#Old man drinks pee

[internetthisweek]

WTF Compilation - Vol. 5

[ex-furry]

watching my brother's dogs again soon #yay

[highvern]

Between the Titles

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, smut (mature/18+)

warnings: egregious caffeine consumption, yoongi smokes cigarettes, reader is about the same height as yoongi (its me hello im almost the same height as him), gay taehyung, volunteer jungkook, silver fox yoongi (he just has some gray hair bc hot) smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering, oral (f. receiving), semi-public sexual acts, bathroom sex, protected sex, praise kink

Length: ~9.5k

Note: no thoughts, just big brain yoongi in a sweater smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. btw almost all the books in this are real but i haven't read them so if you have lmk if they're worth the read lmao. thank u to my dearest @gyuswhore and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing this

Summary: Five days a week in the library means you're very familiar with the senior research librarian. It also means he has no qualms about making his own book recommendations either.

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This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The sweet aroma of old books and strong coffee infiltrates your nose as the heavy doors into the library swing open, offering reprieve from the storm raging on outside. It���s far too early for anyone to be here beyond staff and a few other morning birds. You glide right to the circulation desk as if fatigue doesn’t pulse through your veins, barely quelled by the second cup of coffee you sip from.

As always, the same familiar head of dark hair with sparse silver streaks waits at the circulation desk. He’s the only person working this early despite being the senior research librarian but you never hear any complaints louder than muttered annoyance under his breath when he thinks no one is around to hear. Bent over his laptop, Yoongi doesn’t even bother to look up as he slides a heavy stack of books to the edge of the counter. 

Eleven total, ten heavy volumes on ancient fertility cults across the globe, and one book you know he’s mixed in for his own amusement. 

It’s become something of a game between you two. At first you thought he was mixing your materials with someone else’s, but every time you brought the additional copy back to his desk, Yoongi insisted he had no idea what you were talking about and questioned your reading choices. Each time the titles got more ridiculous: Castration: The Advantages and the Disadvantages, How to Enjoy Your Weeds, Amish Vampires in Space, the list goes on and on. But after he slipped Why Fish Don’t Exist into your stack a few weeks ago, you decided to start responding. 

You left the stack at his desk like usual, ears perked for his reaction to Fishes I Have Known. An amused snort rang out just as you opened the doors to leave for the afternoon. The sound was so unlike the stoic man you’d become accustomed to over months working on your thesis; not that you heard him talk much to begin with.

Since then you’ve made a point to match every book he leaves for you. Yesterday, Yoongi chose I Could Pee on This: and Other Poems by Cats. At the end of the day, you spent thirty minutes searching shelf after shelf for an appropriate response, every book failing to meet your expectations. It wasn’t fair he knew the expansive collection like the back of his hand but nevertheless you found something up to par.

Yoongi rolled his eyes when you passed your books over the counter, a copy of Staying Dry: A Practical Guide to Bladder Control, like a shining star on top. A brief pink of his tongue flashed across his lips, a feeble attempt to muffle an amused smile. It was the most obvious reaction since the first time you responded.

Smiling like the cat who ate the canary, you left on clouds last night.

But this morning you have notes to write.

Snagging the collection, you make your way deeper into the building. Your unassigned-assigned desk tucked away on the fifth floor, far enough away from any noise so you can fully immerse in work without the threat of distraction. An uninterrupted view of the courtyard below is an added bonus.

The wooden table top is covered in a neat collection of pens and sticky notes in minutes; your laptop and the foot tall collection of references you devour over the next eight hours taking up the other half.

A few titles you request over and over sit on top, too valuable to be checked out for long term use so you settle for keeping them in constant rotation since no one else bothers to read the dusty yellowing tombs. For now, you focus on the new pieces you hope hold the information you need.

Earth rites: fertility practices in pre-industrial Britain, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in the Ancient Mediterranean, Metamorphosis of Baubo: myths of woman's sexual energy— 

I’m in Love with Mothman…

Well there it is.

You thumb across the glossy cartoon cover, failing to bite back a smile. Yoongi has a penchant for tossing in the most outlandish romance books he can find. Maybe because he knows you spend just as much if not more time than he does between the stacks. The suggestion box at the desk was full of cards stained with your penmanship asking for longer hours; several of which you’ve seen Yoongi rip in half as he pointedly met your gaze.

Tossing it aside, you pull forward one of the more musty books and start reading.

When you finally manage to resurface from laborious tales on several cults of Aphrodite, the rain is long gone. Even the darkest corners of the old building seem to glow gold in the evening sunset filtering through the glass doors. They're the only thing standing between you and freedom in the form curling up on your couch with a glass of wine and a new episode of your favorite reality dating show. But first, Yoongi needs his books back. 

His desk chair is abandoned and the return cart is gone as well which means he could be anywhere in the building. Disappointment leaches into your spine at the fact you won’t be able to witness his reaction to the twelfth book in your pile; the one you spent an extra fifteen minutes looking for in the corner of the third floor. 

A thick piece of library paper lists the materials you’ll need for the next day lays atop the neon green cover of Pest Management Solutions: How to Manage Your Moth Problem. They decorate the corner of the desk until Yoongi returns to find them. Hopefully he appreciates your humor.

Yoongi isn’t at his desk the next morning when you come in either. Instead, a doe eyed man with a lip piercing occupies the chair, clearly playing some game on his laptop. 

Approaching the counter, you begin to ask, “Where’s Yoon–”

“Staff meeting,” he interjects like he’s already answered the question a million times despite the library opening only five minutes ago. The white of his teeth threaten to blind you. “But I can help you!”

His name tag isn’t the same engraved golden metal Yoongi’s is, it’s a plastic sleeve with a paper insert with barely legible handwriting you decipher as  “Jungkook” and below “Volunteer.” You’ve seen him before from a distance. Usually trudging through the shelves with the book return cart in tow, occasionally taking a quick read inside before putting them in their rightful place. 

“I need to pick up some books. I gave Yoongi the list yesterday.”

“Sure.” Jungkook jumps up, approaching the shelf lined with piles for other patrons. “What’s your last name?”

He combs through the list after you answer, finding your stack easily enough. 

“Alright so Yoongi left a note that the encyclopedias you wanted are on the usual desk you have upstairs. But other than that I’ve got: Historical Studies of Changing Fertility, Sacred Mushroom and The Cross, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in The Ancient Mediterranean…” Jungkook lists off the titles, checking to make sure they're all in order. “And, um, this one isn’t on the list.”

It must be Yoongi’s choice for the day.

“What is it?”

Jungkook looks like he’s trying to hide his own amusement as he slides it over for you to read.

If I Were a Bird, You'd be The First Person I'd Shit On.

“Huh,” you blush. “Wonder how that got in there.”

“He must have left it by mistake. I can put it ba–”

“No, I’ll take it.” You toss it on top of the other, less embarrassing books in your stack and gather it into your arms before Jungkook can get in another word. “Thanks for your help!”

Scurrying towards the hallway housing the elevators, you attempt to juggle the pile of books, your stuffed bag, and coffee without taking a spill. It’s one thing to have your silent battle with Yoongi, but having someone else witness it makes you feel downright silly. And for the first one witnessed by others to be such an absurd and downright passive aggressive selection sends embarrassment through your veins.

As promised, three encyclopedias sit neatly on your desk; the volumes so thick they protrude from the table top like a small mountain. No wonder he left them there instead of making you carry them up in individual trips. But Yoongi’s goodwill clearly ended there. A sticky note on top of the stack pens his discontent at your selection.

I had to spend 3 hours in the basement to find these. If you need them again, don’t.

Even though he hadn’t signed it, you know it’s from him. The tight script fits his personality; thin lines of annoyance bleeding through the ink, not just his words. A waft of musty old paper and dust breezes through your nose as you open the first copy. They must have been housed in a forgotten storage area. At least his bird book makes more sense now. 

You don’t dig into the heap until after the sun is halfway through the sky but when you do it only proves to unravel your wits. Reading on, the wrinkle in your eyebrows deepens further. Page after page of conflicting knowledge passes by, each sentence more confusing than the last; minutes negating months of research. The thick pages hardly provide a soft landing for your head as you allow it to thump forward in exasperation.

The scrap of chair legs alerts to a new presence watching your meltdown in real time.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asks.

With a heavy sigh, you respond.“I want to die.”

“Get in line.”

Shifting in your seat, you peer in his direction. A different day but the same wardrobe: dark button up, glasses, same unapproachable facade. But what Yoongi is doing sitting next to you is new.

Yoongi makes himself comfortable, picking at his nails as he waits patiently for an explanation. 

“Everything in my thesis is either wrong or the world authority on fertility in Europe is full of it.”

“Bummer.”

“Your sincerity is overwhelming.” You snap.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Boredom seeps across his face but he doesn’t move to leave, just sinks deeper into the chair. “You’ve read almost half the collection since you started coming here, why are some old dusty books such a big deal?”

“Because all of those books cite these books which means those books are wrong and all my work is in the toilet.”

“Those books are from the seventies, the information is probably out of date.”

Slamming the copy serving as a pillow shut, you take a second glance at the title: Encyclopedia of Women and World Religion, Volume 7.

“Yoongi,” you sing.

Yoongi’s gaze flashes to yours, a trickle of confusion flashing across his eyes.“What?”

You stack up the books and push them across the desk with some effort. Just to savor the satisfaction of besting Yoongi, you indulge a long sip of now cold coffee before speaking again. No one else is around to witness your victory but that won’t dampen the high.

“Looks like you’ll be back in the basement because you brought me the wrong editions.”

He opens his mouth to argue, snatching one of the books to investigate but you beat him to the punch.

“I asked for the twenty-fifth edition, not the seventh.” You smirk. “I think you're losing your touch.”

He watches you over the rim of the cover. A fleeting glance in your direction but it makes your heart squeeze with need.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” Yoongi sighs, standing. “Do you still need them for anything or can I go ahead and take them?”

With your approval, he heaves the heavy tombs on to his cart. The strain of his forearms, bare from rolled up sleeves, catches your attention. Veins raised under creamy skin, lean muscles leading down to hands you’ve noticed since the first day you started visiting the library.

If you keep staring, you’re likely to start drooling. So you dive back into one of the useful books littering your desk and pretend to read until he’s disappearing down the hall.

On your way out, leaving much earlier than a typical day due to Yoongi’s mistake, you drop the remaining books off at the circulation desk. Along with a copy of Avian Hunting Techniques. He’s absent again but it doesn't matter.

You continue out the doors and down the sidewalk only to spot him leaning against the brick exterior further down the street. Even from a distance you can make out the natural scowl he’s constantly sporting. Except this time his lips pout around a cigarette. 

Of course he smokes.

The quasi-mysterious librarian who flirts with you through book titles, smokes cigarettes and looks hot doing it. 

“You know those things will kill you, right?” 

“That’s what the box says but they aren’t holding up their end of the deal,” Yoongi responds, flicking the ash before looking at his watch. “Wow, out before six. I’ll alert the press.”

“Well, if someone gave me the right books then maybe I’d stay longer. But I’m not about to wait around while you get the ones I need.”

Yoongi takes another drag of his cigarette before responding, “Are you trying to say I forced you to take a break?”

The realization dawns on you. Yoongi is the senior research librarian. He’s never given you the wrong books, even when you request the rare copies needed to be loaned from a different part of the country. The few times you’ve offered understanding if he couldn’t get them were met with a challenge in his gaze and smug satisfaction when handing them over a week later.

“You brought me the wrong copies on purpose!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s lying. You know it. Yoongi definitely knows you know by the way he smirks. But he’s already crushing the filter under his shoe and moving back towards the library by the time your brain catches up to your mouth.  “Have a good night, Y/N.”

With a scoff of indignation, you stalk towards your car.

The next morning, you march straight through the class doors to where Yoongi sits, fueled by snowballed annoyance from the previous day. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is an understatement. If there are any gods, Yoongi should pick one and pray.

Your free afternoon of yesterday was spent dealing with the chaos your apartment has become over the past few weeks. Unfolded laundry, stacks of random papers, out of place books, and errant dust bunnies all became new victims to energy usually reserved for a full day of research. Taehyung practically shit himself when he woke up before dinner and found you scrubbing the bathroom sink.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hand to his chest like a flustered old woman.

Bleach curled in your nostrils. “I live here.” 

“Not between the hours of eight and seven.”

But after the mess was dealt with, aggravation set in. How dare Yoongi purposefully meddle in your work. Well meaning or not you were an adult and could decide when enough was enough. The purposeful mishap hadn’t set you back far, one afternoon but a drop in the bucket in comparison to the months you’ve already spent chasing new leads. But the principle of the matter is that it’s none of his business what you do and when you do it.

Yoongi slides a slimmer stack over when you stop in front of him.

“Encyclopedias are on your desk,” he announces through a sip of coffee. He continues to type away, feigning disinterest as you sort through your stack with measured annoyance.

“Are they the right copies this time?”

“Double checked them myself.”

You open your mouth to verbalize your doubts but Yoongi’s pick of the day catches your eye.

Surviving Your Stupid Stupid Decision to Go to Grad School.

Scoffing, you flip the book around and shoot daggers into his face with your eyes. “Do you think you’re funny?”

The corner of his mouth twitches then becomes a full blown smile. Leaning over the desk, he drops his voice, “I think I’m hilarious.”

Remembering you are, in fact, in a library, you manage to muffle a frustrated groan. You dump the supplementary reading back on the counter for Yoongi to deal with and head upstairs. 

Unlike the usual days where you put off finding a response to Yoongi’s extra copy until the waning hours of the afternoon, you drop your bags and head straight for the shelves. The fifth floor houses a collection of textbooks and other reference material. It’s why it's always deserted unless some poor fool stumbles on it by accident; the perfect place to work uninterrupted for hours.

You head down stairs, circling the fourth and then third floor like a shark in a feeding frenzy. A few covers spark interest but nothing captures what bubbles in your veins: annoyance, anger, confusion. A brief flutter of interest as to why Yoongi decided to mess with you but those feelings are more dangerous than the acidic ones.

Row after proves unfruitful in your quest for passive aggressive revenge. None have the same bite as his book, or seem to curb the homicidal thoughts raging in your head.

Until a little white book peeps back at you from the end of the aisle.

Yoongi jumps when you slam Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass in front of him. A feat in and of itself to sneak up on him given the loan desk has a perfect view of the entire first floor but whatever he’d been clicking away at on the computer was distraction enough.

“What's this?”

“Thought you might like some new reading.” You flash your teeth.

His chin jerks towards the glossy cover. “I already gave this two stars on Goodreads.”

Of course he has.

Face prickling in embarrassment, you turn back the way you came without a word.

Hours later, when half the day has ticked by and the ache for more caffeine burns your eyes, Yoongi stops by your desk. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try and gain the attention you pointedly withhold. He sets a paper coffee cup on the corner of the tabletop and leaves.

You snatch up the cup after he rounds the corner out of sight. The lack of sugar leaves much to be desired but free coffee is free coffee, especially to a PhD student with limited means. 

It isn’t much of an apology but guilt blooms down your spine anyway. He meant well. You aren’t known for giving yourself breaks; unable to quit while you’re ahead. A voluntary day off is less likely than winning the lottery. You’re a busy body and the constant work keeps you from dissolving into chaos.

You don’t see Yoongi again until every book at your desk is exhausted, begging for a break from your manhandling. Double and triple checking notes and citations are the poor excuse you implement to delay the inevitable. At some point you’ll have to go downstairs to face the music. 

He’s waiting like always, scanning the mountain of returns littering the counter from a long day. Each step closer withers something in your stomach. 

The copies in your hand shift onto the wooden surface, joining the stack for him to work through. Yoongi flashes a polite grimace when you catch his eye before immediately diving back into his work. Hopefully he understands why you chose Thank You for Smoking. And why you covered the second half of the title with a sticky note.

Jungkook’s smiling face greets you bright and early. His name tag has been upgraded from flimsy paper to a plastic one and a printed label with his name. 

Handing over your library card, he quickly scans it and grabs the books meant for today’s dissection. 

“Yoongi wanted me to tell you that if you want more coffee while you’re working, you can go to the staff lounge on the second floor.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook continues sifting through your requests, making sure each is correct.  “Between you and me, the coffee down the street is better. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a coffee snob and thinks his shit—sorry—stuff is the best.”

“Okay,” you say, grabbing your pile. “Thanks.”

You set up your station like always, sorting through each book and devising a mental to do list. The desk resembles a feast but instead of food it’s encyclopedias, printed articles, and dusty manuscripts Yoongi wrangled from who knows where. On the outer board of your work station rests the feature of the day: How to Beg for Cigarettes.

A few hours pass between the pages. Your previous research is confirmed by the significantly less dusty encyclopedias this time, corroborating the basis of your thesis. A new work you haven’t seen is cited in the back, piquing your interest for more evidence. 

Instead of bothering one of the staff, you use the library website and find it in their catalog. It’s somewhere on the second floor where Yoongi offers free coffee. Two birds, one stone; a new book and a new cup of coffee.

The layout resembles all the other floors. A collection of study tables in the center crowded by bookshelves on all sides. One person, an undergrad by the look of pure dread on their features, occupies a table but that's it. Glancing at the note with the call number, you start towards the stacks on the left.

You find the correct area, eyes scanning up and down the different shelves to no avail. Hundreds of books, different sizes in an array of colors, flash by but none are the one you need. You’re about to call it quits when you spot it on the top shelf, just out of reach.

Call it a moment of stupidity, a brief blight of recklessness, but the book sits only a few inches beyond your fingers. You look around to make sure no one is around to witness the brilliantly flawed idea crest in your brain. With the coast clear, you hoist yourself up the shelf.

A deadpan voice nearly makes you fall.

“Looking for something?” 

Yoongi stands a few feet away, head cocked to the side. Of course he’d find you in such a ridiculous position. Even through the blur of your peripheral vision, the harsh lines of his usual uniform clashes against the back drop of books. Dark jeans fitted over his thighs, dark button down rolled up his arms, and a pair of glasses that make him look hot. But you’re in no position to dwell when the risk of falling on your ass is so high.

“Nope, just getting in some exercise” you grunt, moving your foot to the shallow hold of the next shelf.

Yoongi moseys up behind you before continuing. “And climbing a decades old bookshelf is how you stretch your legs?”

“You smoke cigarettes, I climb old furniture. We all have our vices.”

Your foot slips from its perch, making you squeak before catching your balance. 

“Alright spider-monkey, that's enough.” His hands slide across your hip, fingers curved around the softest part of your waist as he helps you down. 

Distracted by the weight of him still on your hip, the heat of his chest a scorching across your back, you don’t even think to disparage him for the cheap Twilight reference. The few inches Yoongi has on you allows him to reach overhead to snag the copy you need with ease. But as you watch his hands close around the spine everything beyond fades to black; like the universe pinholes where you two stand.

“This one?” You feel the vibration of his words up and down your spine, warm breath tracing across the shell of your ear.

Body on autopilot, you turn to face Yoongi. His mouth moves, eyes scanning the book cover but every word deafens in a muddy haze. He doesn’t seem to realize his hand is still on your waist, or how he crowds you into the shelves; chest to chest, stomachs barely an inch apart.

“Huh?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from his mouth.

“I said, if you asked for this book earlier I could have gotten it for you.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?” he asks, stepping further into you. “You look a little flushed.”

The bastard smiles. A God’s honest smile like his thigh isn’t between your own, or he isn’t waiting for a reply while his fingers dig in beneath your ribs.

Just when you open your mouth to say something, Yoongi silences you with a firm squeeze of his hand. His head lowers until his breath ghosts along your chin. 

Then you’re kissing; lips sliding together easily like he anticipated it. The world shatters all around from just a few passes of his mouth across your own, the weight of his body flattening you against the bookshelf. 

The first hint of his tongue against the seam of your lips makes you gasp and Yoongi takes the opportunity to taste you. You melt under his attention. Head tipping back, shoulders bowing to take more, your senses flood with the remnants of coffee and something else; something so quintessential Yoongi your head spins. It lights a new flame in your veins, one burning with pure want.

