
He’s just as reverent with the other side. 
And then your boots, the pair, sit at the end of his couch, like they were always meant to be there. 
His heart, easing down from its own thunderous beat, squeezes and that feeling, that strange-not-so-strange feeling, the one that dictates practically every action with you, dribbles into his veins. 
You open one eye. A flutter of lashes, coy and playful, the curve of your mouth guarding a hoard of secrets.
“Now, Joel Miller . . . will you take me to bed?” 
It’s a question. A request. Your eyes, as dark as ever, on his warm his chest, all the way down his spine. You’re asking, politely, for a thing you both know he would never, ever deny you. 
He cannot lose you, he just can’t. 
He stands and, yes, his knees crack and pop, but he regains stability when he toes off his only good pair of cowboy boots. He nods, grinning, and offers you his hand.
The walk, half-run up to his bedroom is something his brain designates as not important enough to store away. 
Instead, it languishes in the way you stretch out on his mattress before him, ass in the air, knees spread over his blankets and arms sliding through crumpled sheets towards the headboard. 
The room is dark, the only light fighting its way through the downpour of snow comes from the lamp posts that dot the street outside. But the veil of snow warps the light and everything in the half-darkness is doused in blue. 
The shadowy, blurred curve of your shoulder, blue. 
The spread of your fingers on his mattress, blue.
The swollen bottom of lip of your mouth —
“Joel.” 
The snow falls so fast and hard, it patters against the windows and the sides of the house. It’s the only thing he can hear over the pounding of his heart and the short breath in his lungs. He stares at you, soaking his blankets in your scent and slick, and you stare right back in utter and total silence. 
You sit in the center of his bed, bare for him beneath the velvet dress that is red like blood, your patchy white socks at complete odds with your smeared make up and the fucked-out look in your eyes. But there’s something else there too. 
Something softer. Gentler. 
You reach out a hand to him and he goes to you, like always. The instant your skin touches his the instinct to fuck you hard until you’re bruised and crying evaporates. He doesn’t think you want that anymore either. 
No, you need — 
“Joel, please come here. I need you.” 
You need him.
The mattress squeaks when he settles one knee and then the other on top of it, his fingers stroking your ear, brushing the tips of your hair, while he kisses you with an ache that is not physically manifested. Instead, it resides —
“I love you,” you whisper. 
You pull back infinitesimally, just enough that your eyes are all he sees. 
A patient silence hangs from the ceiling. The sound of snow falling. Of baited breath. The scratch of your fingers against at his beard —
“I love you too.” You smile and his body is no longer big enough to contain his heart. “I feel like I’ve always loved you. Is that strange?” 
Your gaze traces the same path your fingers take when you think he’s sleeping; it runs over his nose, his forehead, his eyebrows, the plush curve of his lips. Like you can’t believe he’s there with you. Like you can’t believe he’s real. 
That feeling — that feeling he had been fighting because it always was the only thing that would ever really do him in — is love. He loves you. 
He loves you.
And you love him. 
Didn’t think they told stories like this anymore, not in a world like this. So maybe, for once, Joel Miller just got lucky. 
“No. It’s not. Just be sure you mean it.”
He can't tell if the glow in your eyes comes from within you or it beams out of him. “Every word.”
Eventually, he sheds you of his favorite dress of yours, your only dress, and he lays you back, fully bare in the nest of his blankets. In the corner of his bedroom, the heater hisses like the wind from a purple storm, the static crackle of warmth hovering in the air. You watch, with eyes that shine like stars, as he pops apart the pearl-snaps holding his shirt together. 
And then his white undershirt goes next. He used to worry what he looked like, until he found someone else who had done exactly what was necessary to survive. 
When he goes to unzip his pants, you sit up, hair mussed and the hickey he gave you earlier throbbing like a dream. 
“I wanna do it.” 
He lets you unbutton his jeans, slide the zipper down, at the edge of the bed, but your hands are shaking, your breath stunted.
“I’m fumbling like a teenager,” you huff, a small, flustered smile on your face. “It’s like I’m nervous, but what is there to be nervous about —,”
His mouth pressed up against yours creates the most beautiful silence of all. 
How do you want me, you ask him and he thinks, all the time. But he takes you both under the covers and settles in next to you. He positions one leg over his hip and immediately you know exactly what he’s asking for. Quick as a whip, you are. 
There’s a rustle of covers, the bed slats squeaking, and then he’s nearly nose-to-nose with you. You kiss him again, maybe nervous still. 
He disconnects, when you slip between his legs and take his thick, leaking cock in your hand. 
“Baby, wait, do you need — I know it’s a lot — I’m a lot –,”
He can’t fathom why he’s so nervous either. But you chuckle, shake your head, smile at him. 