A handful of his shirt pulls him closer. Yoongi follows easily but gets more than asked for when one of your hands tangles in the back of his hair, tugging until he’s tilting his chin the way you want. It’s a bad habit other dates have subtly complained about but a noise bubbles in his throat at the dig of your nails; responding with his own palm squeezing roughly across your ass until your hips meet his. 

The crash of the book near your feet is like a bucket of ice water.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Jumping back proves futile as the shelf digs further into your spine. “I–”

Puffy lips and lowered eyes stare back at you, clear evidence that you haven’t hallucinated what just happened. Yoongi dips down to kiss you again but you slither out of his grip.

Forgetting the book on the tiled floor, you mumble an apology and flee back upstairs, beelining to the vacant restroom.

To your own mortification, your features mirror Yoongi’s; lips swollen, eyes glazed. Your sweater twisted around your torso clearly betraying your rendezvous in the stacks. Beads of sweat cling to your forehead and neck.

A few splashes of cold water help clear the fog in your brain but as it dissipates embarrassment sets in. Making out with a handsome man is one thing. Making out with the librarian assisting in the most important work of your life is an entirely different ordeal; one that can only spell trouble.

Pacing back and forth, the cool paper towel on the back of your neck helps calm your racing heart enough to leave the safety of the ladies room.

Try as you might to drown under piles of books, it’s useless. You pretend to read the same passages over and over but none of the words register. The kiss replays over and over and over again. You kissed Yoongi. Yoongi kissed you back. He tried to kiss you again when you pulled away.

The end of the day inevitably comes which means you have to face him whether you want to or not. But you won’t allow a single lapse of judgment to affect your work; a moment of weakness propelled by months of abstinence that just so happened to coincide with a surly librarian’s entrance into your life. You just needed to get it out of your system. If it hadn’t been Yoongi it would have been someone else. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

A glance at your watch informs you that today is the second day you’ll leave the library early. Rather than give into the stubborn instinct to stay, you decide putting as much distance between yourself and Yoongi is far better for your mental health. With squared shoulders and a raised chin, you head downstairs. 

Yoongi’s waiting behind the counter. He isn’t typing on his computer or scanning books. He watches every step you take, arms crossed in front as he leans forward like he’s eager for a confrontation. 

“Yoongi,” you say.

“Y/N.”

You use every fiber of will to maintain eye contact as you pass your stack over the counter. “I’ll need these same ones tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He nods. “And the kiss?”

“What kiss?” you croak.

Yoongi’s eyes blaze like you’re a new puzzle to be solved, like he wants to take you apart and find exactly what makes you tick. You feel naked. “The one where you—”

“Must have been someone else. Sorry. Have a good night!” You rush for the door before he can say another word.

Another morning is another day in the library, but this time your roommate begs to tag along. 

“Look, I’m not getting anything done on my thesis so maybe you’ll rub off on me,” Taehyung says.

Rolling your eyes, you step through the door he holds open. “I think you’ve had plenty of people rub off on you.”

Gasping with fake indignation, he catches up easily. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Yes.”

“Good, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Is that him?”

Yoongi and Jungkook are talking behind the counter. Jungkook’s hands wave wildly as he recounts whatever information to his boss while Yoongi listens with fake interest. Or that's what someone else might think. The subtle signs he cares are hidden in the details; the miniscule lift of shoulders, a cock of his head, and when Jungkook pouts in a way too ridiculous for a man his size, Yoongi hides a smile in the shake of his head.

“Yes.”

“And I’m the slut?” Taehyung scowls as you pinch his shoulder. “What? He’s a nerd’s walking wet dream.” 

“And he can hear you, so shut up.”

“Morning!” Jungkook calls on his way past with a cart full of books. 

He grins like he knows exactly what happened on the second floor yesterday but that can’t be true. Yoongi doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell. Only the type to kiss and tease you relentlessly for it when no one else is around to hear.

Taehyung’s attention immediately locks on him. You love your roommate, always have and, unfortunately, always will; but he is a slut and Jungkook is definitely his type. However, he’s on your turf and knows better than to fuck where you have to eat for the next few months. 

“Y/N, Y/N’s friend,” Yoongi says when you approach his desk. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Right,” Yoongi drawls, blinking lazily before sliding your books over and turning around to sort something on the opposite counter.

Taehyung, ever the gentleman, grabs the pile for you and follows upstairs. 

“Well he seems like a cup of sunshine,” Taehyung whispers. 

“Just because he isn’t fawning over you doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”

“I’m very fawn-able, ask anyone,” your roommate argues as you approach the fifth floor. “Wait, what's this… How to Defeat Your Own Clone and Other Tips for Surviving the Biotech Revolution. This is the type of shit he’s giving you? You’re easier than I am.”

“Give me that.” You snatch the paperback out of his grip. “Stop being nosy.”

Taehyung lets you work in peace after that, disappearing to gather more of his own materials. Even in undergrad he’d never been one to sit still for long. But he still managed to get a spot doing an engineering thesis despite the constant changes in his attention.

After several hours of mind numbing typing you need a break, and another cup of coffee on someone else’s dime sounds perfect.

“I’m getting coffee.”

“Bring me some,” Taehyung says without looking up from his screen.

The staff lounge is nothing fancy. A couple small tables with plastic chairs tucked around, a cork board covered with fliers, and a white board stuck to the fridge scrawled upon with black dry erase marker. The coffee pot sits full in the machine, still hot to the touch. 

You pour two cups. Taehyung’s gets loaded with creamer cups until it’s closer to white than black while yours is sweetened to sickening perfection. When you try to take a sip, the liquid immediately burns your tongue. Too hot coffee is better than cold coffee but an ice cube would help make it more palatable.

Moving back to the fridge, you go to open the freeze but stop when the white board catches your attention again.

Most notes are chores or friendly reminders about time cards but almost half the board is dedicated to a back and forth.

‘Unofficial Employee of the Month: Jungkook’ 

A note in Yoongi’s tight script: ‘You don’t work here.’

‘That’s why it's unofficial!’ in what must be Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

‘You’re my official employee of the month. - Namjoon’

At the bottom is a crude drawing of stick figures, two tall smiling ones holding hands under a rainbow labeled ‘JK’ and ‘Joon’ and a comically shorter one with evil eyebrows surrounded by storm clouds and ‘yoongi :(’ overhead.

“Snooping for secrets?”

“Jesus Christ,” you jump, turning to face Yoongi. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”

“You’re in the staff lounge, there’s gonna be staff here.” Yoongi crosses to the coffee pot on the counter and pours himself a cup. He doesn’t add cream or sugar or anything else to lessen the bitterness. Cliche. “So, was bringing your boyfriend here your subtle way of letting me down?”

“You think Taehyung is my boyfriend?” You whirl around in shock. Yoongi raises a brow, prompting you to continue. “Jungkook is more his type than I am.”

Yoongi releases a pleased hum, eyes shining. “So no boyfriend then?”

“Nope.”

You’re shaking but don’t look away from his hungry gaze. Yoongi takes a step closer, and another and one more until you're pinned to the countertop and his mouth is on yours. 

This time, you're more aware of everything. The smell of his cologne, the tickle of his bangs along your forehead, all the tiny details that were muffled before. Yoongi’s lips are firm against your own, a little chapped but it only makes you hotter with each pass.

His mouth is everywhere; your chin, your jaw, peppering down your throat until he pushes aside the hem of your shirt and sets to work on the jut of your collarbone like he’ll never get a chance again. 

“Yoongi,” you hum on the first rake of teeth. 

He takes it as an invitation to dig in harder, sucking the skin until your spine threatens to break and you say his name again. Desperate for some kind of anchor, you knot your fingers back in his hair and pull. 

A throaty noise responds and the need to hear more rears its head. Yoongi who always watches with measured fascination undone by some light petting. The power is addictive. 

Legs spread, he presses in flat. The heat of his cock, rigid beneath the fabric of his jeans, teases across the seam of your own. You're technically still in public but the consequences concern you less than the knowledge that you’ll go mad if you don’t feel him. His arms circle your back, pulling you firmer against him, right to the edge of the linoleum counter.

Wedging a hand between your bodies, you manage to get his zipper undone while your tongue traces along his jaw. Yoongi angles his hips to help, curling into your palm when you cup him over the fabric of his boxers. Every press has him swelling harder. 

His hands reach under your shirt. Skin on skin, the rough calluses of his fingers trace your ribs, thumbs following the cup of your bra in a tease. It’s a simple touch but your own hands falter when he brushes a nipple. You melt into each other.

“Hey, Yoongi, do you know where—HOLY SHIT!”

Jungkook stops at the door, eyes wide, mouth wider. 

“Get out!” Yoongi barks. He’s trying his best to keep your body covered from the younger man’s view but even if Jungkook isn’t getting a full frontal he isn’t dumb enough not to realize what’s going on.

Yoongi shudders a few breaths. Head hung low, he tucks himself back into his pants without moving away. You’re already slipping down from your perch when he looks back up.

“I’m just gonna…go,” you mumble, scurrying out the door.

Jungkook waits outside, eyes still bugging out of his head but at least has the decency to pretend he didn’t catch you in the act.

Tugging your shirt down, you avoid his gaze. How far would you have let Yoongi go if Jungkook hadn’t interrupted? 

“Coffee?” Taehyung asks as you approach the table.

You know what you look like without a mirror. The same as yesterday with glassy eyes and bruised lips, clothes wrinkled. Thankfully, Taehyung is more interested in his modeling software than where you’ve been. 

“They were out.” 

With a sigh like he is personally victimized by the lack of caffeine, Taehyung collapses on the table and plays dead. But he perks up at the sound of footsteps approaching behind you.

“You left this in the break room,” Yoongi says, dropping a cup of coffee by your side before disappearing. 

You turn to follow his retreating for until he’s hidden back between the shelves. The back of his hair is still messy despite his attempt to fix it, same with the wrinkles in his shirt from your hands.

“I thought they were out?” Taehyung eyes you suspiciously when you look back at him.

Cradling the still hot cup in your hands, you avoid his gaze. “Shut up.”

“So you do have to sleep with someone to get a cup of coffee.” 

“I’m not sleeping with him,” you spit in a harsh whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because…”

Because what exactly? There isn’t a good reason other than the fact Jungkook was the king of cockblocks. You would have let Yoongi do just about anything he wanted and he seemed to be in agreement. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

“You are so smart and so incredibly stupid.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, rising to pack his things. “I need to pee.”

You point him in the direction of the bathrooms and get back to work.

When Taehyung returns minutes later he starts shoving his things in his bag. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“This is like the epicenter of hot smart men and I refuse to suffer any longer.”

“You got Jungkook’s number,” you deadpan.

Taehyung can’t hide his own shit eating grin. “Yoongi gave it to me.”

“If you’re leaving, so am I.”

“Why?” your roommate whines. 

“Because I got you a hot date and that means you owe me dinner.”

“Technically it was Yoongi but I’ll concede.” Taehyung heaves his bag up. “Come now my dearest, we can still get happy hour if we hurry.” 

You reach in your own bag and toss him your keys. “Go wait in the car. I’ve gotta go grab another book real quick.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung says, mumbling something like ‘nerds’ under his breath as he heads downstairs.

You find Yoongi while on your way to his desk, already toting around the cart piled high with returns from the day. Several of the covers are Taehyung’s picks and somehow the knowledge they’ve spoken almost knocks you off kilter. Taehyung is a good wingman and that’s what worries you most.

“Hi,” he says, kneeling to put a book on a low shelf.

It shouldn’t have the effect it does but something about the way Yoongi looks up at you, on his knees, head tipped back, has your mind running wild with the image of him in the same position with both of you wearing far less clothing. Maybe if you weren’t interrupted in the staff lounge you’d have seen it in real life.

“Hi. Mind if I add these to the pile?” 

“Go ahead.”

The Stocking was Hung sits on top. You don’t wait around to see his reaction.

The temperature had steadily been increasing over the past weeks but this morning is the worst of all. That inescapable warmth fully seeded overnight and promised the comforting days of sweaters and pants are long gone.

Heat makes you lazy and fitful. In the early hours, long before you actually need to be awake, you stare up at the ceiling of your room. Not even a frigid shower helped the stickiness of your skin or laying still in your bed in nothing but one of Taehyung’s shirts and ratty shorts. It followed you everywhere until you left for the same brick building you spend more time at than at home.

Without thought, you throw on the first seasonally appropriate outfit in your closet; a thin dress that covers enough for the public but promises to keep you cool.

Yoongi seems to be taking the change in weather as well as you are. His usual attire is absent, nothing but a white shirt clinging to his torso. The pale skin of his forearms briefly catches your attention but you focus anywhere else to stop from rounding the desk and finishing what started upstairs.

You steel yourself and approach the desk, determined to act normal.

Familiar dark eyes flash up to greet you but Yoongi’s mouth doesn’t form any words. He just stares at you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulders, your neck, and then he pointedly keeps them trained on your eyes. Like he's willing to pretend yesterday didn’t happen. 

He doesn’t speak when he passes over the same pile of books as yesterday but you can feel him burn a hole in your back. Even after you climb up the stairs and out of sight, the prickling sensation you’re being watched follows.

You don’t get anything done. The words on the page might as well be another language as your mind races.

Yoongi didn’t give you an extra book today.

An endless list of potential explanations race through your mind. Maybe you’d been too forward with your choice. Maybe he’s gotten it out of his system, a quick tryst in the employee lounge enough to satiate his curiosity. Maybe because it’s the second time you’ve brushed him off. Even if it wasn’t your fault Jungkook stumbled in before anything worthwhile could happen. 

But he isn’t speaking to you and he isn’t giving you the random book you’ve come to look forward to every morning. 

Channeling the restless energy of overthinking, you take a lap around the floor. You pause to flip through random books as you zigzag through the stacks. Anything to take your mind off the unshakable tension sticking in the air like syrup.

Your laptop is in sleep mode by the time you reluctantly come back. Everything is as you left except a book you’ve never seen before sits on top of the open one you’d been reading.

There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom. 

A sticky note sticks up from the inside of the cover. A bolt of excitement shoots down your spine. When you flip it open a familiar handwriting stares back: ‘on the seventh floor’.

You hadn’t been gone too long but the fear of making him wait has you rushing up the stairs. Each step brings you closer to where he waits until you’re opening the bathroom door.

“Yoongi?” 

A hand wraps around your upper arm, yanking you in. Another hand silences a surprised shout before you realize it’s Yoongi and not a murderer pinning you to the interior of the door you just came through.

“Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he breathes. “It’s just not a good look for me to be up here.”

“Oh, really?” You smile. “And why is that?”

“This is my job.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you before.”

“Who says it’s stopping me now?”

He thumbs the strap of your dress, hooking under the thin material and dragging it down your arm. The heat and weight of Yoongi against you, touching you so simply, makes you vibrate. Yoongi moves into your neck, panting with a grind against your thigh. “I swear I don’t usually do this.”

You want to argue that you have two accounts that he does do this often, at least with you. But for someone who says they don’t, Yoongi is surprisingly natural. The tease prickling the end of your tongue fizzles out under his teeth across the curve of your shoulder, goosebumps blossoming along your back. 

A whimper unbecoming of an adult woman breaks the lullaby of summer air conditioner singing through the vents. You’re sweating under the cling of your dress, skin hot to the touch thanks to Yoongi’s attention; long fingers curved around your waist, thumbs skimming just under your breast.

“Could have fooled me.”

“This is a very nice dress.” His mouth bites down your neck, taking advantage of the new strips of skin the neckline unveils.

“That’s all it takes?” you pant from the wet of his tongue. “A pretty dress?”

“If you think,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m doing this because of your dress then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

The dark locks of his hair are too alluring to resist, tempting one of your own hands to scratch against the tip of his spine when Yoongi rolls against you again. A firm tug brings him to your mouth, lips molding to one another in a searing kiss. You can taste the coffee from the lounge and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke, like he thought to hide it before asking you to follow him.

“How long? How long have you wanted this?”

Yoongi hooks one of your thighs higher, savoring the heat of your core against the crotch of his pants with a slow thrust. “Since you came in and busted my balls over not having that archived manuscript when the website said we did.”

You remember that day. Patience thin from Taehyung’s loud overnight guest, you stormed into the library looking to take it out on a photocopy of the manuscript only for the only copy to be AWOL. Yoongi became the surrogate for your rage, his eyes burning into your skull as questioned how he could let it happen.

The next day was when he started adding books to your stack.

“That was months ago.”

“I’m a patient guy.”

You want him naked; ache to catalog what he’s hidden underneath bulky sweaters and loose button ups over the past few months. But that idea has to wait for somewhere less risky. You settle for dipping your hand under his shirt, tracing your fingers over the elastic of his boxers peeking from the waistband of his pants.

Attempting to hide the effect he has, you loop your fingers in his belt loops and pull him even closer so your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. “There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom? A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Like The Stocking was Hung is any better?” Yoongi sighs as your mouth ghosts over the rising vein webbing the side of his throat.

“Hey!” you object, rising to face him. “I thought you’d appreciate it after that mothman book.”

“I appreciate you complimenting my dick plenty.”

Yoongi doesn’t let you go, hands palming at the swell of your ass the entire way from the door to the counter. He’s got one hand curved along your jaw, thumb hooked around your chin and his teeth bruising your lower lip. The edge of granite digs in your spine but not for long as he lifts you and settles on his knees to dive under your skirt. 

He kisses up your calf, tongue snaking across the knob of your knee then the plush of your thigh. Just when you feel a puff of breath against the damp crotch of your panties, Yoongi falls to repeat the same path against your other leg. 

You don’t suffer for long. Pooling the excess fabric around your waist, Yoongi blinks up from between your thighs. The pink of his tongue follows the edge of your panties, wetting the fabric more until it clings obscenely. 

He pushes his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, keeping the mess of gray and black hair out of his eyes before diving back down.

His tongue lathers over your covered slit with a groan. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it. On my desk, yours, against that fucking bookshelf.” Yoongi punctures each word with more wet kisses against your core. “In my car, my bed. Everywhere.”

A cool breath has your thighs squeezing around his head thanks to the erotic combination of his spit and your own fluids drenching your panties. “Is this all you think about?”

“I had to come up here and jerk off yesterday because I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands.”

Your panties are pulled to the side before you can indulge in the new visual blooming on the edge of consciousness. “Yoongi.”

Eyes closed, his mouth circles your clit, tongue gently stroking you to life. Every pass against the sensitive bundle of nerves has your thighs squeezing around his head. 

The first prod of fingers makes Yoongi’s hold on the crook of your knee tighten. He stretches you back open, eyes following the way you suck him inside; coating his spindly digits with more arousal each time.

“A-ah,” you shake. “Please.”

Yoongi chances a glance up at your face, the needy sheen in your eyes, the way your mouth gapes, and decides to take mercy. 

He latches back onto your clit. Yoongi groans as you tug his hair, knocking his glasses to the ground. The pace he works your remains lethargic, savoring the kick of your hips until you grind against his mouth. 

Throaty groans vibrate against your cunt, tightening the muscles along the inside of your thighs. Neither of you are doing a good job muffling yourselves but if it’s between getting caught and having him stop then you’ll deal with the consequences when they come.

“Oh, Yoongi.” Your chest pulls tight; spurred on by the sounds of Yoongi bullying your insides, his mouth smacking against your folds. “I’m— oh, oh, oh!”

The rough crook of his fingers sends you flying. Only the pressure of his shoulders keep you from slipping off the counter as you explode against his mouth. Euphoria rushes your veins, licks of pleasure overwhelming. Every muscle quivers as Yoongi works you through until you use his hair to pull him away.

He’s quick on his feet. You’re still recovering as Yoongi pushes your bra down and draws one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking until you pull his hair again. Eyes cinched tight, face wet, you force his pants open then his underwear until Yoongi is almost as exposed as you are; pretty in your palm, sticky and hot to the touch.