“Don’t need anything but you.” 
Your leg wraps tighter over his hip, knee up to his ribs, as he sinks inside you. The palm wrapped around the back of your knee grips roughly only once.
This is true silence. The instant where the world goes muted, everything distant and muffled, when he’s first buried deep in your heat. 
Your fingers thread through his curls and suddenly all sound is cranked up to an eleven. Your rapid, stilted breathing, the groan of the bed, your soft smothered moans, or are those his? —
“Fuck me, Joel.” 
Eyes never leaving yours, he does. 
Your fingers dig into his skull, nails biting, hand wrapped around his neck to hold yourself steady as he thrusts up into you. He thumbs your stiff nipple, half of his hand still grasping your ribs. 
You meet him thrust for thrust, a slow steady pace that draws sweat to his hairline and endless gasps from his mouth. But your gaze stays strong, never falters. Your hand slips to his shoulder, to stabilize just a bit more, but then it's on his chest, twisting his chest hair and he thinks he feels that sparkle of sanity, of rationality, any restraint to hold back crack and shatter between the clench of his teeth. 
“Goddamn–,” 
He rolls, taking you under him and demanding a faster pace. You push your hand against the headboard, the bed knocking against the wall in rhythmic, hypnotic thuds. 
He thinks you hiss his name before you bite down his shoulder. 
The sharp shock of pain lights up his brain, channeling the sudden awareness that he liked that so fucking much all the way down his spinal cord where it presses hot against his groin. 
He lifts up onto one elbow, skin sweat hot and sticky as it splits from yours. 
“Tell me what you need to come,” he pants.  
You whine again, your throat dripping sweat, but that’s not an answer. Knowing he has about a half-a-dozen to a dozen good grinds before it puts too much strain on his back, he uses every single one of them to drag you to the knife’s edge. 
“What–,” grind, “do you need –,” grind, “to come?”
The wail you let out nearly makes him come on the spot. Your eyes have that same, out-of-this-world, off-this-planet unfocused gaze, any sort of language impossible. You plead with him in the silence. A silence loaded with damp moans, grit teeth, and skin against skin against skin against skin against skin. Best sound in the world, as far as he was concerned.
You arch until he lifts above you and, taking the hand that was by your head, tuck it down between your legs. You let him grasp around with spread fingers where you are wet, where his cock rocks into your body, watch as that pulls him apart faster with dark eyes, before pressing his thumb against your clit. 
There, you say without words. There is where I need you.
Once, twice, he circles – he can feel the tightness in his back already settling in, his jaw fixed and locked, his body battling the two overwhelming sensations of dull pain and fierce, wild pleasure – and you hit your release and you soak him in it. 
He falls then too, falls just as hard and as fast as you, the chronic pain he holds in his shoulders, his neck, his back, his knee fleetingly gone in the rush of heat that branches out of his body from his groin and it feels divine.
When he lies on top of you, face buried in the curve of your neck, the heat from your humid skin warming up the breath in his lungs, the throb of your body matching his, his mind wiped clean, the thought occurs to him:
It’s not silence he’s found with you, it’s quiet. 
It’s peace.
Eventually, some awareness seeps back into his trembling body and he rolls off of you, but takes the curve of your jaw in his hand as he goes. He can’t settle into the pillows because he can’t stop kissing you, love bites occasionally against your lip, as if where his body fails, he proves his love for you won’t end so easily.
Eventually, you press your fingers into the base of his skull and, like a reset button, he groans and drops onto his back. 
Eventually, the quiet returns. Only soft noises, murmurs of existence outside of this perfect little room, fill the space. 
Eventually, he falls asleep with you curled up next to him. 
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He knows you love waking up in bed together, but he also knows you love fresh coffee even more. 
Which is where Ellie finds him the next morning. 
He nearly adds too much ground coffee to the pot because he’s distracted, lost in thought about the way your curves looked in the bright morning light, when the back door slams open and a little creature made of entirely scarves, mittens, and an oversized purple jacket stomps into his kitchen and clomps its snowy shoes on the rug. 
“Joel, we gotta go!” She’s a little breathless, red-cheeked too as she unwinds the scarf around her head and her face is revealed. “We don’t wanna miss it!”
“Miss what?” Joel asks, this time carefully measuring how much water the pot needs. 
His question is not met with her usually buzzy chatter. Instead, she’s stopped undoing her scarf and just stares at him like he’s been beamed down from another planet. 
He realizes all too late that he’s still in PJs at 9AM (basically a sign of another apocalypse), he’s making more coffee than just for himself, and he’s smiling. 
Shit.