But it’s not enough to feel him in your hand, you need to feel him inside. To fill you up where you sit hollow and aching without his fingers to provide a sliver of relief. “Fuck me.”

Yoongi doesn’t tease, has no quip about how needy you are. He keeps his mouth on your chest and uses his hands to grab something out of his pocket. It happens so fast you don’t even realize the condom is on until he nudges between your legs.

Your nails dig into his back, breathing through the initial stretch is the only way you stay quiet. Yoongi hides himself back in your neck, strained noises clawing out of his throat.

Yoongi isn’t gentle. Not caution or waiting. Months of push and pull destroy any desire for him to treat you as something fragile. He rushes into desperately, forcing your palm flat against the mirror behind you for some semblance of stability.

“God,” he grunts. “You’re incredible.”

You whimper a quiet acknowledgement, too fucked out to blush under his praise; pulling Yoongi closer until he’s scooping his hands underneath your ass, thrusting into you over and over. His mouth finds yours. Greedy. Hungry. 

It’s Yoongi who struggles to stay quiet. Even through the kiss he moans loud enough you feel it in your throat. You listen to them all, twisting the hand knotted in his hair to hear the whine you’ve quickly become obsessed with.

“Should have done this sooner,” your back arches and Yoongi’s mouth slips back down. 

“I tried. But you kept ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t—fuck—ignoring you.” Yoongi is everywhere. His taste on your mouth, cologne burned in your nose. The feel of him all over your body. “Shit.”

He fucks you harder to prove a point, hand slipping down to rub your clit. Your second orgasm glows on the edges. If Yoongi keeps playing with you, stretching you in half on his cock and biting a mark into your breast, you know you’ll come.

You focus on breathing. Letting it come to you instead of chasing it, overthinking it to the point it evades you. It’s easier than usual. Yoongi doesn't leave room for anything else beyond feeling good. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the cord tightens. 

Everything turns white hot, pleasure tearing through your muscles and ripping them to shreds. You convulse in Yoongi’s hold, only pinned down by his hips fucking you brutally. Nerves shot, Yoongi babbles praise in your ear but it's indecipherable from the headrush.

Yoongi follows you over the edge a few strokes later, twitching inside you until he stills. His hips give a few arrhythmic bucks as he fills the condom with his load. 

There's something nastier about clothed sex. The way sweat makes your clothes cling tighter, the rush of needing each other so badly you can’t be bothered to do more than pull things to the side. 

You feel dirty but in a good way. Yoongi kisses across the apples of your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, even your brows, but never returns to your lips. Each leaves you more frustrated than the last, muscles twitching beneath and head turning at the last second to try and meet his mouth. 

Tricking you with a brief connection, he laughs when you chase his lips as he dodgers back. But a pout and whine bring him back into your orbit.

He cleans you up with paper towels, wiping away the mess between your thighs with something akin to disappointment. But he doesn’t complain as he fixes your clothes and then his own. Muscles like jelly, you fall into his side when he helps you down from the counter. 

With a kiss to your temple, “Let's get out of here.”

“Morning, Yoongi.” You smile as you walk up to his desk.

A set of dark eyes rise to greet you, taking the cup of coffee you so graciously offer before smiling as well. “Good morning.”

Jungkook gawks like he’s never seen you two speak before. Round eyes bounce between you and Yoongi as if it’s a tennis match instead of a normal conversation. Probably because Yoongi was less than subtle when he pulled you out of the building yesterday, telling him to call Namjoon if anything came up.

Or maybe because you’re wearing one of Yoongi’s shirts.

You discovered much about the mysterious librarian overnight. He’d taken you back to his apartment; a perfect extension of himself decorated with dark furniture and more books than anyone could possibly read. Yoongi owned a collection of vinyl records that rivaled his book collection, he was a great cook, and he was studying to take the entrance exam for law school. 

After you were wined and dined, Yoongi dedicated hours between your legs. On his couch, against the massive bookcase in his living room, between the sheets of his bed. 

He also had a kink for eating you out while you explained your thesis in precise detail.

You’d only been allowed to leave when Yoongi was getting ready for work, not that you'd put up much argument. 

You make a scene of sorting through the stack he slides over. It’s not that you don’t trust Yoongi. But now that you’ve had a taste, you’re addicted to his presence. But he unfortunately can’t follow you upstairs so you savor the time now. 

“One of my books is missing,” you say.

“Oh, right.”

Yoongi passes over an unfamiliar copy.

Maybe He Just Likes You

And the blue sticky note attached, with his handwriting. ‘Dinner when you're done?’

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @dokyeomkyeom @yoonguurt

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[axeline5]

A note to the people who design hospitality venues:

If the bathrooms are accessed directly from the dining/bar area, please make sure that the urinals do not become visible to any unfortunately located patrons everytime the door to the men's bathroom is opened. Please.

[yeollie-plz]

Light The Flame

mbf! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Part 2

Synopsis: Your mom moves the two of you back to Texas and attempts to reignite an old flame. What will happen when she learns his candle now burns for you?

Genre: fluff, angst, and smut! the trifecta!

Warnings: divorced parents, mentions of cheating, no Sarah, no outbreak, drinking, age gap (reader is said to be in college but Joel's exact age isn't stated), Tommy is a bit of a sleaze, kissing, 18+ content, p in v sex, protected sex!, lots of different sexual acts, cursing

Gif credits to owners!

Inspired by this post from @deathsholywaterr ! I hope I did your idea justice!!

Also this shit is long so buckle up!

It had been about three months since your parents' divorce was officially finalized. Your dad had moved out long ago and with no other ties keeping her in California, she decided to move back to her hometown in Texas. And although you would miss your friends and the life you had in LA, you couldn't shake the feeling that you needed (and deserved) a change. Plus, you had just found out your boyfriend was sleeping with your so called best friend. So, yeah, you wanted to get out as soon as possible.

All of your stuff was packed into a moving van and moved across the United States. You knew Texas would be super different, but a welcome change. Not to mention a chance to reinvent yourself. Taking college classes and finding your path in life, that was the goal. But, of course, a girl still needs to have a bit of fun and you and you had heard Texas nightlife was very fun!

That's how you found yourself, perched on a barstool, at a downtown Austin bar, listening to drunk people sing karaoke only hours after unpacking your clothes. You giggled lightly to yourself as a very drunk man hit a way too high note. Rotating the barstool around to place your now empty glass on the counter and just as you were about to motion the bar tender over to order another a man settled in next to you. He leaned against the counter, a bit closer to you than you would've liked.

"Hello gorgeous, how 'bout you let me get you a drink?" His words slurred together as the smell of the beer on his breath wafted towards you. Your nose scrunched in disgust.

"How about no?" Your tone was sweet, but your words were not as you batted your eyelashes at the man. He was cute, but you weren't exactly in the mood for flirting especially with someone as intoxicated as him.

"Come on, one drink. We don't even gotta have a conversation, just wanna know your name. I'm Tommy by the way." He held out his hand, with how close he was it almost hit you in the face. You recoiled.

That's when a different man appeared next to the two of you, he grabbed Tommy by the bicep and yanked his hand back. Then pulled his body a few feet away from you, finally giving you the space you had been wanting the whole time.

"I'm sorry about him, sugar. My brother is an idiot and I'm an idiot for thinking he'd be okay alone for five minutes." He turns to Tommy. "Can't even let me pee, without causing me problems, can you?"

Trying to hold back your smile, you flattened out your skirt, getting rid of the imaginary wrinkles in it. The brother's eyes lock onto your hands, seemingly just now taking you in. He gulps as his eyes glaze over, then clears his throat.

"I really am sorry about him. Here, let me buy you a drink." He says and you almost giggle at how badly the two brothers want to buy you alcohol.

"Don't worry about it! Sadly, I am used to drunk men coming up to me. I appreciate it though, but honestly I should get home." He looks lost in thought, like he's debating offering to drive you home. But just as he opens his mouth Tommy slips and falls, almost taking his brother down with him. Then, who you're assuming is the older one tries to get him back to his feet.

He continues to struggle to get Tommy up, as you stand from your seat after placing a few dollars onto the bar for tip. Tommy drops to the floor again and he sighs. Ruffling through his pocket he pulls out his card and hands it to you.

With a quick, "If you ever want that drink." Before getting Tommy to his feet and pushing him back to where they must have been sitting. You glance at the card wanting to know his name.

Joel

A few days later, you found yourself at the grocery store. You wandered aimlessly through the aisles. Half in an attempt to orientate yourself with the new areas and half just looking for what sounded good. You wanted snacks, just weren't sure what exactly. As you pushed your now pretty full cart down the wine aisle, you saw a familiar face at the other end.

You tracked him with your eyes for a second before his met yours. A smile graced his lips, eyebrows raising in surprise. Honestly you were surprised yourself. Not only did he recognize you, but he was happy to see you.

Making his way towards you, he offered you a small wave, which you returned. Your cheeks heated up slightly, you remembered he was attractive, but now in the bright florescence it showed even more. Glancing down at your outfit, you cursed yourself for not putting in just a bit more effort this morning.

"Hello again." Joel said when he finally made it over to you.

"Hello again," You mirrored his words, "Wasn't sure you would recognize me just now." You cursed yourself at the words you let slip out. Insecurities on full display.

"Of course I would recognize that beautiful face again." He says nonchalantly, like he didn't just openly call you beautiful. Like he didn't just openly flirt with you!

Cheeks flushed, you cleared your throat, "Did...uh...did you and Tommy get home alright?" He smiles like you've said something funny.

"We did, you?" Awkwardly, you shift your weight.

"I did."

He looks at you with the same smile from before, something mischievous now playing in his eyes. Cocking his head at you, he looks like he is trying to get you to say more.

"You never called, don't want that drink, sugar?" Now you are adorning a playful look back. He was scared you weren't going to call him?

"I was getting to it." You say, simply. Not wanting to come off too desperate, but also not letting his hopes get dashed.

"I was really looking forward to seeing you again." Joel takes a step closer to you.

"I might be at the bar sometime this weekend, maybe you will." At your words his eyes darken slightly. He knows you are toying with him.

Taking one more step towards you he leans down, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, "Maybe I will." And he's trying to play back. He smirks at you before offering you another wave and walking off into the depths of the store.

You are left there, blinking and blushing at his retreating figure.

That weekend, you were doing your makeup oh so precisely. The dress you had picked out hugged your figure perfectly. You wore your best heels. Your hair was meticulous. Now to just hope Joel showed.

It's not like the two of you picked a specific day or time so what if he wasn't there? You couldn't think like that, you could only hope for the best and look your best too.

As you pushed open the door of the same bar you had first met Joel at the cool air washed over you, causing you to shiver. That's when your eyes met with his. It was almost like he had his eyes trained onto the door, just waiting for you to arrive. It looked like he chuckled at your shiver as he stood and made his way over to you.

"Cold princess?" His head cocked at you in amusement.

You crossed your arms, "Actually I'm just fine." And with a nod you saunter past him and towards the bar to order a drink.

He follows closely behind him and you just know he's smirking at your response. Joel lets you attempt, and fail, to gain the bartenders attention. Before he places a hand lightly on your shoulder and nods as if to say "watch this".

Bringing his fingers to his lips he blows out a loud whistle, your eyes widen in shock. He smirks down at you before making eye contact with the bar tender who is now staring incredulously at Joel.

"Joe, think you can get my girl here a drink?" My girl? He didn't mean it like that, he couldn't have.

"Only since she's so pretty. But you? I've told you about doing that, Miller. So annoying." The bartender, Joe, mumbles the last part more to himself but both you and Joel hear it. Joel laughs behind you, you feel the rumble of his chest against your back. A shiver runs down your spine.

He leans down, talking into your ear, "Sure you aren't cold?"

You roll your eyes, he knows what he's doing. Actually, he's doing it on purpose. Letting out a scoff, you readjust your position on the stool allowing your body to graze against Joel's a bit more. His hand reaches out to grip the edge of the bar. You can feel his eyes boring into you, his knuckles are turning white. Yep, you know what you're doing as well.

And just as Joel was about to say something else to you, Joe comes back with two drinks in hand. He passes a smaller glass to Joel, with what you assume is scotch in it. Then he passes a taller glass with a mixed drink in it to you. Its the same drink you got the other night you came in and you wonder how Joe remembered. But you brush it off as good customer service and take a sip of your fruity drink.

Joel smirks down at you as you are obviously enjoying your drink ad sips his as well. The ice clinks in his glass when he sits down the half empty vessel next to you.

Once again, he speaks into your ear, "Why don't we find a booth?" Nodding in response, he holds his hand out to you to help you off of the stool. You can't help the blush that rises to your cheeks at how much of a gentleman he is.

The two of you sat and talked for hours. Subtle flirts, learning about each other, anything and everything. Although you weren't sure you were ready for a relationship after the train wreck that was your last one, you enjoyed Joel's company and it seemed like he enjoyed yours. Plus, it didn't hurt to just have a strictly physical relationship, did it?

Thats how you found yourself agreeing to another date with Joel. Thats how you found yourself moving your hips into his on the dance floor. And thats how you found yourself in his bed later that night.

Currently he was sitting on the edge of the bed, your legs straddling his as you kissed fervently. Your hips moved seemingly on their own, grinding your clothed core down onto his jean clad member. He groans into your mouth when you grind down even rougher. Big hands grip onto your hips, stilling your movements.

"Careful princess." His voice is deep as he mutters into your lips before catching them in a deep kiss again. This causes you to now let out a moan. Damnit if you weren't the most turned on you've ever been.

Joel seems to catch onto the faster movements of your hips, knowing you need more. His lips trial down your neck to the juncture of your shoulder, he bits you lightly before licking over the marks. You gasp, bucking your hips forward at the feeling. He smirks against your skin and moves his lips down your exposed chest. Silently thanking yourself for wearing such a low cut top.

Lips ghost against the skin of your breast before he pulls your shirt aside to let one boob out of its constraints. He sucks your nipple into his mouth and that's when you fully loose yourself into the pleasure. If you weren't fucked before, you sure were now. Well...you were going to be soon hopefully.

Pulling off of your bud, his breath fans over the sensitive skin causing a shiver to run down your spine. Something flashes in his eyes as a smirk graces his lips.

"Either you're always cold or I really have an effect on you." He says, craning his neck back towards your lips. You roll your eyes before he's meeting lips with your own and flipping you over to lay on the bed.

Your head lands all but gracefully on the plush surface, his lips never leaving yours. The hands that were on your hips, now explored your body leaving goosebumps in their wake. One massaged your still covered breast, the other slowly made its way up the inside of your thigh. His fingers tentatively crossed over your core and up to the buttons of your pants. Your need to have him inside of you grew stronger as you lifted your hips involuntarily, trying to urge him to take of your pants.

"So desperate." Is all Joel says before he is popping open the first button. Then the next. Then the next. Slowly he unbuttons them all and pulls your pants just as slowly down your legs. The pace makes you whimper out.

He was right, you were desperate. But with how slow he was going, who wouldn't be?

"I want to taste that pretty pussy." Joel says as he finally makes eye contact with your lacy underwear.

"Please, I just want you inside me." He gives you a look at your words, like he wasn't sure you meant it. Or he wasn't sure you were that ready?

"Next time, please Joel just fuck me already."

He seems to contemplate this for a second, but ultimately agrees, "Your wish is my command."

He slips out of his own shirt and quickly slides his jeans off too. Standing there in just his underwear, you swear you could pass out from the view alone. But your head was too cloudy to say anything. Joel seemed to see the lust in your eyes and just shook his head before grabbing a condom from the nightstand.

"Take your shirt off for me, sugar." Its a bit more of a request than a command but you follow it like it was an order. You had to admit it was a bit sexy to be told what to do.

"Good girl, let me see how wet you are." He stands over you while stroking his hardening dick through his underwear. You watch in awe before following his instructions and pull your own panties off of you.

Spreading your legs, you display your pussy to him and he groans at the sight. He strokes himself a bit faster as you slide your fingers through your soaked folds. Fingers dip into your opening and you hold back your reaction, keeping your eyes locked onto his. When your fingers are thoroughly coated in your juice, you trail them up your torso to your mouth. Sucking your fingers in and licking them clean.

Darkness fills Joel's eyes as he decides this is the last straw and he is on top of you in a instant. Pulling your fingers out of your mouth he shoves them into his own, swirling his tongue around your digits.

Quickly he pushes off of you just to take off his underwear and slip the condom onto his painfully hard penis. You gulp at the sight, mouth watering like you've been in a desert for days. You make a note that next time you must also taste him.

But, these thoughts leave your head as quickly as they came because Joel is pushing his member into you. As the tip breaches your entrance, you are gasping and gripping onto his arms for support. You feel his muscles tensing under your fingertips as he begrudgingly paces himself, trying to let you adjust

You almost giggle at the pained look on his face. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hook your ankles together and pull him the rest of the way inside of you. He has to catch himself from falling on top of you from both a mixture of shock and the forceful nature of your movement.

Eyes meet yours with a shocked look. You just give him a smirk and a shrug in return. Regaining his composure, he pulls out of almost completely. So painfully slowly that you almost keel over. You know its your punishment for what you had done and you were feeling the full force of your actions.

But, the punishing doesn't last long as he enters you again. He thrusts out to his tip again only quicker and rougher. Continuing this action of thrusting in and out of you picking up a tempo.

After letting out another moan when he slams into you particularly hard, you crane you neck slightly to see the look on his face. He seems to have fully lost himself in the pleasure. The teasing is all lost and he is now fully focused on getting you both to your orgasms.

Joel is now fucking into you with no more reservations. He reaches a hand between the two of you, using his thumb to rub your clit. He rubs the bud in circles, trying to work you towards your peak.

"Cum for me, princess." He says with a grunt, gripping your hips roughly. His hips snap into yours roughly.

You feel the beginnings of your orgasm. The coil in your stomach begins to tighten. Your hips buck up at the feeling, needing to orgasm.

"Joel!" You gasp out as you are pushed over the edge. You clench around his cock, pussy urging him to cum as well.

Working you through your orgasm, he continues his motions on your clit. He thrusts are getting a bit out of rhythm as he is also reaching his own peak. Leaning over you he reattaches his lips to yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

As his hips stutter into yours he is thrusting into you one last time before spilling his load into the condom. Joel moans into your mouth as he works himself through his orgasm. Hips slow down as his orgasm ends and Joel is plopping down next to you. Wrapping you in his arms as his member is still inside of you.

All that is heard in the room is heavy breathing for a minute as Joel's sweaty body surrounds yours. You look up at him and his eyes meet yours. A smile graces his lips before he is pecking your nose and bringing you even closer to him.

Eventually, he pulls out of you and ties of the condom. Moving to toss it in the en suite before returning just to wrap you back into his warm embrace.

After the first time you and Joel hooked up, the two of you hung out at least three times a week. You would go to the bar, get a few drinks, talk a bit, laugh a bit. But you would always end up back at Joel's place. In his bed. In his arms.

Your mom was also starting to catch onto something going on with you. With you coming home late, giggling on your phone, smiling randomly at the thought of Joel. Not to mention, you were acting a bit shady. Even your friend noticed a change when she called you the other day.

But it was nothing but physical, right? Right...

Pushing open the door as silently as you could, you slightly stumbled into the dark house. Still a little tipsy as well as a bit of jelly legs from your earlier activities. Slipping off your shoes and picking them up so your heels wouldn't echo, you tried to reach the stairs to your room.

The minute your hand grabbed the banister, the lights in the living room flipped on like some movie scene. Your mom sat on the couch, arms crossed staring at you.

Jumping you tried to calmly greet her, "Hey mom."

"Don't 'hey mom' me, where have you been?" She was never this serious, so it scared you slightly.

"Out, I found a bar in town and I've been hanging out there." You didn't want to mention Joel just yet. One because how did you explain to your mom that you had a fuck buddy. And two that that fuck buddy was almost twice your age.

"By yourself?" Shit, she saw right through you.

"I mean, I talk to a few people there. Made friends with the bar tender. Well sort of, he's a bit serious and-"

She held up her hand to stop your rambling. You snapped your mouth shut.

"Who drove you home?" Joel had been driving you home from his house almost every time you guys hung out. He didn't like you taking a taxi that late.

You gulped, "I got a taxi."

"I know that's not true, Y/N. You're seeing someone. I can tell. You're different since we moved here and I think it has to do with someone." Your eyebrows furrow at her confession. Was she mad at you for staying out or mad at you for keeping secrets from her?

"Okay, maybe I am. I'm an adult!" You really weren't sure what she wanted to hear at this moment.

"You are, but I just want to make sure you are responsible."

Now you were rolling your eyes and crossing your arms back at her.

"Responsible? I can assure you I am." What did she think? That you were going around sleeping with randos and not using protection?

"Good," She stood up now and made her way over to you, "I just want to make sure you're okay, sweetie. After all that happened before..." She trailed off when she saw the hurt on your face at the mention of your ex.

She continued, "Anyways, I can see you're happy, so I won't pester you much about it anymore. But, can you at least try to come home earlier. You know I worry." She places a kiss on your forehead and moves past you up the stairs a bit, only turning back to hear your reply.

"I will, I'm sorry you were worried." You smile at her, she returns that smile.

Making her way to her room she shouts back one more thing before closing herself in her room, "And I wanna meet him sometime!"

This has you gulping, breathing cut short, body rigid. How were you going to get out of this one?

The next morning as you sluggishly made your way to the kitchen, you were greeted by your overly excited mother.

"Morning sweetie!" You almost cringe at her loud voice, feeling the effects of your late night.

"Morning." You grumble out, before making your way to the pantry to find something to eat.

She's humming to herself as she cooks some eggs on the stove. At first you don't think much of it, until you notice her almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. It makes you take a pause, she was excited about something and she definitely wanted to tell you about it.

"Why are you so happy?" You ask with a smile in your voice. Leaning against the pantry door, you make eye contact with her. She blushes, smiles, and then looks back down at her eggs.

"Remember how I told you I went out with a group of friends from high school the other night?" You nod recalling how she animatedly told you about that night and all the nostalgia.

"Well, we are all hanging out again tonight. I'm just excited." Now you nod in acknowledgement. But she did seem a bit more excited than just a hang out, eh whatever.

You went back to looking for your cereal, grabbing it and a bowl. While pouring your cereal into your bowl, your mom speaks again.

"Plus, I might have a man too." Jumping slightly at her confession, you almost spill your cereal. You weren't sure you were ready for her to date again. It seemed weird after your parents had just divorced. You'd never seen either of them with anyone else, just strange.

She continues without you saying anything, "We went to school together. Used to have a bit of crush on him back then, but never worked out. Anyway, he was with us that other night and when I tell you he aged well!"

Almost laughing at how your mom was acting like one of your friends. Cute little crush and everything! You still felt a bit weird about hearing something like this from her. First of all, ew! Second of all, was she ready?

"Oh, that's nice." Is all you can manage to say, before taking a bite of your cereal, that you had just finished pouring milk into.

"'That's nice.'" She repeats, setting her spatula down and not making eye contact with you.

"Yeah, mom, that's nice. It will be nice for you, after dad..." You trail off, not sure if this is a sore subject or not. The two of you didn't talk much about the divorce anymore. So you thought it better to tread lightly.

"I think so too." She says, a bit more happier now as she resumes her eggs.

Yep, it will be nice.

After your awkward breakfast with your mom, you returned to your room to text Joel. If your mom was going out, you might as well too, right?

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed with a message. Quickly dropping whatever you were previously doing you crashed down onto your stomach on your bed. Kicking your feet as you unlocked your phone to read the message.

Joel: Sorry, sugar but I have plans tonight. Tomorrow?

You sigh, guess everyone was busy tonight.

You: No worries! See you tomorrow!

Sighing, you flipped onto your back, staring at your ceiling trying to think of what was going to keep you occupied tonight.

You decided to take the time for a self care night. Painted your nails, did a face mask, read a bit, before ultimately ending up in the bath.

The soak felt nice and after weeks of not focusing on yourself enough, it also felt nice to just relax. Plus, if you were glowing the next time you saw Joel, he probably wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of you.

That's how you found yourself, wrapped up in your soft robe propped up at your vanity. Hair wrapped in a towel while you rubbed lotion into your legs.

Just as you were finishing up, the doorbell rang downstairs. Sighing, not really wanting an interruption, but needing to answer it nonetheless. You pushed up from your seat and made your way downstairs. Not even bothering to change out of your robe.

And you would have never expected what you were about to see on the other side of the door as you swung it open.

There stood Joel and another lady, trying to hold up your very drunk mother. Eye immediately lock onto Joel's, an apologetic look on his face as he wasn't sure what to say.

Your mother however saw you and tried to rush at you to hug you. Slurring about this and that. How much fun she had, how pretty you were, anything and everything that came to her inebriated mind.

Joel and the lady held her back, trying to keep her on her feet and off of you. After the initial shock of the moment, you finally realized they were probably trying to get you to let them inside.

"Oh! Um, come in. I'm sorry about her, uh maybe just put her on the couch?" You gesture towards the living room and move aside to let all three of them through. Joel glances back at you as you close the door, eyes also trained onto him.

They try to place your mother onto the couch as carefully as they can, but she falls to the side anyways. You are almost horrified at the situation. Joel, here. Your mom, drunk. Joel with your drunk mom.

Joel clears his throat while the lady is busying herself with your mom, "As you can see, she's a bit tipsy." He states the obvious, you bite your lip as he shuffles from foot to foot nervously.

"A bit." You conclude.

"Yeah, uh, it might have been my idea to play a drinking game. Sorry!" The lady on the couch calls over her shoulder, returning to your mom.

Your eyes never leave Joel's. As the shock subsides, you finally put some pieces together. Your mom was going to see some high school friends. Joel was one of your mom's high school friends. You were hooking up with your mom's friend. Fuck!

Joel tries to read your face, you can see how he wants to go over to you. Wants to apologize properly or explain himself. Anything to make you feel better.

"Sug-Uh, Y/N right?" He almost lets his pet name for you out. You nod, like he doesn't moan out your name nightly.

"'m Joel and that's Linda." You nod again. What then fuck is happening right now?

"Do you think we should take her upstairs?" The lady, Linda, finally turns to look at you. She scans you and you only just now realize what you are wearing. Or lack of what you are wearing. Eyes shift to Joel, who is seemingly now taking in your appearance as well. You notice his Adam's apple bob a bit as he tries to wet his now very dry mouth.

"I mean, she will probably be fine there. One night on the couch isn't so bad." You try to joke but Linda's face stays stern.

"I'll take her up, can you bring her some water?" She looks to you and you nod again, now gulping at how serious she is.

Linda grabs your mom off the couch and surprisingly easily takes your mom up the stairs.

"The door on the left." You call out, realizing you never told her. Linda grunts in acknowledgement before taking your mom into your room. The second the door closes, Joel speaks.

"Linda's a bit serious."

"A bit serious? I was gonna say scary." He laughs at your statement.

"She is, isn't she?" He laughs again, before stopping as his eyes latch onto yours.

"Baby..." He trails off, not sure what to say.

"So, you're friends with my mom?" He nods. You open your mouth once, twice, before closing it again. Also not sure what to say.

"Obviously, I didn't know until she gave me the address tonight. Then I didn't know what I was going to say to you. I couldn't act like I knew you and-" He stops his rambling as you step towards him, placing a hand on his chest.

"It's okay, I know you didn't know. I know you wouldn't keep something like that from me." His hand engulfs yours, pulling it up to his mouth to peck your palm.

"You're so good to me." Taking a step closer, his forehead rests on yours.

You giggle, "You're so good to me."

The two of you sit there in silence for a second before he speaks again.

"You look so pretty right now, angel. I wish I could kiss you."

"You could." You confirm, bringing your face closer to his.

And right as he is about to attach his lips to yours, something crashes up stairs. you jump back from Joel at the sound before the two of you rush upstairs. Just to find Linda and your mom on the floor, laughing. You sigh in relief before noticing the pile of book knocked off the bookshelf.

"What happened?" You ask.

"She fell while trying to put her pants on. Knocked over all these books and me." Linda replies in between laughs. Only a bit shocked by her switch in emotions, you sign again.

"It's okay, you guys have done enough. I'll put her to bed now and clean that up in the morning. Thank you for everything." Linda nods, stands, and dusts herself off. Before looking to Joel who just gestures for her to go first.

Joel glances back at you once last time. Almost taking a step towards you, before shaking his head and following behind Linda.

The front door closes down stairs and your attention returns to your mom who is still sitting on the floor. Her head is slumped over and her breathing is even, like she has fallen asleep just like that.

"Come on, mom, let's get you to bed." You reach under her arms to lift her up. She doesn't help but falls into another giggling fit. Trying so hard not to laugh to you push her down under her seats, tucking her in just like she used to when you were little.

"That was him." She says all of a sudden.

"That was who?" You reply, not fully listening as you pick up one of the books.

"The guy I was telling you about. The one that grew up well. He's hot right?" You stop mid movement of picking up another book. What?

But before you can even say anything else soft snores come from the bed. You stand up and place the book back onto their shelf. Leaving the room silently.

You lean against the door once you shut it, stomach tying into knots.

The guy your mom is interested in is the guy that you are currently seeing. What the fuck?

The next morning it was your mom's turn to come into the kitchen groaning. Holding her head she sits at one of the barstools at the island.

"Morning sunshine." You greet her with a laugh while sipping your coffee.

She just grunts in response, you laugh again. Turning to make her her own mug of coffee, knowing that's exactly what she wants right now.

You slide it over to her, her eyes widen for only a second before lifting the mug to her lips. As soon as the liquid touches her tongue she is smiling into the brim of it.

"Thank you." She says as she places it back onto the counter. You raise your own mug to her in a "you're welcome" gesture. She sighs.

"Did I embarrass myself last night?" Groaning again while rubbing her temples.

You laugh, "Only a little." Holding up a pinching gesture with the hand not holding your coffee.

You take a sip while your mom speaks again, "Oh! But you met Joel right? What do you think?" And that's when you choke. You were kind of hoping she didn't bring up Joel.

"That bad?" Your mom chuckles while you try to recover from your coughing fit.

"Uh...um he didn't seem too bad." You finally say as you recover just enough to let the words out.

Your mom only nods, taking your short answer as enough.

What were you going to do?

You had sent a text earlier in the day to confirm with Joel that the two of you were still on for tonight. Although, you were a bit confused by the whole situation currently. You knew how you felt about Joel and honestly you were tired of hiding it from not only yourself but also him.

Now you could only hope he felt the same. That hope, however, came fully to fruition when the you showed up to Joe's bar and Joel was standing there waiting for you, bouquet in hand. You almost teared up at the gesture.

When you crossed the bar to him, he wrapped an arm around your waist pulling your body into his. He placed a kiss on the top of your head before handing the flowers to you.

"Sorry again about last night." You hit his chest at his statement. He backs up in shock, mouth wide open. His dramatics make you laugh.

"Stop saying sorry, it isn't your fault. My mom should be apologizing to you!"

"Still I should've at least warned you we were coming." Dramatics dropped as he looks down at his feet.

"While you were driving? Joel Miller!" Now you are the one being overdramatic and it makes him laugh like it had made you laugh.

"Fine, but I still feel bad."

You sigh, "Fine, but you're not sitting in this corner all night! Dance with me!" You grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor.

When you start dancing he is only swaying his hips a bit, not fully into it. But you aren't having any of that, you grab his arms and slide his hands down your sides. Flipping around so your ass makes contact with his crotch. This seems to make him react as he grabs your hips in almost a warning.

Although, of course, this only eggs you on to continue your teasing. Grinding your hips back into his like that very first night the two of you hooked up. You spin back around, hands moving up his stomach and chest finally resting latched behind his neck. Your head is tossed back as you continue to move your hips dangerously close to his own. Neck is on full display for Joel and he takes this as an opportunity to crane down and place a soft kiss there.

His head now rests on your shoulder using his hands to help move your hips in time with his. You smile, he must be feeling a bit better now. So when he raises his head out of the crook of your neck you raise your own to meet eyes.

But you don't see lust there, you see something else. Love? It makes you gulp, goosebumps raising on your skin as he leans down to bring his lips to yours.

And when he pulls away, "I want you." He says, but it isn't in the lustful way he usually says it. Not sure how to reply, you smirk teasingly.

"Then take me."

"Not like that, baby. I-I want you. I-" Words seem to stop at the top of his throat, fearing that they will topple over.

Still unsure, you say the first thing that comes to mind, "You have me. I've been yours for a while, Joel." The look in his eyes sparks almost unnoticeably.

"You're mine?" You nod. "Promise?" Another nod.

"Come home with me?" Instead of answering, you attach your lips to him.

Waking up in Joel's arms felt so much different than all the times you had been in his bed and in his arms before. Something about the intimacy of your conversation from the night before and the intimacy of being in his bed now. You were just so serene. It felt right. There was no other way to describe it.

Obviously, after leaving Joe's you ended up at Joel's place once again. Although this time you had told your mom so she wouldn't worry and you had also, at Joel's request, told her that you weren't going to come home at all tonight.

Of course, like all the nights before Joel and you had ended up fucking, but last night felt different. It was slower, it was intimate, it was like he was making love to you. If you had asked Joel he would tell you that's exactly what he was doing.

Glancing over at Joel, you see that he is still asleep. You try to carefully let yourself out of grip to get out of bed but his strong arms keep you there.

As you try again, he just grips you tighter letting out a groan. He opens his eyes slowly.

"Don't leave me." He says while still waking up.

"I'm not leaving, Joel, I-" He cuts you off by pulling you roughly into his side.

"Joel-" you warn with a squeak as he pushes on your stomach with the heel of hi hand. "-I need to pee."

He still doesn't let you up. Just nuzzles his face into your hair. His breath tickles your neck.

"If you don't let me go, I'll end up peeing in your bed." You try to warn him again and finally he lets you go with a sigh.

But before you can make it fully into the bathroom he is calling out behind you.

"You're mine?" Your eyes roll.

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Joel." Another warning tone.

"Promise." This time it wasn't a question.

"I promise. Now let me go pee!"

After peeing, you returned to Joel who was still sprawled out in bed. He brought you back into his arms as quickly as he could. The two of you stayed like that for a while, just bathing it each other's warmth.

Until Joel's hands started wandering. First it started with rubbing soothing circles onto your back. Then the circles moved to your thighs. The circles becoming less soothing and more whimper inducing. Then they moved to just above the waistband of your pants (boxers you had borrowed from Joel). Only for them to dip past that waistband just a second later. Now teasing your already dripping slit.

Whimpering out, Joel caught your sound with his lips. Letting his tongue taste yours. The kiss was slow, passionate. No matter how much he wanted you, he was taking it slow.

His fingers continued teasing your pussy lips, collecting your juices before slipping just the tip of fingers past your folds. Gasping, you bit down on his lip, causing him to groan into your mouth. The shock made him loose himself for a second but he recovered quickly and continued teasing you.

He did this for a minute or two never letting his lips leave yours. Bringing his fingers to your clit he rubbed the bud a few times before slipping his hand out of pants. You whined at the loss.

"I need to be inside of you. Can't wait any longer." He says before pushing you to turn around so he was now behind you.

You heard Joel rustling through his nightstand for a second before tearing open a package. Shifting away from your warmth for only a second to slide his underwear down and slip the condom on.

As quickly as he can he is returning to touching you, hand moving up under your shirt. Lips are on your neck nipping and sucking lightly at the sensitive skin.

The hand in your shirt moves up to tease your boob, massaging both of them. The other hand is moving back to the waistband of your pants, slipping them down your legs as much as he can in the position that you are in. You help him by lifting your hips a bit.

Joel slides his dick into you from behind, it being easy from till being a bit stretched out from last night. Not to mention all the teasing and the amount of wetness that is almost dripping down your thighs at this point.

You don't even need to adjust to the stretch, "Please Joel." You breath out. He continues fucking into behind and kissing at your neck.

Hand is still in your shirt, just holding onto your tit. The other is holding your hip in place, like he thinks you'll slip away from him. He is fully seated inside of you when he slowly pulls out of you to hi tip, before fucking back into all the way to the hilt.

He continues his slow and steady pace, just taking his time with your body. Needing to feel all of you. Needing you.

Thrusting his dick in and out of you. Working both of you towards your release. Morning sex with Joel was definitely different than any of the sex you've ever had with him before but you were loving it. You loved how he was taking his time. He didn't want either of you to get overstimulated.

The hand that was on your hip wrapped around to tease your clit. The strokes were as slow as his thrusts. But he strokes once particularly roughly and you are moaning, turning your head to try and meet lips with Joel. He obliges and connects your lips.

This is what sends you hurtling towards your end. The softness of the kiss, the circles on your clit, and the slow yet perfect thrusts. It crashes over you unexpectedly and has you moaning out loudly disconnecting your lips just so you can catch your breath.

And the feeling of your walls clenching onto his member has him closer to his peak quickly as well. He's usually very sensitive in the morning so he isn't very surprised. So when you seemed to have caught your breath and you no longer are jerking with your orgasm, Joel is placing his lips back on yours. Kissing you deeply as he swallows your breathy moans from the overstimulation.

This causes him to reach his peak, cumming into the condom with a throaty moan. Thrusting roughly into you a few times to work himself through his orgasm. When he is finished he is pulling out of you and using your shoulder to turn you back to face him.

He pulls your head into his chest. Breathing is still a bit labored as the two of you just feel the other person. Appreciating the comfort. Breathing in each other's scents, content.

Later that day after a shower, with Joel, he drove you back to your house to drop you off. You didn't have any clothes with you after all, so you at least had to change and because you didn't exactly want to leave Joel yet, when you didn't see your mom's car in the driveway you convinced Joel to come up with you.

He didn't protest much after you promised him your mom would not be returning any time soon. So he followed you through the house and into your room. You ushered him in and watched as he took it all in. Shutting the door behind you two, you made your way across the room to Joel.

Wrapping your arms around him from behind as he looked at some pictures on your desk. You hadn't realized until now but Joel had never seen the way you lived and it was comforting to finally have him in your space.

"That's when I was seven." You said as he picked up a picture of you with a soccer ball in hand, blue jersey hanging on your little torso. "I begged my dad to sign me up for soccer and only did it for about three weeks before I decided I hated it." You laugh at the memory.

He laughs too and places it down, now picking up a picture of you and your friend from prom.

"That feels like ages ago." You muse, "There used to be another girl in this picture but she uh she fucked my boyfriend so I cut her out." You nod into his back before disconnecting your arms and moving across the room to sit on your bed. Playing with your hands, he places the photo down and moves to sit with you.

"I'd never do that to you." He says after a beat of silence.

"Fuck my boyfriend? I hope not." You try to joke but it doesn't fully reach your voice.

Joel grabs your hands, "Cheat on you." He says the thing you weren't sure you wanted to hear. You open your mouth but aren't sure what to say.

So he speaks instead, "You deserve the world and I want you to know that I'm prepared to give it to you." You smile, finally bringing your eyes to his.

"You sound so old!" You jest as you hit his chest. He grabs your wrist using it pull you forward into him. You fall into his chest, Joel uses that as an opportunity to stable you by a hand on your hip.

"If I really was that old, I don't think I could fuck you the way I do." He tone is laced with seduction as he brings his lips to ghost yours. Breath fans over your face, causing you to shiver. He smirks almost bringing up the inside joke of you being cold all the time. But throws this away to instead attach his lips to yours.

The kiss is fiery, not like the ones from this morning that were filled with passion, this one was like he needed to prove something. Prove he would always be yours and you would always be his.

His lips and his hands have you so much in a trance that neither of you hear a car pulling into the driveway. Or the front door opening. Or your mom calling out your name. Or climbing up the stairs. Or opening your door.