“Ellie, um, I –,”
She rolls her eyes. Her scarf is flung off her neck and she starts yanking off her gloves, her plucky attitude back, if not a bit smug.
“Get your girlfriend up too. They’re lighting the big tree in town square in an hour. I know she’d be pissed if she missed it.” 
So definitely caught. Time to be “The Adult” here and put it out on the table. 
“Don’t call her that.” Joel eyes her. Coffee percolating, he grabs a slice of bread and Ellie’s favorite jam. “Makes it sound like we’re fourteen.” 
She frowns at him, classic “pouty-mouth”. 
“I’m fourteen — rude. But seriously, and I say this because I care, get over yourself. Call a spade a spade. You’re dating her, fucking her–,”
“Ellie!” 
"– and you make gross ga-ga eyes at each other when you think I’m not looking."
She slides into the seat at the island in front of him as he pushes the toasted bread with jam across the marble to her. She takes a bite, chews with her mouth open, and shrugs. “That’s a girlfriend, dude.” 
Joel turns back to the eggs that might be burning, his shoulders hunched and fist tight around the spatula. Hate it when the kid is right. 
He salvages what he can of the eggs, plates them along with two strips of bacon on two plates, and balances a mug of coffee on each. He tries to salvage some of his dignity with a glare. 
“When you’re older, you’ll see some things just don’t need labels.” 
At that, she rolls her eyes again and snatches up the last strip of bacon from the folded, greasy napkins. “Whatever, you dork.”
Argument soundly lost, he gathers up the plates and heads back up stairs. She’s still mumbling to herself as he goes. 
“'Girlfriend', pfft . . . much better than fuck bunny!” She yells to no one in particular.
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You hear the entire conversation from bed, the door cracked open enough for the sound to travel. Muffling a giggle, you snag his white shirt from the floor and draw it over your head. You should probably be more embarrassed that Joel got caught in his Walk of Shame, even if it was to his own kitchen to make breakfast. But . . . you’re just not. 
The smile is still on your face when his footfalls approach the door and he sticks his head into the room.
“Sounds like we’re busted,” you smirk. 
Joel almost chuckles. “'Bout as busted as you can be.” He hands you one plate and sits on the end of the bed with his own. He takes a low, slow sip of coffee and you follow him. The eggs are nibbled at and the bacon is perfectly crunchy.
“So . . . girlfriend?” 
He rolls his eyes. “Not you too.” 
“I mean," you slip the plate and coffee onto the bedside table, then hug the sheets around your knees, "I agree with you on the bit about labels. It seems silly. And not wasteful silly. Just . . .”
“Silly.” Joel’s eyes are as dark as his coffee, warmer than it too. “Doesn’t really capture the whole thing, does it?”
An apocalypse and a half later, and a boy’s sweet eyes on you can still make your stomach swoop. 
“No, it doesn’t.” 
“Then what do you wanna say, if people start askin’?”
You bite your lip, eyes up in faux-thought. “Truth be told, I'm kinda partial to fuck bunny. Cute like with a little tail and ears —,"
The groan from Joel and subsequent head shake makes you laugh enough for you to take pity on the old guy. You crawl closer and his eyes slip from your face to where the sheet tucks under your knees. But a hand on his cheek returns his gaze.
"I like what you said last night." Your smile is soft, pleased. "That I’m yours. Like you’re mine.” 
Joel’s warmth bleeds from his whole frame as he leans in close to put his mug on the bedside table, then leans in closer still to you. He drags his nose over your bare, exposed shoulder, in a way that is sweet and sensual all at once. He stops with a kiss on the hinge of your jaw. 
“I like that too. I like saying that you’re mine.”
Ignoring the shiver that rockets up your spine at the low hum of his voice, the flutter of his lips barely against your cheek, you tuck an errant curl around his ear and it immediately springs back up again. You smile and he smiles back, a youthful shine in his eyes.
“Wherever you are, I am too.”  
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Listen to: I am the forest by Willie Nelson
1K notes · View notes
hoffmansgirl · 3 months ago
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SO INTO YOU. ━ nicholas a. chavez & cooper koch ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹
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❝ pairing. n. chavez x fem!reader x c. koch ❞
a/n. woof this took long... i hope you enjoy though! let me know if you want a part two (i want to write it so bad but really rough & filthy this time). anyways requests are open just like my legs for these two
.ᐟ warnings. fluff (just nick & coop being cuties & in love!!!), SMUT! making out, soft!dom!cooper, more of a mean!dom!nicholas, slapping?, threesome ofc, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, sum dirty talk (praise & slight degradation), more fluff :)) wc. 4896
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The camera flashes made you slightly lightheaded as you posed, well-trained smile on your face ━ your uneasiness not visible to the paparazzi, but the two men next to you noticed it almost immediately.
Nicholas' hand was resting around your waist comfortably; not tight or low enough to draw attention of the cameramen, but with enough force to let you know that he was there for you.
You looked at Cooper, sweet smile on his face when he caught your eye, the flashes finally coming to an end, and all three of you exhaled with relief.
"I thought it would never end", you pressed your glossed lips together, fixing your hair softly, as you fell back against the chair.
Nicholas laughed at that, sitting across from you, the exhaustion visible in his eyes; he made sure no one was looking before taking your hand into his.
Your relationship with Nicholas was quite... complicated. You were best friends ever since you two met on the set of Monsters. It was you, Cooper and Nicholas, a trio that the internet loved.
Although, you were just a woman. And Nicholas was just a man. It soon evolved into something deeper; something you couldn't quite name. The lingering touches, sleeping on a couch together after an exhausting day on set, sporadic kisses on the cheek, a little too close to the corner of your lips. It would be hard to explain to the general public. You were just friends.
When it came to Cooper, he was the sunshine of your trio. His hugs warm, always making sure you were comfortable in his presence. He was so much different than Nicholas; less bold, always touching you with a glint of uncertainty. They complimented each other so well, it actually started driving you crazy.
You liked Nicholas, and you liked Cooper. Although at this point, you weren't sure if you only liked them. You still felt comfortable around them, but every touch from either of them sent a spark of excitement down your spine, which ━ you hoped ━ they didn't notice.
You had no idea what was happening, but you didn't like it.
Nicholas' thumb traced soft circles on the back of your hand, his eyes warm and welcoming, pretty smile adoring his face. You hesitated before returning the gesture, the loud music and incoherent voices seemed to fade into obscurity as you stared at him. He looked so good that night; a patterned, slightly unbuttoned shirt clung onto his body perfectly, simple black dress pants and shoes, and the god damn cross necklace. Such a simple look, but he looked absolutely flawless. You wondered how he managed to leave you speechless every time he walked into the room. His hair looked messier than usual after he ran a hand through it right after you all left the spotlight.
You shook slightly when you realised you were staring. Nicholas chuckled, shaking his head, hand leaving yours, the sudden coldness making you miss his touch almost instantly.
"You look good tonight", you declared, looking him up and down shamelessly, sly smirk appearing on your face. Nicholas leaned back against the chair, spreading his legs; the sight making your mouth water.
"Could say the same about you, Y/N", Nick rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb nonchalantly. A dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, and you crossed your legs at the sight. Your name leaving his mouth made you shift in your seat uncomfortably, the room becoming smaller in a second.
He didn't lie, though. You decided on a bold outfit, yet modest enough to make an impression. A tight bodysuit with built-in shorts, leaving a little to the imagination; brand new, knee high Naked Wolfe boots that made your legs look longer, and a leather, red coat. Nicholas almost choked when he first saw you, and so did Cooper ━ yet you didn't notice the way their eyes lingered on your body for a little too long.
"You look... fucking hot". You couldn't help but smile at the compliment; his voice sincere, eyes glistening with something you couldn't quite name, playful smirk lingering on his lips. You bit your lip, slightly breathless, playing with the hem of your bodysuit mindlessly. Nicholas' eyes wandered down your body as you did, your curves visible through the thin material, and he noticed that instantly.
"Hey!" Cooper's voice saved you from the heat of Nick's stare as he stepped in. You looked up at him, his presence not helping that much, after all; he looked so good, they both did.
"We have to do some interviews and then we can get the hell outta here", he declared, and you nodded, getting up from the chair awkwardly. A waitress stopped next to the three of you, tray with some kind of alcohol in her hand ━ champagne, you assumed, polite smile on her face. Without hesitation, you took a glass, swallowing all of its contents almost at once.
Nicholas and Cooper laughed when you made a face; it definitely wasn't a champagne. It tasted more like a vodka tonic. Your face twisted in pure disgust at the taste, eyes closing involuntarily.
"Now, slow down, pretty", Cooper said in a playful tone; the nickname made you wish you could drink five more of those drinks. You sent him a glare, small smile lingering on your lips nonetheless.
You heard someone call your name, and you exhaled at the sight of an interviewer waving at you. You exchanged knowing looks with both men before you all walked towards the camera.
A few hours and drinks later, you finally felt your body relaxing. The better part of the event came ━ an after party where cameras were not allowed. You were relieved; the annoying and disrespectful paparazzi followed you like lost puppies, as if trying to capture every single moment of your evening.