But you do hear the gasp and the sound of bags dropping to the floor as your mom sees the two of you. Pulling away quickly both you and Joel jump away from each other like a fire was just lit between you. Your head snaps to look at your mom and then back to Joel and notice she is doing the same thing with the both of you.

"Mom, I-" You try to explain but loose your words and good thing too because they would be falling on deaf ears anyways. With her blinking twice and rushing out of the room, back down the stairs, out of the house, and driving away.

You look back to Joel who has a mortified look on his face, then back to the doorway your mom was just in.

"Shit."

Part 2 !!!!!!!

[joelscruff]

keep it squeaky (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

a/n the way this just kinda happened and idk how to explain any of it. if it's not your thing pls move along!! but if it is your thing...enjoy. bear with me, it was written in about 30 minutes. summary: joel miller has a problem, and it's his daughter's new best friend. or, alternatively, joel listens to you pee while he's in the shower. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age gap (you're in your 20s, joel is in his 50s), piss kink (????) i honestly don't know if this classifies as actual piss kink. he can hear you pee (and then watches you). you're on the toilet. idk if i can get any more clear than that, jerking off in the shower, joel having dirty thoughts cause he's a dirty old man, imaginary creampie, imaginary tummy bulge word count: 1.8k

You've been teasing him. You love teasing him.

It's been a long, grueling week of teasing.

But you and Sarah finally head back to college tomorrow, and he can't thank his lucky stars enough. He'd thought it'd be nice having her back here, even nicer that she decided to bring a friend along.

How wrong he'd been.

You're, for lack of a better word, persistent. Very persistent. And he's flattered, don't get him wrong, he's extremely flattered; beyond awestruck that someone as young and beautiful as you would have any interest in an old man like him. It had taken a few days for him to actually even accept what was happening; the flirty comments, the seductive glances, the little touches here and there. He'd thought he was making it up, that maybe you were just a touchy-feely kinda person, a lover of intimacy with everyone.

Until you'd been on the couch together on the third night. You'd leaned over to grab something - the remote, your drink, he can't even remember now - and you'd purposely made sure to brush your knee against his bulge. You'd kept it there for a few seconds, rubbed it gently, and then with a wink you'd grabbed whatever you'd been reaching for and settled in next to him again. Sarah, on the opposite side of you, hadn't noticed a thing.

But he had. And he'd noticed everything else you were doing after that. Nudging your foot against his ankle under the kitchen table, brushing past a little too closely in the kitchen so that your breasts pushed against his back, wiped crumbs of dessert from his mouth with your thumb and then sucked it into your own with a wide-eyed and flirtatious expression.

Not to mention the shit you wore - when you'd first arrived you'd been in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, nothing unusual. But after that first day of meeting him you'd suddenly switched to dresses exclusively. Short little things that barely covered the tops of your thighs, frilly material that bunched up in the back whenever you bent over.

He's now seen the plump shape of your ass and those delicate little panties you wear way too many times to count.

But he can't. He cannot act on the desire he feels for you, even though you're quietly begging for it. You're his daughter's best friend, not to mention he's three times your age. Only a dirty old man would even consider reciprocating the things you've done to him this week.

It's just one more day, he tells himself. Just one more day and she's gone.

It's on that final day that he finds himself where he usually does on a Saturday morning - in the shower. He's humming along to a tune he can't place and scrubbing body wash along his arms when he suddenly hears a knock at the door, light and almost shy. He freezes, raises an eyebrow.

"Mr. Miller?" he hears your voice on the other side, "Can I come in? I have to pee."

His eyes go wide; is she serious? She can't wait a few minutes for him to finish?

"I'll be out in a few," he calls back, trying to ignore the speed at which his heart is suddenly pounding.

"I don't think I can wait, I really have to go," you reply almost immediately, voice edged with a desperation he can't tell is real or fake. He lets out a low groan, hand coming up to pinch the space between his eyebrows as he figures out what to do.

Before he can decide he hears the squeak of the bathroom door, opening just a little bit. Fuck.

He could yell at you. He could tell you to leave him alone, to give him privacy. He'd have every right. Even Sarah would back him up.

But then he hears your little voice again, soft and eager.

"I'll be quick, I promise."

He brings his hand to his mouth, bites at the flesh on the back of it and shakes his head underneath the stream of water. This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea.

"Okay," he manages to say, voice husky and muffled against his skin.

He hears you close the door behind yourself, hears the soft footsteps of your bare feet against the tile. He wonders what you're wearing; if you're still in your pajamas - those cute little pink shorts and that tiny white bralette - or if you're already dressed. What if you're wearing another one of those little dresses?

His cock, which only a moment ago lay soft against his inner thigh, starts to harden.

"M'sorry, I really had to go," he hears you say sweetly from the other side of the shower curtain, "And you guys only have the one bathroom, so..."

"It's okay," he replies, voice almost pained, "It's okay, I don't mind."

And he hates that it's the truth.

He doesn't hear you sit down on the toilet over the sound of flowing water, isn't sure whether you've already started or you're still waiting for him to say something else. He clears his throat awkwardly, willing himself not to look down at his growing erection.

"Y'good there?"

"Yeah, sometimes it just takes me a minute when I'm around someone else."

Then why the fuck couldn't you just wait? He wants to ask, desperation and arousal clawing at his thoughts as he leans his head back against the shower wall. He brings his hands up and covers his eyes, wills you to just do what you need to do and get out.

His cock bobs against his stomach.

And then he hears it - it's different than the shower, less heavy. More light, delicate. An almost melodic sound that echoes against the bathroom walls, overwhelms his senses to the point where it's suddenly all he can hear. It flows out of you slowly at first, then steadily.

Oh fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You're doing this on purpose. He fucking knows you are. He knows you're dragging it out, taking your time, knows that you're probably hoping he'll take a peek at you as you do it.

And fuck, he hates that you're right.

He removes his hands from his face and brings one down to finger the shower curtain quietly, pulling it the tiniest bit so he can see past it. He feels like such a fucking pervert, the dirtiest old man that ever existed, and yet the throbbing in his now fully hard cock and the sound of you pissing inches away is telling him that he needs to look.

So he does. And there you are.

You are wearing one of your dresses, pink and tiny and perfect. Your pretty little panties are around your ankles and you've got your dress bunched up over your thighs, almost up to your chest. He can see so much of you, so much that's been hidden only just out of sight all week. The tops of your thighs, round and soft, the perfect pouch of your belly that peeks out under where you're holding the material of your dress. And there...just barely in view... he can see the smallest hint of your pussy.

He stares. And he listens.

You must know he's watching you, but you don't let on. You stare straight ahead, holding your dress high above your tummy and pushing out the remainder of your release with a dazed little smile on your face.

He wonders if your clit is throbbing. He wonders if it's poking out while you sit there, wonders what colour it is and how it would feel beneath his fingertip. He hears that beautiful twinkling sound and imagines what your pussy must look like as it relieves itself, wonders if it's pulsing, wonders what your little holes must be doing under there, just out of his eyesight.

With barely any thought he begins to stroke his cock with his free hand, mouth popping open as he pulls and pushes and continues to watch you - the prettiest little thing he's seen in way too long - in such a vulnerable state. He knows you're almost done, knows you can't make it last forever - even though you both want it to.

He tilts his head a bit, brows furrowed, eyes dark. He stares at your tummy and imagines the outline of his cock poking through from the other side. Would your little hole take all of him? Would it fit? Would you beg for it?

If you don't leave in the next minute he's going to fuck you.

And just as that thought crosses his mind, your pretty little stream dies out. The sound of the shower centers his world again and disappointment floods his body. Don't go. Don't leave yet. Show me that soft little pussy, please.

Much to his chagrin you carefully pull yourself up from the toilet. He watches as you flush, watches as you turn away from the shower to slowly bend over, reaching for your panties. His jaw goes slack, fist still pumping his cock as you do just what he was wishing. He can see your folds, see the little drips of liquid still clinging to your outer lips, can almost see the hint of your little clit peeking out.

He comes almost immediately, white heat gurgling onto his fist and down into the drain below as he stares at that perfect little seam, wet and dripping and begging to be fucked. He wishes he was filling it up, wishes he was painting your insides and making you squeal, holding you close with his balls pressed firm against that perfect ass.

You pull up your panties slowly, making a bit of a show of it before you're suddenly standing straight. You start to turn around, back toward the shower, and at that he lets go of the curtain and allows it to fall back into place, concealing him - and his now softening cock - from your view.

He listens as you turn on the tap, doesn't mind that the water goes a bit cold as you do - anything to get some clarity.

"I'm done now, sorry about that," he hears you say over the sound of water hitting the tiles, "I just really had to go."

"Th-that's okay," he manages to get out, voice strained and practically wrecked, "Whatever you need, sweetheart."

"You're so nice," you reply, and he can hear that you're smiling, "Enjoy your shower, Mr. Miller."

--

That evening, he calls for you while you and Sarah are watching a movie downstairs. Jumping at the chance to be alone with him, of course you tell Sarah not to pause it, tell her to keep watching because you've "seen it before" and you "won't be long".

It's almost like you know.

You know that when you find him upstairs he'll be standing in the bathroom, know that he'll pull you inside and close the door behind you.

"You forgot to wipe, sweetheart. Lemme show you."

[satoruhour]

oh my god, i dont know if you write for this specifically (feel free to disregard if you don’t), but I’ve been thinking about satosugu x reader,,, imagine kissing the both of them!! spending a nice summer day with them!! just being able to enjoy spending time with the two of them!! I dont know if its my love for both of these characters and their relationship, but i just like thinking abt that dynamic,,,

a/n: wrote this yesterday to upload today since it was a loaded day today ❤️ enjoy. hope it’s up to standard cause i havent written fluff in a long time! / 1.3k, poly!satosugu x reader

sleep-ins were popular amongst the three of you. before you, suguru had his own routine of waking up early to brew some tea for himself, to get the laundry going . .

satoru, on his own, was a light sleeper, sitting straight up at any hint of sound due to his sorcerer duties but after moving in with geto, he’s been letting the long-haired man to do all the work.

and here came you, waltzing back into their lives (and apartment) after teaching at kyoto for just a few months until you couldn’t stand gakuganji and headed right back to your alma mater.

it wasn’t difficult to maintain the dynamic the three of you had from your school days, except maybe unspoken feelings and lingering glances until the two men were gassing each other up to ask you.

you’re not even sure how you even got roped in — old feelings, a crave for the younger days, the allure of satoru, the wonder of suguru — but now you’re stick in between both of them wanting to pee so badly.

alas, your body is trapped under gojo’s protective leg and geto’s gentler wrapped arm, but you still feel your bladder about to burst, trying one last time until your body is slammed back into bed.

“hm . . what’re you doing?” is gojo’s first raspy call out to you as he curls his calf around you even more, and you sigh, turning to him to brush his fringe from his face.

“i need to pee, satoru.”

“no.” and you roll your eyes because he’s always whiny like that and you’d usually employ suguru to do your bidding but he’s fast asleep, still. this was another thing: both you and gojo have inextricably fucked with his routine because now he’s more inclined to sleep in than drink his morning tea. he realised this one day when he was doing laundry, in the afternoon.

“’toru, pleeaasee?” you pout even if he can’t see and like a good boyfriend, he senses your features pulled into a face specifically meant to make him feel bad, and cracks his eyes open.

“oh, youuuu—” gojo scrunches up his eyes and squeezes, and then steals you from geto’s arm, trapping you with tight arms wound around your middle, “stop it with the eyes!”

you giggle, using your free hands to relax the tightness in his brows, using that opportunity to forcibly open his eyes and then you hit him again — knitted eyebrows and doe eyes, and a perfect pout that has gojo grumbling under his breath. silently, you wiggle yourself just enough to reach his face so you can place a peck on his lips and he hums.

another, his eyes say and you indulge him, sinking into his embrace and letting him guide you back to his mouth. morning breath is nothing to the both of you, grinning into the kiss when satoru loses himself and his embrace starts to loosen. the kiss still holds you captive, though, the other moaning softly when you deepen it with some tongue.

“you’re just going to leave me hangin’?” geto’s voice calls out from beside you, and gojo’s excited suguru! gives you just that sliver of time to slip away from the two as they catch up but—

“you’re not going anywhere, missus,” gojo pulls on your arm and you’re falling back into your space in the middle of the both of them, greeted with geto’s lovely laugh and his gentle gaze.

“good morning my loves,” he says, arm draped over the both of you before he leans down to give you a kiss while gojo replies with a good morning as well, also giving a peck to your temple. “what’s on the agenda today?”

“lazing in—”

“i need to pee, firstly,” you pipe up, cutting gojo off and patting his puffed out cheeks. grabbing his face, you wiggle his head just to emphasise your point, “your man here has been preventing me from going to the bathroom.”

“ahem! our man,” gojo corrects, sticking his tongue out just enough to lick your hand and you shriek in disgust while his giggles only fill the room.

“satoru, c’mon, let her go.” and again, the other only cuddles you closer to him, long, lanky limbs trapping your body. geto has a hand on yours like he’s trying his best to console you.

“but— she’s so much nicer to cuddle! did i ever tell you suguru once hit me in the face with his arm?”

and you laugh while the other only sighs and chaos erupts once he stands up and says in faux disappointment — “okay, i’m making breakfast for myself only. guess i lost two partners today.”

“hello?! i didn’t even do anything!” you shout in incredulity, words muffled once gojo slaps a hand over your mouth and laughs, watching through the bathroom mirror at how he chuckles at the both of you. you lick gojo’s hand and he moans obnoxiously.

geto did end up making the both of you some breakfast after some convincing (it was mostly gojo yelling “pleasepleaseplease” in the bathroom and interrupting brushing teeth time), but he’s got around it with a sloppy kiss given to the both of you, sat at the wooden table you commissioned — large enough to bring friends over but small enough for it to feel intimate with your two boyfriends.

“on the real agenda, we need to go for some grocery shopping,” geto suggests, reaching diagonally to you to wipe off the bits of strawberry lingering at the corner of your lips and gojo shouts a loud oh!, running from the table to grab his phone that he’s left on the bedside table. naturally, he has become so enamoured with the both of you that he doesn’t even need his phone to entertain him that much.

“i made the list like you asked, sugu,” and you’re giggling when you see his eyebrow raise, positive that on the list, there was more of what the house didn’t need than what it did.

silently, you’re helping to clear all three of your plates that had coatings of maple syrup on it, apart from gojo’s who licked his squeaky clean. a smile spreads across your face when you hear them bicker, a common occurrence.

“baby, there’s more candy than actual groceries on here.”

“but suguruuuu . .” gojo pulls this all the time and it hardly works on geto any more, so the both of them invade your cleaning escapades to argue. like the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other, satoru sucks up to your boyfriend, suguru appeals to you.

“should we listen to him?” leaning against the counter, geto rests his arm around your torso, sidling right up to your face who only gives him a small grin.

gojo follows suit. “sweetness, don’t listen to him. you know you love the sweets i buy, i’ll even buy you your favourite brand!”

here in this kitchen in the house that gojo had no problem expanding to accommodate the both of you were all that you know in this mess of a world, destined to exorcise curses for as long as you live, but it wasn’t so bad when you had the strongest duo beside you, talking over each other on whether meiji chocolate was more important than buying celery for tonight’s dinner. 

“boys.” turning off the tap, you shake off the water and turn around in their arms only to see what had escalated: geto ready to summon a curse, gojo crossing his fingers in his muryōkūsho pose, all the while keeping an arm around you like everything’s fine. and as chaotic dating the both of them were, you don’t mind putting both their hands down and calming the situation down.

with a laugh, you give one kiss to both cheeks. “let’s just buy both, okay?”

and satoru leaps to hug you, planting endless kisses on your face while suguru sighs, then smiles, defeated. “plus, we can just make ’toru pay for everything, can’t we?”

“and then make him cook tonight.” you suggest, not-so-quietly.

gojo stops, “hey!”

i didnt write the grocery shopping part since i alr rambled off about it here but maybe next time we’ll see :)

[romanarose]

I Miss You, Mr. Miller

DBF!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Joel makes you WET wet.

AKA

There's a pun here about eggs somewhere.

Warnings: Masturbating, sex toys, body worship, "little bunny", joel making sure reader knows he's old man, degrading, almost getting caught.

Immersivity: Reader is fem, dresses very feminine. Drinks and celebrates Christian holidays, not is christian but like family and culturally. Major age gap. Big girthy age gap but reader is 21+. Mentions of church.

A/N: Part of the DBF!Joel Holiday fuck series but you don't gotta read the previous part. I missed Easter OOPS so now we get a flashback.

1.3k words

You liked to start off slow, take your time with yourself. Hands, gliding over your shirt, feeling your body all the way down to your thighs. You learned this from Joel.

Sure a quickie was fun, especially under the threat of being caught, but Joel preferred to take his time with you. Likewise, you started to mimic this when masturbating. Joel you could, theoretically, take the vibe to your clit, put on some Gone Wild Audio and git’er done, but why? Why not show your body the appreciation it deserved. You were beautiful. You were sexy. Joel wasn’t the only one who could enjoy it.

Joel knelt before your spread legs, hands running up and down your pretty little Easter dress. Your dad had invited Joel over for Easter dinner, and you’d stayed in your dress all day to make sure he saw you in it. Joel was certain to show his appreciation.

“Such a pretty dress… such a pretty little bunny…” His fingers tweaked your nipples as he eyed you. “M one lucky old man.”

You giggle. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

Joel hummed. He loved when you called him that. Today, he’d had to hide the bonner he was sporting after you greeted him as Mr. Miller in your cute dress, hair all done up… he couldn’t stop thinking how he’d railed you in the church bathroom after Good Friday services… dirty, dirty girl.

Your hand skimmed over your clit at the memory… you might not need any porn this time, you were so turned on, so sensitive… you whimper at the first touch. Cupping your breasts, you try to get the feeling Joel gave when he touched them, but it wasn’t the same. Joel’s hands were large, rough, sure… Still, it felt good touching such sensitive parts of your body, and you sigh. You remember how much Joel praised you on Easter, touch yourself to the echo of his voice.

“Darling, beautiful girl… just look at you, cock dumb girl begging to be fucked with her dad downstairs… surrounded by teddies and pink frilly pillows… act’n like such a good girl, but you ain’t, are yuh?”

“Joooooel” You whine under his touch. “No, I’m a good girl…”

“Nuh-uh” Joel rips open your white tights to find you bare. “Good girls wear underwear to church.” he runs two fingers up your slicked up cunt. “Good girls don’t get wet for grumpy old men.”

You plunge two fingers into your core quickly dissatisfied so you add another. That makes you moan. You begin to pump them in and out of yourself, nowhere near as thick and god, not hitting close to how deep Joel hits you, when he fucks you raw. It’s wholly unsatisfying, but you were just getting started.

Joel finger fucked you, his two middle fingers pumping you at a rapid pace. “Naughty, naughty girl, little cunt clenching on my fingers… I can feel how tight you're getting, but you can’t cum yet… you wanna behave, don’t you? Or are you just as bad as I thought you were… Jesus Christ darl’n, can’t wait to get my cock up my bunny girl's guts again, shit, ‘m gonna miss you.”

Sarah was graduating college next year, and Joel was taking her on a road trip for a few weeks to tour colleges. Tommy had joked, saying he could ‘take care of yuh’ while he’s gone but Joel smacked him upside the head.

“Joel” you whimper. “I think… fuck… I think I’m gonna pee” 

Instead of getting off you, Joel grinned. “Keep hold’n, baby… Ima take care of you.”

You stuff your cunt full of four fingers, just trying to get a taste of what Joel left you with, a bit of that memory. Chanting his name, ‘Joel, Joel, Joel’ You chase that high that’s starting to build in your stomach. You remember how he fingered you, how he kissed your neck, arms, stomach, legs, every single inch of your body he loved so much.

“Joel!” You try to warn him again, but he’s not listening. Instead, he brings his face close to your dripping hole. 

“Let it go, sweet bunny, let go.”