You found yourself sitting at the bar, Nicholas and Cooper nowhere in sight. You played with the rim of your glass, the slight buzz finally getting to you, small smile playing on your face.
An image of Cooper and Nick popped up in your head again, and you found yourself thinking about them in inappropriate ways.
The way they'd kiss you, Nicholas more harshly, demanding, almost aggressively. And Cooper? Cooper would take his time, leaving you breathless and painfully turned on when he pulled away. You had no idea which one you liked better. Preferably both, at the same time.
You shook your head, finally deciding on going to search for them. The smell of weed filled your nostrils, and you raised your eyebrows; it wasn't usual for celebrities events to go this far.
Your steps were quite unsure and shaky due to the alcohol in your system, but still confident, as you paced through the crowd of people. You looked around you in search of Cooper familiar curls, but you soon realised it was pointless.
What if they're making out with some random girls?
The thought crossed your mind and you shifted uncomfortably, accepting your defeat as you walked towards the bathrooms.
The corridor was dark, and if it wasn't for the music still playing loudly in the background and the alcohol in your system, you would definitely be scared.
Your boots echoed through the walls, shiver running up your spine at the sudden coldness. You almost screamed when the men's bathroom door opened, and you were met with someone's warm chest.
His smell filled your nostrils, and you exhaled, recognising it right away. Nicholas.
"Already falling for me, doll?", he laughed when you looked up at him, the height difference almost ridiculous ━ even when you were wearing the highest boots you could find.
The corridor was lit only by the men's bathroom dim lightning, and you suddenly felt a spark of excitement run through your chest.
"I was looking everywhere for you!", you declared, stepping away from him, the smell of his cologne making your head spin a little. You studied his face; he seemed completely sober, hair in the same condition you last saw it in ━ so he didn't fuck anyone during his absence. Relief run through your veins at the realisation, small smile making its way onto your face.
"I was looking for you, too", he grinned, and your stomach turned at the sight. "We were just talking about getting the hell out of here. Wanna spend the night?", he asked casually, and even though it wasn't unusual for you to stay over at his place, it felt different this time. You nodded frantically, biting your lip. His cross, gold chain glistened in the dim lightning, and you couldn't help but stare at his chest, hiding under the shirt.
"You know...", you started, your hand moving up before you could register, fingertips lingering on his chest softly. Nicholas stiffened when you met his eyes, and his jaw clenched. "You look really good tonight".
"If you were anyone else, I'd think you're flirting with me", he laughed, but you could feel his muscles tensing when you run your fingers over his chest more confidently now. You tilted your head, wanting nothing more than to feel his skin on yours. "And what if I was?", you challenged, voice teasing, and his hands were on your hips in an instant. Nicholas pulled you close, hands slipping under your loose coat, running over your curves greedily.
"I wouldn't mind", he said truthfully, and you breathed out. He was so close, you could feel his breath on your cheek, and your lashes fluttered at the feeling. "I would say... you look tempting. Making it really hard for me to control myself".
You tensed, hands running over the sides of his neck, eyes never leaving his, and you noticed how much darker they've gotten. With one swift movement, you were against the wall, Nicholas' hand lifting your leg to rest on his hip.
"You have no idea what you do to me", he whispered, his voice low and predatory, as his other hand run over your throat softly.
This will ruin our friendship. These words echoed in your head as you looked deep into his eyes, gaze almost innocent, sending jolts of electricity down to his cock. Any doubt left your mind when you realised that you waited for this for the longest time. Maybe I like him a little too much, you thought, as your eyes lingered on his lips, so tempting. Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his greedily.
You couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips at the contact; your lips moved in a perfect sync, hands roaming over his chest, nails digging into his skin. Nicholas held your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh in his big hand, the other one tangling itself in your hair.
He pulled on it, hard, and you whimpered, the pain on your scalp sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. He smiled into the kiss, body pressing into yours with force as his tongue found its way into your mouth. One more pull at your hair, and you moaned into the kiss, his tongue half down your throat in an instant. It traced the inside of your mouth, almost as if he was trying to memorise every single detail about it.
He swallowed your moan as you arched into him, eager to feel all of him all over you, his strong hold on your hair only intensifying.
You felt his bulge press into your thigh deliciously; you tested the waters by grinding your hips down, and he let out a strangled moan, the sound making you shiver.
The next second Nicholas' lips were all over your neck, and your head tilted back involuntarily, mouth opening in a desperate moan. That was before you realised you were still on an event ━ public event, and that someone could actually catch you making out in a dark corridor.
You tried to form a sentence, but the words died before you could speak, as he sucked the soft skin on the column of your throat: marking you.
"Nick- we need to-", you tried to explain how irresponsible he was being, but he didn't seem to listen; if anything, he got more eager, pressing you flat against the wall, hips moving forward to grind against you.
That's when he opened his eyes and looked into the darkness surrounding you; and he was pleased to see Cooper standing there, leaning against the wall, watching the little show in front of him with interest.
Nicholas smiled as you pulled at his shirt, playing with the buttons, and he kissed your neck once again just to distract you from noticing Cooper.
"Looks like have an audience, doll", he whispered in your ear, and it took you a second to actually process his words; when you did, your eyes shot open.
"Holy shit", you heard a familiar voice; your eyes widened even more in realisation.
Cooper stood there, in the darkness, and if it wasn't for his voice you wouldn't even notice he was there. He took a step closer, and you were surprised to see that he didn't look mad. He didn't look surprised, either. Small smirk made its way onto his face, eyes dark ━ but it could be all about the shitty lightning.
You bit your lip, not quite knowing what to say. Nicholas took a step back, not a trace of shame or embarrassment on his face; he returned Cooper's gaze, a silent deal made between the two.
You knew Cooper was into guys. You weren't quite sure if he liked girls, too ━ you never asked, partially because you were scared of the answer. His words made you think that maybe he was into Nicholas, maybe he liked him the way you did. You shifted uncomfortably, not meeting his eyes.
"Well, we are finally getting there", Nicholas said, fixing the bulge in his pants shamelessly, and your gaze lingered on it for a little too long. You wanted ━ no, needed ━ more, and getting caught by Cooper of all people didn't exactly help the pulsing between your legs. Nick caught your gaze, playful glint in his eyes, but he looked unaffected. You wondered what he meant, but just before you could ask, he already took your hand and leaded you to the door; Cooper following close behind you.
You were panting, hair messy and lipgloss smudged; most of it stayed on Nicholas' face, though. Your eyes glistened insatiably, his words echoing in your mind like a promise of what was about to come.
You didn't remember the way back to your hotel; when you did get there, though, you felt Nicholas' hand low on your back, Cooper keeping his distance as you walked to one of the boys' room; you couldn't help but wonder if he was mad at what he had witnessed, guilt blooming in your stomach.
Nicholas looked relaxed, though, sending you and Cooper an occasional smile, tracing soft circles onto your back, and you shivered at his touch.
You got to the room 230; you remembered it belonged to both of them. As Cooper unlocked the door, Nicholas' presence behind you like a shadow; you walked in, the tension between the three of you lingering in the air as you made your way to the living room.
"Coop, I...", you started, breaking the silence, as Nicholas disappeared in his own room. The older man didn't look at you when he took his coat off, avoiding your gaze. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't... We shouldn't have...".
You could tell he was holding himself back as he did everything but look at you, pretending to be extremely busy with his watch.
"I'm not mad, Y/N", he ensured; you raised your eyebrows at the sound of his voice. Hoarse, low and quite strangled.
"Then why won't you look at me? Why won't you talk to me?", you whined, the need to confess everything you felt for him now stronger than ever.
He didn't answer. You sighed, a hint of annoyance now clear in your voice.
You stared at Cooper from a safe distance, taking in the sight in front of you. He looked just as good as Nick: simple but elegant, making you sweat like a dog in heat. A black, plain sweater, dress pants and shoes complimenting his tan skin. His long fingers played with the watch on his wrist, and you couldn't help but imagine the possibilities.
You took the coat off your shoulders, the sudden heat all over your body making you sweat uncontrollably. Your boots clicked against the marble floor as you made your way to the couch, throwing the coat on it carelessly.
You took a deep breath before deciding on what to do next.
"Coop...", you turned to him, and he finally met your eyes. "I want... For the longest time, I...".
The weight of what you were about to confess fell on your shoulders with force, words dying in your throat under his intense gaze.
"She wants to fuck us".
Your eyes widened at the words leaving Nicholas' mouth. You turned to him, he leaned against the doorframe, shirt slightly unbuttoned, dress pants still low on his hips. He must've been there for quite a while, watching you struggle.
"I...", you tried to explain, all of it pointless when he smiled knowingly.
You couldn't lie to then and say that he was wrong; but you couldn't just admit that he was right.
"I'm not doing this", you whimpered, embarrassment filling your whole chest, making it hard to breathe.
"You're not doing what? Admitting the truth? It would be so much easier for us to grant your wishes sooner if you were honest from the start, pretty", Cooper got closer to you by a second, and Nicholas creeped in behind you, the room becoming smaller in a second as you realised that they planned all of this.
Cooper tilted his head, his gaze hardening dangerously as he watched you.
Nicholas' chest pressed against your back, and you whined at the contact; your eyes never left Cooper's, almost as if an invisible string was connecting the two of you.