Fuck. He edged you for 20 minutes, even as your mom walked past your door gossiping on the phone about Mrs. McKenzie’s nose ring. You’d warned him, now he’d deal with the consequences. Can’t be as bad as when you’d thrown up on him after St. Patrick's Day.

But when you let go, you cum. It’s hard, liquid shooting out of your body but it didn’t feel like pee. Your legs shake, body seizing up in shock from the sheer force of your orgasm. Joel laps it up, hungrily devouring your, drinking you up like you were communion wine. 

Vibrator on your clit, you remember how Joel ate you out as you came, grinding his hips against the bed, small little moans escaping his pretty little mouth, he bucked and licked and humped and sucked, growling when you stopped and eating you out until you came again, desperately biting your lip to not scream his name. Here in your apartment, in your own bed that Joel carried up here on Presidents Day, you could scream if you wanted to. And you did. Your orgasm hitting you, you keep the vibrator to the exact pressure it was at and ride out your orgasm wishing it was on Joel’s face.

Joel kissed you, his soaking wet face and beard all over yours as you lay there in shock, completely spent from the orgasm. 

“What…” You pant. “Was that…” 

Joel couldn’t keep his mouth off your skin very long, only barely managing to mumble that you squirted. “Such a good girl, oh my god, I was wrong, you’re just, fuuuuck, such a good fuck’n girl…”

You smile against him. “You gonna fuck me or what, Mr. Miller?”

Joel ground his crotch against yours. Wet. “Your little stunt make me cum in my pants like I’m a fuck’n teenager again, yuh lil brat.” He flicked a tit playfully.

Once every last bit of pleasure was exhausted, when you had cum your hear out to the thought of Joel fucking Miller between your legs, loudly and proudly. You sit up and smile at the phone at you pillow, still recording. You make sure to save the voice note in messenger, then cue it up to send it to Joel.

Sweet Thing: Use headphones, don’t open around Sarah ;)

*Send* You fall back on your bed, smiling.

“Joel?” Your dad called along with your name, making you startle. “I know you’re in there!”

You look to Joel in a panic, eyes wide and scared. Not scared of your dad, perse, he was good natured. Scared of disappointing him.

Your dad again. “Your boots are still at the door and it’s too muddy to go outside without em, open the damn door.”

Joel turned to you, whispering. “I’ll take the fall, it was my idea.”

You and Joel both stand, looking more proper. Joel’s black pants covered the fact he came in them, and your dress covered your ripped tights“Joel, no-” But he cut you off with a stern look.

“Ima take care of you, darl’n, understand?”

You nod. Joel unlocks the door and your dad steps in, arms crossed. “I know what you two are doing.”

Joel steps forward. “Listen man, it ain’t her fault.”

Your dad held out a hand. “Hey, I don’t care if you guys smoke weed together.”

You blink. He thought you were sneaking off together for a blunt? “Oh… you don’t?” You don’t smoke weed. Joel does, but you never found much interest. 

“Nah,” He waved his hand. “Just do it behind the garage, okay? It ain’t legal here yet. The neighbors can see your window from here.”

Joel cleared his throat. “Right, right, thanks man.”

“Thanks dad, sorry.”

Your dad chuckled. “I’m the cool dad, remember!”

 Your dad was absolutely not cool, but he was fun. A good dad. And you and Joel dodged a bullet, but you needed to be more careful. You run off to pretend to smoke a blunt.

SORRY IM LATE YALL LMFAOOOOO

Lum to me: Are you not doing the holiday Joel series anymore ;-;?

Me: Did I miss a holiday?

YEAH JUST EASTER I GUESS

I relayed this story to Clem and said "not my fault, I don't celebrate easter anyway, Jesus means nothing to Jews"

Clem "DIDN"T YOU CELEBRATE EASTER FOR A CHUNK OF YOUR LIFE?"

She's right! but she didn't have to say it :((((((( lmfaooooo

Anyway I did a new chapter of this AND and new Room's on fire so, y'all'er welcome XD

Check out my upcoming pride event!

hugs!

Im phasing out my taglist, so make sure to follow @romana-updates

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring

[talaok]

Okay, so I have a cute idea. Pedro and reader go to a bar and accidentally drink a little more than they wanted to, and now they are walking home together, leaning on one another and giggling the whole way. Maybe they have their first kiss or something. idk, im giving you creative freedom on the last part.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

a/n: cutest request award

that last glass of wine had had its effect

Your brain felt lighter, like the crimson liquid had relieved some of the effort from your head

Your vision was fuzzier, unfocused in that familiar way as a soft buzz flowed into your ear

The pavement ahead was still damp with rain, and some water had gotten into your shoes, but you didn't care, you didn't care as you leaned onto Pedro, onto his strong, warm arm, as you looked up at his own glossy eyes, veiled by that sheer cloak of alcohol flowing through his veins

He was still laughing at something you'd said, and you didn't even realize that you were doing the same,

You couldn't even remember what the joke was. Something about... rain or... something

"We're gonna regret this tomorrow" he said, amusement still spilling from his lips

"I'm sure you will, old man" you snorted, hiding your face into his arm to shield from his reaction

"Old man huh?" he chuckled "Is that the way to talk to your elderly?"

"oh please" you snorted, smiling up at him as he feigned offense "I'm sorry sir, that was very rude of me, please forgive me"

The corners of his mouth twitched into a soft grin

"With that smile, I don't think anyone could ever not forgive you, sweetheart"

He did that sometimes, said something sweet that made you forget all about what your lungs were made for

Once again, you shielded your heating face from him by nestling impossibly close to him, feeling his warmth seep into you

He had a body that made hell seem cold

"You're a douchba-"

but before you could speak the very kind words you were about to speak, you had taken a step and found yourself ankle-deep into something that upon closer inspection, was indeed a puddle

You had stepped into a puddle.

Your feet were drenched

You-

You burst out laughing

"oh my god- sugar" Pedro was gripping your arm, bringing you back to dry land as he stifled the need to laugh too

"I-"

You were pretty sure you were about to pee yourself from how hard you were laughing, your eyes were shut close, you had one hand on your face and one on Pedro and then-

and then your feet stopped touching the ground

"Wha-" 

He had picked you up, bridal style, and all you could do was swing your arms around his neck as a reflex "what are you doing?"

"it's clear you're in no condition to walk, so I'm taking matters into my own hands"

And he said it so calmly too, like it was the most obvious thing in the word

"you're taking matters into your own hands?" you mocked, cocking a brow as you bit your bottom lip to try not to laugh

"I am" he nodded,

"You're gonna carry me all the way to the hotel?" you couldn't help but smile now,

smile with amusement and joy and drunkness and... and something else

"What, you think I'm too old for that too?"

You snorted now, your head falling to his chest 

"maybe" you mumbled, your mouth on his steel pecs as you looked up at him

And there was something in that, in all this- not in the fact that he was carrying you like a damsel in distress, not the fact that you were dizzy, not in any of that- there was something in the intimacy of this moment, of the lightness that came with it, how natural it all felt, how... perfect it felt

And he felt it too, you could see in his eyes, that he too had felt time stop, the entire world stop to let you have this moment, this precious instant

"y/n-"

But your lips were already on his, your lips were already on his and nothing mattered anymore as he gripped your shoulder to push you incredibly closer to him, wishing he could engulf you and never let you go, praying for this moment to never end

finally

the only word inside both your heads

finally

He was such a good kisser, his mouth, his beard, his lips, his everything just-

The problem was that he thought the same about you, and maybe if you'd been less of a good kisser, or if only he hadn't spent the last six months fantasizing about this... then maybe he wouldn't have dropped you

"shit-"

Well not really dropped you, he just... forgot to hold your legs, that's all

Only of course, he was there to rescue you as your feet hit the ground, making sure you didn't fall

A soft, honest laugh rumbled from your chest as you dropped your forehead to his

"I'm sorry" he murmured, his hands on your waist "I- I got- distracted"

Again, you could only laugh, this time as he joined

"you got distracted?"

"Yeah" he chuckled

"wanna get distracted again?" you smirked, watching his eyes pan to your lips

"please"

[usernameforaboredcat]

Black & Red (Shanks X F!Reader X Mihawk) SMUT

Anonymous request (I got chu)

Just a simple day at the beach drinking turns into something way more hot and steamy than expected.

A long fic, have fun babes

Warning ⚠️: age-gap, threesome, groping, double penetration, deep throating, maybe some others that I forgot idk its sex ya know the type of shit youre signing up for.

“Shaaaanks, come on! It’s too early to drink, we’ll be up all night again”.

“Don’t worry about it so much sweetheart! It’ll be fun!”.

That’s the last coherent conversation I remember before getting shit faced and passing out on a beach with Shanks. No matter how many times I tell myself ‘you gotta stop doing this, I don’t care how hot he is I can’t be drinking this much’ but do I ever listen? No of course not! Have you see him? That man is so hot and fine, all I can do is easily submit to anything he asks. I mean it's not the first time he's easily made me submit to something, which ended in a lot of hookups or alleyway deepthroating. Hehe...

I awaken from my slumber as I feel myself being shaken. “Wakey wakey sweetheart”. I hear an all too familiar and soothing voice. I groan and snuggle more into his chest. “Nooo. You made me drink and gave me a hangover”. I mumble. “Does it make you feel better knowing that I have one too?”. He asks, running his fingers through my hair.

“A little”.

~

I yawn as I walk back to the cove the crew was camping at, coming back from some private business time…I had to pee. I see the crew already partying and drinking again. Seriously? “Hey! (Y/n)!”. I look towards Shanks, seeing him drinking with an unfamiliar man with a large sword sitting next to him, a long coat and a large hat. “Have you ever heard of the 7 warlords?”. Shanks asks me, the man turning to look at me. “Uh yeah…I’ve heard of them…”. I answer nervously, I think I already know where this is going before he can even finish. “This is Mihawk! An old buddy of mine! He’s one of the warlords”. He explains, using his free hand to usher me over.

I walk over to the two men, Shanks pulling me over to sit on his lap. "Come on (Y/n), don't be shy now and say hi!". He tells me, as if I'm a child. Sir, I'm 20. I turn to look at the warlord, man is he an attractive man. "Hello". I greet him. "Hello, young lady". He greets back. I turn to look up at Shanks, tugging on his shirt to draw his attention to me. "So what's this about? Why are we partying again?". I ask him, tilting my head slightly. He smile and laughs. "Ya know that Luffy kid I told you about? He finally got his first wanted poster!". He answers happily.

I remember him talking about that Luffy kid. Shanks told me how he met him years ago, the dumb little kid who cut his cheek and ate the gum gum fruit. He isn't any younger than me, the more I think about that the more it kinda makes me feel weird. Still, I'd like to meet him one day.

"Huh, look at him". I mutter under my breath, but I know Shanks heard me. As if the conversation is forgotten about, Shanks now holding out a filled cup of booz to me. "Enough yappin! Take a sip, dear". He orders me. 'Uh, I really don't wanna drink'. I take the cup from him, taking a sip from it. "Atta girl". He coos, his hand now sitting on my hip, rubbing up and down with his thumb. I feel a shiver runs down my spine, the feeling of his hand running straight to my core. He knows exactly what he's doing, he knows how to get my body going.

'God, I hate him'.

~

My breath quickens as I feel a jolt run through my body, whimpers slipping through my lips no matter how hard I try to hide them. "Ssshhh, not so loud baby". Shanks whispers into my ear, his finger not stopping it's abuse on my clit. I throw my head back into his board shoulder. "Sh-Shanks, pleeeease~". I whimper out. "Hm? Please what? Need me to fuck you already?". He asks in a deep tone, his hot breath down my neck. "I-hhh I!". I stumble on my words, needing him to give me just a second to cum. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Shanks". I feel my body freeze, but Shanks doesn't stop. "Oh, hey Mihawk". He pulls his hand away, my legs giving out and I collapse to the forest floor.

"What's up? You leaving already?". Shanks asks the other man. "I was thinking that, yes". Mihawk confirms. "Oh come on, you just got here. Why not have a little fun with (Y/n) and I? I don't mind sharing that pretty face". He offers the man. 'HUH!?'. I turn my head behind me, looking over to the men. I look over to Mihawk, seeing that he's already looking at me dead in the eyes with a hungry look. "You're too open with sharing your toys, Shanks". He comments, taking his sword off his back and setting it against a nearby tree. The two men walk over to me, Mihawk standing in front of me as I feel Shanks crouch behind me. "You don't mind, do you sweetheart?". Shanks asks me, pulling me back so my back is against his hard chest, using his hand to rub my chin. "N-No". I stutter out nervously, looking up into Mihawks almost glowing eyes.

Shanks chuckles as his hand goes down to my shirt, pulling it up to expose my bare chest. "Good girl~". He hums into my ear, nuzzling into my neck. I shiver and shut my eyes as Shanks's cold hand goes down to my chest, groping and grabbing at my tit. I let out a soft moan, feeling him twist and play with my nipple. Shanks's head rises once again, nibbling on my ear lobe. "Come on baby, show the war lord what that mouth of yours can do". He orders. I hum with a nod, finally opening my eyes to look up at the warlord.

I break eye contact to see a growing bulge in his pants, only half hard. I grab the hem of his pants, slowly pulling them down. His half hard shaft rises up slightly, hanging straight out from his body. I reach up and grab him by the base, Mihawk letting out a very quiet groan. I lean forward and close my lips over his tip, licking his tip. I look back up to look into Mihawks eyes, slowly moving my head back and forth as she stares down at me. "Oh don't try and ease me into, unless Shanks hasn’t taught you properly”. He comments in an unimpressive tone.

Shanks chuckles from behind me, his hand sneaking up to the back of my head. “She can take it, I have her working that throat of hers every night like the slut she is”. He responds, gripping my head and moving my head for me. I moan into Mohawks cock as Shanks moves my head for me, shoving me down on his cock more. I cough as I feel myself getting shoved deep down, feeling him deep down my throat. Shanks moves his hand away, but I keep the pace he set and continue to deep throat his cock. “That’s better”. Mihawk compliments. “Yeah, she’s a good girl, aren’t ya sweetheart”. Shanks chuckles, sliding his hand down my back. My body jolts when I feel Shanks’s hand back in my panties, running his finger through my wet folds.

My body shivers as I feel Shanks use a free finger to poke it in and out of my aching pussy, causing me to just need more friction. My body was already so close to being filled, but now we're back to square one. My body is tingling painfully, needing release finally. I start to moan painfully onto Mihawks cock, breathing through my nose quickens as tears build up in my eyes. I try to move my body, needing more than just the tip of Shanks's fingers inside me. "Shanks, your pet is getting restless". Mihawk tells the red head. Shanks chuckles. "I can tell, she's trying to suck my fingers in". He confirms. Mihawk then grips the back of my head aggressively, speeding up his pace and slamming down into my throat. "Don't worry dear, you can get fucked as much as you want once I'm finished". He tells me, his penis tip punching the back of my throat.

Shanks chuckles again. "Look at you, you'll get all the cock you want. I bet a whore like you is loving this". He whispers into my ear. "I can't wait to see you drenched with cum". He adds in a deeper tone, licking up my neck. "Take it, take Mihawks cum, take all the cum like I trained you to". I shut my eyes as tears spill from my eyes, struggling terribly to breath. My body feels like it's going to explode, ready to gush all over Shanks's hand. With a few twitches of his cock, Mihawk slams all the way down my throat his warm cum fills up my throat. I cough on the cum, gulping it down. Mihawk slowly pulls out his dick, sucking on the left to leave not a single drop. "Good slut". Shanks compliments. "You did train her good, I commend you that Shanks". Mihawk tells him. "Wait till you feel her pussy, perfection". Shanks respond.

Shanks pulls his hand away from me as I let out an annoyed whimper, pushing my body slightly to let my body fall to the ground on my hands and knees. I breath heavily as I try to catch my breath, my body shaking and loosing its mind from not be able to cum again. A cold hand on my ass makes me jump, I look lazily over my shoulder to see Mihawk kneeling behind me. I turn to look in front of me, looking up to see Shanks looking down at me with a smirk. He gently grabs my chin, rubbing it with his thumb as his smirk turns into a loving smile. "You're such a good girl, if I wasn't clingy I'd let people pay for them to fuck you. You're perfect mouth, pussy, ass, everything. Other men wish they could get one night with a goddess like you". He praises, his words going straight to my core. The mental image of getting fucked and covered in cum while Shanks watches, full bukaki as he just sits happily.

"Would you like that? Or would you rather some weak desperate men pay to watch me fuck you, show them how to really please a woman". He adds. That hit my core harder, Shanks cucking a guy. Some poor bastard watching Shanks fill and fuck my pussy full of cock and cum. I feel a warm tip rub against my folds, rubbing at my tip and poking at my hole. "Go ahead Mihawk, I wanna see the faces she makes when being filled by another man". He tells the other man. Then without warning, Mihawk easily slides his cock fully inside me. A whimpered moan escapes my lips, my legs shaking at the feeling of being filled finally. "Now isn't that a pretty face". Shanks points out, palming himself through his pants. "Sh-Shanks~". I whimper out, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I need...yoooooou". I moan out, craving more. I struggle to keep my body steady as Mihawk ruthlessly pounds into my body, slamming deep inside me. It feels weird to have another cock inside me, being so used to Shanks monster in his pants. Mihawks length is kind of refreshing, feeling his tip slamming into my curvix.

Shanks chuckles as he looks down at my wanting face, eyes begging for something from him. "You really have been a whore all along, being stuffed with cock and still needing more". He hums. He sits up more, pulling his pants down and his cock smashing me in the face. "Go on then, take the cock you so desperately need". He tells me. He slides his cock into my mouth, my body quickly jolting back and forth. I moan onto Shanks's cock, breathing rapidly through my nose. I can't breath, my body is shaking so much. 'FUCK, I'M GONNA CUM AND WE'VE JUST STARTED! FUCK BUT I NEED TO CUM!'. I give in, moaning loudly as my body finally releases as my body shakes violently. Mihawk hisses, pounding faster. "What's wrong buddy? She cum and squeeze ya?". Shanks asks him. "Indeed, she's trying to strangle me". He responds, causing Shanks to laugh.

"Props to you, I would have cum at her clenching like that". He chuckles. "You're just weak". Mihawk comments. I'm surprised I can still comprehend what they're saying, my whole body is weak and my head is fuzzy. I can't go on, cumming and still being fucked is driving my body crazy. I can tell that I'm finally giving out, because now I can't hear properly what the two are saying. Everything stops, feeling arms wrap under my legs and I get hoisted up with Shanks's cock popping out my mouth. I feel my back press against Mihawks chest, him holding me out spread legged. I see Shanks standing in front of me, he strokes my cheek loving me. "Sh-Shanks...". I pant out. He pulls his hand away, letting me lean my head against Mihawks shoulder.

My body jolts, fulling waking up at the feeling of Shanks sliding into my insides. I pant at the pain, reaching to grip hard onto Shanks shoulder. "That's it, you can take it". Shanks reassures me in a soft tone. My body relaxes, feeling the two men filling and stretching me out. My body felt so stuffed, I thought I was going to rip in half. The feeling didn't get any better when the two started to thrust in sync, thankfully going slow on me. Every breath was a loud moan, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Their pace speeds up, my mouth drooling from them massing up my insides. The feeling is indescribable, being fucked hard and stuffed to the brink of ripping. I felt like I was gonna pass out, I don't even know if I could cum again.

Their paces speed up, going full speed in and out my pussy. I cry and scream out my moans, digging my nails so hard against Shanks's shoulders that I wouldn't be surprised if there was blood. I could feel my freedom apporting, feeling the two older men twitching and their thrusts growing sloppy to out of sync. Next minute, Shanks lets out a groan as he finally cums. He sits and stays there panting, staying inside me. Soon enough, Mihawk cums again for a second time. The two pull out of me, Mihawk moving me to be laying in his arms. I feel like I'm on the verge of passing out, my brain fuzzy and hazy. A warm hand strokes my face softly, a soft kiss on my forehead. "Good job baby, you can rest". Shanks soft voice luls me to sleep, I finally pass out in Mihawks arms.