A wet kiss on the side neck was all it took for your knees to buckle. Before you knew it, Nicholas was devouring the delicate skin of your neck and collarbones, his big hands closing on your hips, making sure you stayed upright.
This is so wrong, you thought when Cooper took a step towards you, and, as if he was testing the waters, leaned over to brush your lips against his. Nicholas licked a wet stripe up your neck, and you arched your back, a quiet whimper leaving your mouth when Cooper came closer, pinning you between his and Nicholas' bodies.
"Tell me you want this", he whispered, voice soft, and you tried to nod, but Nicholas' actions on your neck made you slightly lightheaded. "Tell me".
"I- I do", you breathed out. "Wanted this for so long".
You felt Nick smile against your skin as he pulled away just slightly, his bulge pressing against your ass deliciously. Your mind went blank as Cooper finally pressed his lips to yours, his kiss soft but demanding.
Nicholas squeezed your hips in his big hands, and you whined, clawing at Cooper's chest, the urge to feel his skin on yours overwhelming, and Nicholas was back on you again. He cupped your breasts through the thin material of your bodysuit; you moaned shamelessly, biting on Cooper's lip, the taste of him intoxicating.
You were in one of the boys' room in a blink of an eye. Nicholas grinned at you and sat down on the bed, and your lips were back on his in an instant. He tugged at your hair yet again as you started unbuttoning his shirt; the feeling of his chiselled chest under your fingertips almost making you drool a little.
You pulled away, taking the excess clothing off his body, throwing it somewhere on the floor. You looked at Cooper, his eyes glistening softly as he traced his fingers down your back. You couldn't decide whether to focus on him or Nicholas.
Cooper kissed you again, this time more aggressively, pushing his tongue into your mouth for it to tangle with your own; a groan left his mouth at the taste of you as he held you close, tugging at the material of your bodysuit urgently.
You smiled before pulling away, taking off your shoes ━ the height difference even more prominent now ━ before you removed the bodysuit from your body in one, swift movement.
Your back was met with the soft sheets, the boys towering over you, each on opposite sides of the bed. Your chest heaved with uneven breaths, and you thanked yourself for choosing a sexy set of lingerie for the night.
Nicholas' greedy hands were on you, everywhere at once, running over your curves, squeezing the soft skin of your covered breasts. You whined, searching for Cooper's mouth again, and he gladly leaned in, delicate touch lingering on your neck, making sure to leave you panting under him.
"We've talked about it for months", Nick admitted, and Cooper pulled away, nodding at his words.
"We wanted to have you right here, under us, letting us use you however we please", the younger man continued, exposing your boobs with one strong tug at the lacy material of your bra.
You panted when you felt both of their lips on your sensitive skin there. The difference between the two men more prominent than ever now that they were touching you. Cooper's movements were more thoughtful as he pressed wet kisses on the skin of your boob, tongue darting out to circle around your nipple teasingly. Nicholas didn't hold back, biting at the sensitive nub between strong sucks, making you see stars. They complimented each other so well, it actually made you whine and arch your back as you tugged at their hair.
"Holy shit, please", you begged for god knows what, and you almost cried out in relief when Nicholas lowered his head, pressing kisses all over your stomach, before he found the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
Cooper positioned himself so that he could sit behind you, his legs on both sides of your own. He grabbed your thighs, spreading them open for Nicholas; he lowered his head to look at your drenched cunt, a small patch of wetness on the centre of your panties. He hummed, biting the soft skin of your thighs, and when he looked up at you, you felt as if you could come at the sight alone.
Cooper kept one of his hands on your thigh, while the other one travelled up your stomach, between your boobs, brushing against your hard nipples just for a second.
"Are you sure?" he whispered in your ear softly in the exact moment when Nicholas' lips pressed against your clothed pussy. He placed a dirty, open mouthed kiss on the center, and you shivered, head lulling back against Cooper's shoulder.
"Answer him, doll", Nick demanded; voice sharp and dangerously low as he watched the way your jaw went slack, mouth opening in a quiet whimper.
"She sounds so pretty", the older man smirked, and you felt his bulge press against your back. His grip on your tight tightened, and he pressed a soft kiss on your shoulder.
"Nick, please, yes- I'm sure", your eyes opened involuntarily as he moved your panties to the side, your wet cunt now exposed to the cool air around you.
"Holy shit", Nicholas smiled, tilting his head while his thumb pressed against your clit. The touch was barely there, but it didn't fail to send jolts of electricity down your spine. "She's so wet, Cooper. Almost dripping all over my sheets".
Cooper hummed softly right into your ear and you twitched against both of them. They were talking as if you weren't there, and it made you embarrassingly more turned on.
"Yeah?", he rasped, the sound making you shiver against them. One of Cooper's hands travelled down to brush against your puffy clit. You moaned as they both touched you; Nicholas' fingers slowly dipping into your entrance, the wetness coating your walls making it easy for him to stretch you out. Cooper's thoughtful touch graced the button hiding between your folds. His touch so delicate, unlike Nicholas' ━ his fingers moved slowly but steadily, pulling them out almost fully before dipping back in.
You were breathless; your chest heaved with uneven breaths, one of Cooper's hand resting on your boob ━ not putting any pressure, just letting you feel his hands on your overheated body.
"So good, oh shit-", you managed to get out as your back arched off the bed; Nicholas was quick to hold your hips down with his unoccupied hand. His wrist moved faster now, along with Cooper's; they found just the right rhythm to make you go crazy without making you come too fast.
Whimpers left your mouth as you gripped Cooper's thighs, your nails digging into his skin with enough force to leave marks.
"You're right, she's practically soaking our hands", Cooper murmured, and you could feel your cheeks heating up. Your eyes fell closed for a second, before his free hand reached to grab your neck ━ pressing with pressure that made you slightly lightheaded, but not with enough force to choke you. Your eyes flew open; Cooper looked down at you, his darkened eyes making your legs shake.
"Don't close your eyes, darling", he held your throat harder; both of their hands moving in sync, determined to get you to your peak. "Please", you whispered pathetically, turning your eyes to Nicholas, who was watching you the whole time. His mouth formed into a dirty, open mouthed smirk, sending sparks of electricity down your spine.
Holy shit.
"Are you close, doll?" Nicholas asked, his voice raspier than you've ever heard before. You nodded frantically, the coil in your stomach ready to snap any second now. You whined when Cooper's fingers left your clit and Nick slowed down.
"No, fuck!", you cried out, hips bucking into Nicholas' hand, and they both definitely didn't like it.
You felt a strong sting on your left breast, Cooper's hand slapping it roughly.
"Look at her, practically crying for us to make her cum", Nicholas tutted, his drenched fingers scissoring into your cunt. Before you could come up with a smart reply, his mouth was all over you.
He pressed a wet kiss right on your clit. You squirmed; Cooper held both of your boobs in his big hands as he watched Nicholas devour you with a satisfied smile on his face, index finger and thumb tugging on your nipples experimentally.
Nicholas held your gaze as he licked a stripe from your opening up to your clit. He sucked the little button between his lips, tongue tracing circles around it, his fingers inside of you moving with precision, hitting just the right spot every time.
"She tastes so sweet, Coop", he groaned between licks, winking at you, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs shake around his head.
"Oh, I bet she does", Cooper replied breathlessly and he forced your face towards him; his mouth meeting yours instantly, tongue playing with yours as he swallowed your moans.
"I'm-", you weren't able to finish the sentence, before Nicholas sucked on your clit particularly hard, his fingers moving swiftly inside of you, and you could feel your orgasm nearing.
"Come for us", Cooper whispered softly, fingers playing with your stiff nipples non-stop as you whimpered into his mouth.
"Yeah, baby, come on, make a mess for us", Nicholas pulled away only enough to watch your face twist in pure bliss, the sight of you kissing Cooper while he pleasured you turning him on more than it should.
You cried out, one last withdraw of Nicholas' fingers and your back arched off the bed; they didn't stop you this time. Cooper pulled away to watch your face as you wet Nicholas' hand, creaming all over his thick fingers.
You were breathless, eyes threatening to close, but instead they widened, when Nicholas got up from his knees, grabbing Cooper's hair, and then kissing him.
Obscene sounds left both of their mouths as Nick let Cooper taste you on his tongue. You watched the scene shamelessly, your pussy clenching around nothing as Cooper sucked on Nicholas' mouth before pulling away.
"You're right, she tastes fucking divine", he breathed out, grinning at you and Nick, eyes clouded with lust.
Your legs closed, the earth shattering orgasm leaving you spent and limp between their bodies.
Your head fell against Cooper's chest, and he wrapped his arms around you in an instant.
Nick smiled at the sight of you, so defenceless and spent after only his fingers and mouth.
He pressed a sweet kiss against your forehead, and you murmured something incoherent, almost falling asleep right there and then.
"No. I wanna cuddle", you whined when Cooper and Nicholas tried to pull away, but they were quick to obey. Cooper laid you on your side, his chest pressed firmly against your back, and Nicholas laid down on his back, letting you rest your head against his own chest. He played with your hair mindlessly, and you were fast to fall asleep, nothing but happiness filling both your heart and mind.
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