[bonus]

The two older men walk out the forest and back onto the beach, the other pirates noticing the passed out younger girl in Mihawks arms. "Is she okay?". Benn asks. "Did something happen?". Yasopp asks. Shanks waves them off. "Don't worry she's all fine, just a little shaken up". He reassures. "Why? Did something happen?". Benn asks. Mihawk chimes in. "Just some scary monster".

[kenmjiro]

Innocent brat +18 | Carl Grimes (TWD)

Teen! Carl Grimes x ¡Adults! Fem Reader

TWS: NSFW, jealous! Reader, 18+ SMUT, dom/sub, oral sex, implied virgin!, inexperienced! Carl, lots of cum, overstimulation, drinking, Nude, age gap, raw sex, hormonal teen, obsession, exhibitionism, wet pussy.

From the porch of my house I watch the new survivors pass through the gates of Alexandria. They are a small group in which I see that they are carrying a baby... It has been so long since I have seen a baby. Unintentionally, a small smile sneaks onto my lips.

My brown eyes follow attentively as the new ones move through the streets and stop right next to my house. The one who looks like the teenager of the group repairs my presentation and makes a face. He is very pale and has a beautiful bluish look. I wink at him for fun and he soon looks away, totally embarrassed.

The next few days I spend watching him as if he were a crazy stalker, throwing him flirtatious glances and smiles that are not reciprocated.

Brats.

From time to time I approach those in his group and try to get along with some of them. The teenager's father trusts me right away and recommends that I be friends with his son Carl. She says he has a hard time making friends who aren't his age.

“I don't know, Rick,” I complain after seeing how his son greets us politely and goes into his house with the girl in his arms. “Your son is difficult, he doesn't talk to me much. On the other hand, with Jessie's children he has better communication. Even with Enid.”

Rick laughs and continues to stare at his hands.

“I think my son likes you.”

A little more and I spit out the coffee that the man has invited me. He laughs again and I feel ashamed as he hasn't done that in a long time. He was normally a straight-laced girl and I didn't care what people thought of me. But when Rick said Carl liked me, I felt a little intimidated.

“How old is he?”

“18”

A mocking smile comes to me and any trace of shyness evaporates into thin air.

“So I'm only two years older than him, interesting.”

“Why this sudden change?”

I shrug and take another sip of the sweet coffee.

“I thought he was smaller and that's why he treated him like Jessie's children. At first I thought about hitting on you but it seems like you're with Michonne, it's a shame you're not single. We wouldn't have had fun together” I raise my eyebrows repeatedly and show him an arrogant smile.

Rick laughs like a child at my joke and taps my head several times.

“You are very funny. I like you.”

“I know.”

Saturday arrives and the community leader informs us that there will be a party, there are no reasons, it will just happen and that's it.

“What could I wear today?” I ask Aaron.

The man looks at me curiously and goes into my room.

“That white jumpsuit is pretty, why don't you wear it?”

“I want something that's easy to take out.”

Aaron puts his hands over his mouth and lets out a little scream.

“Should I be afraid that my daughter is thinking about dirty things?”

He threw the first thing he found at his head and he quickly dodged it. I decided to live with Aaron and his boyfriend at the time they found me almost dying, they took care of me as if I were one of his family.

“I don't think about dirty things,” I complain, making a big childish pout. “It's just that I want to wear something comfortable. Besides, if I want to pee it will take me two years with the monkey and people outside will think I have diarrhea or something similar.

Aaron nods after letting out a thousand laughs and heads towards my closet.

“This is perfect.”

He smiled from ear to ear when he saw the blue ruffled dress. He accompanied the wardrobe with sandals and his hair down.

Once at the leader's house I talk about trivial things with people and from time to time I pretend to drink soda when in reality I drink beer as if it were water. I hated strong alcoholic beverages and beer suited me wonderfully with its flavor. I say goodbye to a neighbor who is boring me with a new recipe that she has discovered and I go out to the porch.

I turn my head and not far away I see Carl and Enid striking up a conversation. They seem to be having fun.

“You do not drink?” A voice asked behind me.

“Do you want a sip of my Coca Cola ?”

Rick shrugs and agrees to my request.

“Beer, huh?”

“Yep. I can't go through the holidays without a little alcohol in my system.”

I rest my hands on the railing and tilt my head toward the sky. The night is beautiful and refreshing. Rick accompanies me in silence while he sips his glass of unknown liquid.

I turn my eyes towards Carl for the umpteenth time and feel annoyed by the close proximity he has with Enid.

“I'm going to go to sleep,” I mutter and leave my empty can on the floor. “I'm kind of tired.”

Rick nods and bids me goodnight m. I go down the few steps and accidentally or out of drunkenness I give Carl a slight push.

“Be careful,” he warns, raising his voice.

I laugh very softly and continue down the road to my house. But I'm counting the steps because I don't feel like going in yet.

“You look like a turtle.”

I stop walking when I hear his voice and turn behind me.

“Oh wow, you know how to talk” I mock him and see the confusion in his eyes.

“Are you drunk?”

“My God, Carl Grimes, I really know how to talk.”

I come back I let out several laughs and decide to return to my path.

“You intimidate me.”

For the second time my feet stop

“That?”

Carl closes the distance and I feel dizzy again, I don't even know why I feel that way anymore. It's not that he drank too much either.

“Every time you try to talk to me I am unable to continue the conversation because you intimidate me”

“I don't mean to do that, Carl, I just want us to get along.”

“I know, but I don't know what's wrong with you. I get nervous when you're around, I feel like words get stuck on my tongue, that's why I don't want to talk. I.."

Fuck it. I closed the distance and with amazing speed he placed my hands on his shoulders, pulling him towards me. Carl looks at me and hesitates for a few seconds on what to do, he ends up placing his hands on my waist. The closeness is minimal and he can feel the warmth of his breath hit my face. The brat is so tall that he is almost a head taller than me.

“I like you, Carl, I like you a lot. And I don't know what you did to get it. Because you are not that handsome, even your father is and he is older.”

Carl laughs.

“You think I'm very handsome,” he says with a huge smile.

“Suddenly you're more confident,” he joked.

“He knows that I reciprocate, he gives it to me.”

Our noses collide as he leans in a little and I feel something stir inside me.

“And now is when you kiss me…” I whisper as I bury my fingers in his hair, it is long and soft. Wow.

Carl doesn't hesitate this time and he doesn't take long to place his thin lips on mine. We slowly move our heads and set a certain rhythm, while our tongues play timidly.

Since when haven't I kissed someone? Asking myself that question while I continue kissing Carl makes me think about other things. He becomes much more attached to my body and I try not to be surprised when I feel him moan into my mouth.

We're in an apocalypse so I suspect he hasn't had a girl his age to share fluid and that shit that hormonal people do. Yes, I am another. But I'm not going to say it out loud.

A gasp escapes my lips as Carl pulls away, nibbling on my lower lip.

I'm hot.

Ablaze.

“Do you want to come to my house?” He asked after thinking it over for a while. “No one will bother us.”

Who invites a boy to his house so quickly? Well, there are no rules to follow and I didn't think I would feel bad about it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes and you?”

“If you want, so do I.”

Carl smiles and lets himself be guided to my beautiful home.

Once in my room, it doesn't take long for him to start the round of kisses again. He corners me against the wall and timidly touches part of my waist and butt.

“I haven't been with someone in a long time,” I admit without much shame, “so I hope you're a gentleman.”

Carl lets him touch me and places both hands on my cheeks.

“I am a Virgin.”

Holy shit.

“Am I going to be the first girl? I thought you had something going on with Enid.”

He quickly denies.

“She's just a friend, nothing more. And yes, you are going to be the first and I hope the last.”

She smiled tenderly and planted a kiss on his lips.

“Undress me and touch me. Don’t be afraid, Carl explore your curiosity.”

The boy licks his lips and directs his hands towards the straps of my dress. He lowers them slowly and with that, the dress falls to the floor. He looks with admiration at my body, which is still covered with my underwear.

“You're beautiful”

I don't feel self-conscious about looking at him or being exposed to him. I don't have to have a complex about my body, my big thighs, my stretch marks or my cellulite. After all, I love myself a lot, I'm a plus-size hottie and fuck stereotypes.

Carl smiles and closes the distance between us again. He kisses me slowly and asks me to undress him. My hands shake a little so he calms me down saying that there is no rush and that we have all the time in the world. He huffed and tried to calm me down, so he started to unbutton my plaid shirt. Carl takes off his shoes and lets me take off his pants.

We both were left in our underwear. Carl allows me to look at his body and what catches my attention the most is his prominent erection. Phew.

“What should I do?” He asks with his hands tilted to the sky.

He smiled.

“Take off my panties”

Carl squats down and reaches with both hands to the sides of my underwear, pulling them up and sliding them down my legs. I kick him away and try not to laugh at the shock on his face.

“Can I touch you there?”

Listening to his questions and noticing the innocence in each one turns me on more and I become moister in a surprising way. I swallow and nod my head, but it's not enough for him, he wants to listen to me.

“I already told you Carl, you can touch me.”

Carl knows I give him the green light and he begins to explore my most intimidating area. His fingers settle into my folds and he gently touches and rubs. I throw my head back before his inexperienced caresses, which turn me on very much.

“Oh fuck!” I squeal as soon as I feel his tongue slide right there.

I don't I hoped he would dare to jump in so quickly.

“I have hurt you? She asks, turning away from her with the look of a scared lamb.

“Is not perfect.”

Carl smiles sideways and I feel his confidence increase. He places his hands on my buttocks and buries his face against my center. He wails and tortures me.

I bury my fingers in his hair and pull him closer to me.

“Umh..yeah…like that…”

Carl increases his kissing and licking, making me lose my bearings.

“I'm going to cum if I keep it up, you have to enjoy it too.”

Carl's eyes light up and he soon stands up. I remove my bra without much thought and head towards my drawer to get a condom. I hand it to him and he looks at me doubtfully.

“Your sister is beautiful and very little, you wouldn't want her to be an aunt at that age, would you?”

He denies repeatedly and gets the message. Carl undoes his boxers and his erection points in my direction.

Let the fun begin.

He pulled his hand and motioned for him to sit on my bed. I kneel before him and ask him to open the package.

“Do you want to put it on or should I?”

“You do it”

I nod. He quickly slid the condom and after giving a couple of applause I sat up. My hands are placed on his shoulders and Carl holds my hips, so I can sit astride him. He grabbed his member and placed it gently over my entrance, he pushed my body down and took a few breaths to get used to the new sensation.

Carl snorts and throws his head back. I gain momentum and begin to take small jumps.

He digs the pads of his fingers into my buttocks and helps me push myself up, he releases me and I swallow his suddenly hard erection again. We repeat the same action several times and we both continue moaning. The only thing you can hear in the room is the clash of our bodies, our heavy breathing, our moans and the smell of sex.

“I love you…” he growls under his breath and plants a kiss on my lips.

I move from front to back, slowing down. Carl puts our foreheads together and a couple of minutes later he climaxes.

“You're quite a man now,” he joked, trying to catch his breath.

“Can we repeat as soon as I recover?”

Seat.

[mythicmin]

Overwatch NSFW Alphabet(s)

MDNI!! If you are under the age of 18, please DNI. Character requests are OPEN. Just slide into my ask box and specify which character you’d like to see :)

𝑱𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆 𝑴𝒄𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒆 / 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒚

A = Aftercare ;

McCree is a firm believer in aftercare. Chances are you aren’t getting up to do ANYTHING for at least an hour. (unless he has somewhere he needs to rush to.) Need to pee? He’s gonna carry you. Thirsty? Hungry? Give him a second, he’ll be right back with your favorite drink/snack.

B = Body part ;

You can’t look me dead in my eyes and tell me he isn’t an ass man. He’s practically obsessed with it. Doesn’t matter where you’re at or who you’re with, chances are he’s got his hand on your ass or in your back pocket.

C = Cum ;

Bro is definitely a slut for facials if he can’t cum inside of you. There’s just something possessive about it, like he’s marking you as his.

D = Dirty secret ;

Secretly wants to get topped, cmon he’s a cocky little shit. Put him in his place and make him beg for you. ❤︎︎

E = Experience ;

I am a firm believer in thinking he’s got some kind of old fashioned way of thinking. He knows what he likes, but doesn’t have much experience with it. I know we all love fuckboy McCree, but him being a virgin makes me giggle.

F = Favorite position ;

Doggie. Need I say more?

G = Goofy ;

Bro is a whole clown in bed and you can’t change my mind. He knows how to act serious when need be, but he always wants to see you smile. Even if he’s balls deep in you.

H = Hair ;

I think he manscapes a bit, he’s never bare though. There’s always some sort of hair framing his cock, clean shaven just isn’t his style.

I = Intimacy ;

Lil western baby treats you like the princess/prince you are. Sure he loves fucking your brains out, but making love to you is another favorite past time.

J = Jack off / Masterbate ;

I don’t really know to be honest, I feel like he’d think he’s too busy to get himself off. But maybe it’s just hidden cockiness that only you can get him off.

K = Kink ;

Anal. I know this man eats ass as well. I just know it. Bro also definitely has a daddy kink. (or maybe that’s bc i’m projecting bc he’s so fine.)

L = Location ;

Anywhere.

M = Motivation ;

He really gets going when you slowly touch his arms/chest while making eye contact.

N = No ;

Sadly, threesomes. I think he’s just too possessive.

O = Oral ;

He loves both giving and receiving, but he enjoys making you fall apart with his mouth. Playing with that cigar should’ve warned you he was gonna be a beast with his tongue.

P = Pace ;

Whichever you want. He can deliver both fast or slow.

Q = Quickie ;

Loves them. Especially if y’all are out and about doing something.

R = Risk ;

He literally doesn’t care if y’all get caught with him balls deep in you.

S = Stamina ;

I feel like he cums fairly fast, but can go for a few rounds.

T = Toys ;

He’s iffy on them. He wants to be the one to make you feel good, but watching you thrash against the vibrator he’s holding gets him feeling some typa way.

U = Unfair ;

He’s so mean sometimes, bro is a WHOLE ASS tease and he knows it.

V = Volume ;

I don’t feel like he’s overly loud in the moaning or groaning criteria, but he’s definitely a smooth talker blowing your back in.

W = Wild card ;

Pull his hair while he’s giving you head and bro is putty in your hands.

X = X-ray ;

6” soft , a lil over 7” hard. (circumcised)

Y = Yearning ;

I SWEAR THIS MAN CAN TURN HIS SEX DRIVE OFF AND ON DEPENDING ON HOW MUCH OF A COCKY BASTARD HE WANTS TO BE.

Z = Zzz ;

Always waits until you’re asleep first.

god i love this man.

hope you enjoyed!! lmk who y’all wanna see next ! ❤︎︎

[kurokonoboisket]

Knb Airplane headcanons

Awakening from my eternal slumber to drop this post.

Kagami:

He puts his headphones in the minute he arrives at the airport and he doesn’t take them off until he lands (except for the safety demonstration he’s not going to be RUDE)

He listens to music and probably daydreams about basketball or something.

Absolutely did not bring enough clothes and he’ll be wearing the same shirt all week.

He brought one carryon and half of it is filled with plane snacks. But he wasn’t about to check a bag for an extra 30 dollars don’t be ridiculous.

He prefers the aisle seat for the leg room and a quick escape to the bathroom.

Gets up to pee a minimum of 3 times.

But he helped an old lady put her luggage in the overhead compartment.

Kuroko:

Got lost looking for his gate.

He does flights completely raw. No music. No games. No movies. No reading. Just vacant dissociation. He sits there and stares at the little plane on the tv on the seat in front of him for 4 hours.

He is absolutely getting stuck in the middle seat.

Sometimes he will watch the movies on other people’s screens but he will never watch his own.

The flight attendant forgot to ask him if he wanted a complimentary sack :(

But it’s okay he bought a little baked treat at the coffee shop in the airport .

Probably reads the safety pamphlet.

Kise:

Dressed to impress. He is looking for his airport crush.

The flight attendants have to body slam his suitcase into the overhead compartment because it’s way too big but he gets away with it.

Makes small talk with the person sitting next to him.

Window seat princess.

Has at least 3 screens open. He’s got a movie playing on the seat in front of him, he’s got his laptop open and he is also on his phone.

Goes full iPad kid.

Midorima:

Shows up the the airport 3 hours early.

Brings a months worth of luggage for a 3 day trip.

A nervous flyer, he sits the and white knuckles the arm rests the entire flight.

He does not fly on unlucky days.

He sits there and plays sudoku the entire flight. Not even on his phone either, he has a printed book of sudoku puzzles.

He’s that guy who turns on his reading light when the entire rest of the plane is dark.

He sits in the aisle and gets annoyed every time someone gets up to use the bathroom because he’s a little hater.

Aomine:

He thinks he wants the window seat but then he spends the entire flight complaining that he doesn’t have enough leg room.

Watches movies on the plane but he doesn’t have any shame for what movie it is.

Takes his headphones out when the flight attendant tells him to for the safety demonstration and then blatantly puts them right back in after they leave.

Whole heartedly believes that if something happened to the pilot, he could land the plane.

Momoi:

She probably was also a little late but it’s Aomine’s fault somehow.

She stops and gets a fun little drink after security and then goes and watches the planes take off.

Also if she is not flying then she is tracking everybody’s flights like a dad.

She starts out in the aisle seat but switches with Aomine half way through because he won’t stop complaining about not having enough leg room.

She listens to music and plays games on her phone.

Absolutely annihilating like 200 levels of wordscapes.

If she knows them, she will force the person beside her to play her phone game with her.

Murasakibara:

Chronic man-spreader.

Showed up to the airport 15 minutes before boarding, took his sweet time getting to the gate, stopped for food but somehow still made it on time.

Puts on a movie but then falls asleep the entire flight.

Armrest hog send this man to jail.

Asks the flight attendant for an extra snack.

Aisle seat for sure he wouldn’t survive the middle seat.

Akashi:

He is flying business class.

And he is wearing his Sunday best.

Arrives punctually, has a drink and a snack in the business class lounge before hand.

He probably also makes small talk with the person sitting next to him (Just to see if he can)

During the flight he mostly reads.

But he usually picks the window seat so he can look out the window (and plot)

Sometimes he will pull out his laptop and do work on the plane

[brandycranby]

ce characters + their skill at wrapping presents (based on technique, style, and enthusiasm) 🎁✨

crocheting a last minute gift rn hehe

steve: 9.5/10. the military precision comes in clutch when it's time to measure out wrapping paper. if he's not doing the wrapping himself, he's at your elbow with tape strips and scissors when you need them. gift bags? hell no, back in his day, presents were wrapped (ok old man 🙄💕) heh expect steve to come home with half a dozen new tubes of gift wrap because he just can't resist the cuteness (target snoopy paper, beloved 🥺💕)

andy: 7/10. if he did it himself that is 😌 this is a man of experience and few close relatives. the holidays are a quiet uneventful time for him (besides the odd party) and he spends it with you, showering you in gifts and treats for the new year. most of those treats come with complimentary gift wrapping that he'll most definitely take advantage of hehe if not, he's a sparkly gift bag kinda guy

ari: 8/10. he doesn't have much skill at getting those sharp corners on a wrapped box but can he curl a ribbon or what? great color sense, he doesn't look like it but he can tell a french silver from classic silver 😌💕 whatta man whatta man. eight presents though, that's a lot of gift ideas to come up with. defaults to cash and gift cards for some nights, slaps a ribbon on top and adds mesh bag of chocolate coins and calls it a night

johnny: 6/10. look, he's a guy. still, he's a guy with a big sister. sue comes over and they make a night in of it. wrapping paper is everywhere, someone gets hit with a tube, nothing's lit on fire but reed's gift is singed and labeled "to: asshole". it's probably just fruit of the loom boxers. your gift though? he keeps adding stocking stuffers until sue makes him use a wicker basket to hold everything bc "it's chic, johnny, and a paper bag can't hold all of that."

ransom: 5/10 +3 effort points. ONCE HE TRIES?? HE TRIES!!! i mean not for his parents' gifts, he probably amazon shipped those to their house. but he'll pull out the ribbons, the glitter, the tinsel, the special wrapping paper just for you 🥹💕 ransom doesn't really Get It, not until you have a day of present prep with him. cups of hot drinks and a movie on in the back, that sort of warm nostalgia that's so familiar yet distant from what he's known 🥺surprisingly good eye for it

jake: 4/10. oh lord he tries. he tries so damn hard. the living room is a wreck, there's tape everywhere and mismatched wrapping paper. he measures a length of paper too small and worries about cutting another one because you like that paper!! you'd probably cry if he wasted it!! so he takes a discard piece and kinda... band-aids it together... oh baby 😔 also how do you wrap plushies??? (put it in a box, jake, please put it in a box)

curtis: 7/10. solid score because he goes for maximum efficiency and doesn't take a break until every single present is completely hidden in gift wrap, tissue paper, ribbons, bows, and a gift tag. would be a 10 if he was a little more fancy and a little less practical about his present style. but he has the assembly line efficiency and it helps you get everything done in one day so kudos 😊 points off for getting suspicious when you take a long pee break tho

---

since i've started writing this hc list, i've redone my amigurumi THREE TIMES. why do i do this to myself. i also wrapped last minute gifts like a jake today heh

[laracrofted]

knee deep in the passenger seat

synopsis: nora and bradley meet again that one time. set five-ish years before baby, i’m high octane.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex, semi-public sex), slight age gap (six years), alcohol consumption, vomiting. rooster is slutty (affectionate) and also, a little sad. (wc: 5.4K)

note: i wrote this in october 2022 and just never posted it anywhere lol 💙 but since it's alexa's birthday, i'm opening the vault for her special day. happy birthday, alexa, you're nora's biggest fan except for me!

tags: @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @hangmanbrainrot @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @t-nd-rfoot @sometimesanalice @dempy @mlibbydp @bellaireland1981 @clancycucumber230 @kmc1989 @averagereader35 @eli2447 @filmflux @bethbunnyy @callsignspark @kajjaka @roosterbruiser @djs8891 @gretagerwigsmuse

An orange September moon is barely visible in the darkness, and Nora has probably overdone it.

Things… could be worse, she reasons, maybe not much worse but still.

No one’s in immediate danger of passing out in the crunch of early autumn leaves or worse, peeing on the side of the deserted middle-of-nowhere road and getting slapped in the face with a public intoxication fine. 

She’s seen worse, probably been worse. 

However, Nora must admit that on a scale of unshakable steel to blow-up man outside of a small town car dealership, she is starting to feel a bit like a day-old helium balloon with a pin-hole leak; limbs bending and sagging and dragging in strange ways. 

Nothing sounds more appealing that crumpling in a pile of sparkles and limbs until Aunt Charlie comes out to scrape her from the damp pavement and drag her home. 

Also, she might puke.

That all depends on how the last shot of Tito’s lands in her stomach and given that Nora can smell rubbing alcohol in her nostrils with every hiccuping breath, she doesn’t love her chances. 

How did you get here, Rogers? You’re a grown 24 year-old woman. 

She ponders, contemplates, does all of those good and meditative action verbs. 

She spent four whole years watching the future Academy Award winners and nepotism babies of the world do lines off a dirty bathroom counter in a shoebox Greenwich apartment. An small close-friends-and-family-members-only retirement party for a renowned Naval Caption should’ve been a breeze.

She’s an adult now. Mostly.

She is smart and more than capable and – 

“An absolute sucker for an open bar,” Nora finishes out loud and with an irritated exhale, shakes a sharp piece of gravel loose from her heel, reflecting on her earlier decision to match a six-foot-something Naval aviator drink-for-drink, shot-for-shot. Idiot. 

Who cares if said Naval aviator looked like an abandoned puppy all alone at the pool table, all big brown eyes and broad shoulders, looking all…  sexy and wounded and sad.

She should’ve known better. She does. 

Over her shoulder, Nora aims a glare at Bradley Bradshaw, who in that moment, wobbles around a No Parking sign, loses his balance, and overcorrects so sharply that he almost ends up flat on his ass in the road. 

They’re a pair of idiots, then. 

And Nora really can’t assign out all of the blame.

No one forced her to order that one drink too many that pushed her over the edge… and the one after that. 

No one held her mouth open and poured the shots down her throat.

Although…

She does have a distinct memory of when Bradley caught one of her wrists in a hand large enough to hold both of them and gently bumped the rim of the souvenir shot glass against her bottom lip until Nora smiled and opened her mouth for him, which will probably make her blush in the morning.

She reasons that Bradley can be shoulder a little bit of the blame. He does have the shoulders for it. 

Since Bradley is also providing her only reprieve for the night – a safe haven, far from the oldies music and probing Is being a filmmaker really a career nowadays? questions –  Nora has already forgiven him in her mind.

Cars are parked all along the side of the road, late arrivals and overflow who couldn’t squeeze in the small parking lot in front of the dive, and as Nora weaves between the Go Navy! and Proud Veteran bumper stickers, a faded blue Bronco appears in the not-so-far distance, shining in the sparse moonlight like a beacon.

A beacon of hope… and air conditioning. 

She looks over her shoulder again to confirm that Bradley hasn’t collapsed and is still making good progress. He is swaying a little, like an anchored boat on a passing wake, but seems generally fine.

She makes a run for it. 

Under her feet, the grass is still wet from a recent storm and slippery, but Nora only slips twice. And after the second time almost causes her to lose a heel in the waterlogged ground, she goes barefoot for the last stretch, heels dangling from a bent finger, shimmering in the blue darkness like miniature disco balls. 

A beep-beep echoes across the humid air, damp enough to feel like a cloying fog, as Bradley unlocks the Bronco, and Nora calls, “Shotgun!” over her shoulder and smiling vaguely at the disembodied laugh that comes from the darkness, all but sags onto the seat.

She resists the urge to curl up like a cat and doze, like the Bronco has a built-in memory foam mattress and not a not even that comfortable brown leather bench seat. 

She leans back, relaxed, and lets everything slip from her slightly sweat-damp grip, dropping her purse and shoes, not bothering to check where anything ends up. She’ll worry about it later.

Right now, Nora is just grateful to sit a seat with a back for once.  

A door opens, and Nora cracks one eye open for pure self-preservation, checking to make sure it is Bradley and not some sort of Friday the 13th slasher. 

“I was promised AC,” Nora complains, pushing damp strands of pale blonde from her sweaty forehead, cursing her decision to ever get bangs and also not to grow them out in the colder months. 

“Give me a second, Rogers.” 

But Bradley almost immediately reaches over and cranks the ignition.

Cool air blasts from the vents, and Nora could actually cry.

Basking, Nora doesn’t pay attention as Bradley rustles around outside, shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it into the back, and hauls himself one-handed into the front. She’s serene and blessedly, rapidly cooling down. 

For a moment, Nora and Bradley are both silent, simply luxuriating. 

She’s the one to break the silence.

“God, I think I want to marry the person who invented modern air conditioning… or like, offer them  mind-blowing sex.” 

“Want to have sex?” 

 “No, I said – ” 

“No, I heard you.” His grin gleams in the greenish light from the radio, turned all the way down on some local station. “My question wasn’t related. Mind-blowing?” 

She blinks in his general direction, and in the dim glow, Nora can make him out well enough. His white dress shirt is gone, probably in the back with his jacket, leaving him in an undershirt that is straining over his slightly sunburned biceps. 

He looks perfectly casual.

Like Bradley’s asked to grab some drunk food.

“Rewind. Did you just ask me to have sex with you like…?” Nora wracks her brain for an apt comparison. “Like, we ran into each other at a coffee shop and you’re asking if I want to share a table with you? We’re both here, so might as well?” 

He chokes on a laugh, scrubbing a hand over the bottom half of his face to hide a shit-eating grin. Nora narrows her eyes, and Bradley makes an aggressive throat clearing noise.

“Yes.” 

A pause.

“No.”

Another longer pause.

“Is there a right answer to this question?” 

Jesus Christ. 

Nora exhales a disbelieving laugh. And then, entertains the idea. 

It isn’t a great one. For several reasons.

Reason 1: Aunt Charlie was good friends with Carole Bradshaw, which is the only reason Nora even knows him. Charlie watched him grow up and so, carries a certain fondness for him. 

A fondness that might be more than slightly tainted if lovable Bradley Bradshaw has sweaty and depraved sex with her niece in a parked car, outside of a retirement party where Charlie herself is currently in attendance. 

(He didn’t explicitly mention depraved, but Nora kind of gets that vibe from him.)

Reason 2: See above.

But… Nora considers, What if Charlie didn’t find out? What then?

He’s a good looking man, she can’t deny that. Humidity curls his hair around his ears, and Bradley’s got these puppy dog eyes that promise all kinds of trouble, a sharp edge of mirth underneath. 

He looks… good.

He’s what? Six years older than her? That’s nothing.

A guy like him… could probably snap her in half, all broad shoulders and massive arms. 

She’s always had a thing for arms.

And Nora hasn’t gotten laid in a while. She’s been busy, assisting and pitching and writing and running around Manhattan for drinks and meetings and interviews and – 

It’s a bad idea.

It’s not a good idea.

It’s… not the worst idea.

“Sure, yeah,” Nora finds herself saying. “We could have sex.” 

This all really started when Aunt Charlie got the invite in the mail a month ago.

As a former Top Gun instructor and current Department of Defense superstar, Charlie Blackwood got a lot of invites. She got invited to weddings, baby showers, medal ceremonies, and lately, lots and lots of retirement parties.

She declined most of them, but Nora knew Charlie had a soft spot for Top Gun graduates who’d been in her class and gone on to have long and prosperous careers with Naval Aviation. 

And when Mr. Charlotte Blackwood couldn’t make it to a party for one reason or another and Nora was free for the weekend, she was the designated back-up plus one.

An opportunity to get all dressed up for a night in some glamorous Washington D.C. ballroom, sipping free drinks and chatting up some silver fox Naval Admiral’s cute, much more age appropriate nephew? Sign her up.

She might not have been quite so eager if Charlie had told Nora earlier that Captain Leonard Wolfe had opted for a more... down-to-earth approach. 

It was a classic dive, raucous, intimate, and covered in a film of grease and grim that made Nora regard the slight cloudiness of the Dirty Shirley with suspicion. A free drink is a free drink. She shrugged and accepted the drink with a closed lip smile, plucking a cherry from the carbonation and popping it into her mouth. 

Chewing, Nora looked for a quick getaway and instead, found a familiar face.

Dressed in a respectable shirt and well-fitting slacks, golden from his latest deployment, Bradley Bradshaw was all alone next to the pool table, scraping chalk across the cue with a vacant expression, looking miles from here. 

Nora sidled over and leaned against the pool table. 

“Bradley Bradshaw,” Nora said coolly, mixing in the grenadine with a stirring straw and sipping from the end. Pure saccharine sweetness… and a very prominent aftertaste of bottom-shelf vodka. “Look at you in your dress shoes.” She playfully nudged the side of his shiny black shoe. “I haven’t seen you at one of these in a while. You been in hiding or just hiding from me?” 

He stiffened, ever so slightly, but Bradley inclined his head with a smile.

“Never, Rogers,” Bradley replied, holding his hand over his heart like an oath. “Who would hide from someone who looks as beautiful as you do in that dress?” His gaze might as well have been a caress, drinking in the silver of the dress. 

She did a small spin, even though Bradley didn’t ask, shimmering in the dim light of the dive bar like an errant disco ball, a shooting star that’s wandered down to the surface and gotten lost. 

“Just between us…” Nora leaned in. “I’m worried I’m a little overdressed.” 

His smile widened. “You definitely are. You kind of look like an asshole.” 

She gaped at him, and Bradley laughed at her surprised expression, but something about the sound was strangely hollow, a copy of a copy.

He sounded off, and Nora frowned.

“You okay?” Nora asked slowly, not wanting to cross a line or impose. He could’ve been waiting for someone when Nora came over. “I can leave you alone, go find some hot young Lieutenant who’ll fetch my drinks all night.”

She was rewarded with a small smile, and Bradley shook his head, almost too quickly. “Stay. Sorry, I’m just… I think I need another drink in me.” His gaze dropped. “You play pool?” 

She shrugged. “I prefer darts.” 

“Well, I don’t,” Bradley said simply, short and almost rude. He cushioned the words with a crooked grin, looking more like the Bradley Bradshaw that Nora knew. “Rack ‘em while I get us another round? What’re you drinking, darling?” 

“Dirty Shirley.” He made a pained face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not coming over there and ordering it for you. A grown man like you can order a Dirty Shirley for a woman at a bar.”

“You might be scarier than my old CO.” And when Nora raised her brows, Bradley surrendered with open palms. “I’m going, I’m going.” 

His dark eyes shine with amusement as Bradley looks at Nora.

“Don’t pull a muscle with all that enthusiasm, darling.” 

She resists the urge to smack him. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“What?” And for his part, Bradley does look genuinely confused. 

“Oh my god, Bradley!” Nora groans, crossing her arms over her chest, which has the effect of dragging an already low neckline even lower. His eyes follow not so subtly. “You are the one who was like, Let’s have sex to kill time or whatever, and all of the sudden, I’m expected to what? Set the mood?” 

Her exasperation sweetens into something simpering and mocking, and Nora bats her lashes. “Touch me with your big, strong, capable Naval aviator hands, Lieutenant Bradshaw, or I’ll – ”  

Neither of them find out what Nora would do.

He slides across the seat in a heartbeat and swallows her words with an enthusiastic kiss, crowding her back against the window, warm against the bare skin exposed in the low back of the dress. 

Before Nora can do much more than pant into his mouth, Bradley is pulling her from the seat with his strong hands and sets her down in his lap, grasping her waist in a firm grip, holding her against him.

His shirt is soft to the touch, and Nora smooths her palms over his shoulders, over his arms, caught and confined in the fabric. Impatient, she pulls at the hem, and Bradley is more than happy to take the hint. 

Getting him out of the shirt probably would go a whole lot smoother if Bradley wasn’t so tall and Nora wasn’t so on top of him, but after some determined fumbling and awkward maneuvering – Bradley smacks the ceiling twice and nearly knocks her out of his lap once – he manages to wrestle it onto the dash, cursing the whole way there.

Nora giggles. 

She’s still giggling when Bradley catches her chin, gaze warm with mirth and want, and pulls her into another long and slightly sloppy kiss. He is hard underneath her, and Nora feels lighter than air with a hand on the back of his neck, making encouraging sounds against his mouth.

He reaches under the dress, skimming a rough palm over the back of her exposed thigh, and Nora pulls back.

“Hold on,” she says, breathless.

She nods pointedly at the windshield.

He needs a second to catch up. 

“It’s dark out,” Bradley reassures, smoothing his thumb up and down the side of her neck. “And I parked down the street. No one’s gonna see.” 

Fingers curl around her thigh, easing her back down on his – 

She shakes her head, firm and unmoving. “Someone could have their flashlight on on their way to their car. And if Charlie has to hear about this from some drunk Admiral, I will die of embarrassment and bring you down with me.” A cool smirk. “What else’ve you got for me, Bradshaw?” 

“Right…” Bradley pauses. “Back seat?” 

They’d only made it through a few games before some older Naval officers – around the same age as Captain Wolfe – claimed the next one, but by then, Nora and Bradley were already several drinks in. 

Having an open bar meant that drinks became both a prize and a forfeit. 

She went in search of water – because, yeah, wow – while Bradley slumped on the nearest stool and watched the older Naval aviators set up their game.

And when Nora returned, waters in hand, Bradley had that same look on his face, a strange forlorn expression.

He glanced over as Nora sat down, and asked suddenly, “Wanna know why I stopped going to these?”

Honestly, all Nora really wanted was to drink some water and maybe check to see if the kitchen serves nachos and not puke tonight. 

She gulped down most of the water in one long pull and wiped the back of her across her mouth, probably smearing lip gloss all across her chin and mouth. It was all she could do not to let out of undignified cough. 

Another glass sat between them, but Bradley didn’t move to pick it up.

Sensing that Bradley was waiting for an answer, Nora offered a quick, “Sure, Bradshaw,” and slowly pushed at the water glass, feeling a little like a cat about to push it from the surface, until Bradley’s hand closed around it.

Between the music and the loud buzz of conversation, Bradley’s sigh was barely audible. He started, slowly, “Mom and I used to get invited to shit like this all the time when I was a kid, and starting out, I loved it. It was cool, getting to be around all these cool older guys who’re actual fighter pilots and have so many cool stories. It wasn’t really my mom’s scene – not without my dad, but I’d go with…” 

A pained expression flashed across his face, a mixture of anger and hatred and hurt, raw and deep and jagged, and Nora could fill in the blanks. 

He’d gone with Maverick. 

He continued, “But after a while, I realized I only got invited because I was a Gold Star kid. People felt sorry for me. Look at the sad kid with the dead dad. Made me feel like shit, you know? And now, I’m a Lieutenant. I might not’ve gone to the Academy like Hangman – ” 

He spat out the name with such venom that Nora’s lips parted automatically to ask who that was, but Bradley was on a roll now. 

“But I ended up in the same damn place as them. I’ve earned my spot.” 

An abrupt belch jolted him, and Bradley drained the water in a long continuous swallow that made Nora raise her eyebrows. 

“Guys like them,” Bradley nodded at the men who were now in the middle of nine ball game, gaze unfocused. “Guys like Wolfman look at me, and it’s like they’re looking at a fucking ghost. It’s almost worse.” His voice broke ever so slightly.

She pretended not to notice, sparing him, and Nora rubbed at a pinched spot in her chest.

She used to love it when she was younger, preening at every you look so much like your mom, scouring the scrapbooks and seeing a familiar smile on a face that wasn’t her own on the wrinkled pages. 

After Mom died, Nora kind of hated her own reflection, hated the uncanny feeling that someone was looking at her and not seeing her but a copy of a copy of someone else. 

She’s made peace with it since then. Eventually. 

And in a less inebriated state, Nora might’ve been able to articulate something, anything that might be a half-decent bit of wisdom, paraphrased from years and years of painful self-awareness and therapy. 

Right now, all Nora could do was reach for his nearest shoulder and give him a good solid poke, all muscle, and say, all gentleness, “You don’t feel like a ghost to me, Bradshaw.” 

Smiling sadly, Nora eased back, but Bradley caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, a silent thank you that couldn’t push through the emotion swimming in his sad eyes. 

A beat passed.

And Bradley stood abruptly, nearly knocking his stool over. 

“You want to do a shot? Wolfman’s buying.”  

When Nora nods, Bradley springs into action.

Guiding Nora over the seat, a careful hand resting on the nape of her neck to keep her from hitting the ceiling. Stepping out, then back in because Bradley is far too tall and wide to clamber over the bench. 

He is well-practiced, probably from doing this before.  

She is alone for a split second, bathed in the sound of the chirping crickets and her own shallow breaths. Fabric brushes against her back, resting on something that might be his shirt. 

Bradley pops the door open and is on her again, quick as lightning, and Nora doesn’t care anymore. She welcomes the weight of him, the press of his torso against hers, the hunger in his grasping hands. 

He’s a damn good kisser, coaxing her lips open and slipping his tongue into her mouth again, nipping at her bottom lip. He cups her face with large hands, scraping a thumb across her pulse point, and Nora sinks lower and lower into the heat, all fuzzy around the edges from alcohol and him. 

All she can think is more more more, now now now, and Bradley reads her mind. 

He breaks from the kiss, abruptly dropping his mouth to her shoulder and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the freckle there. He sounds half-asleep, voice low and thick with desire. 

Bradley mutters, “Sit up,” against her throat and slides onto his knees. 

That can’t be comfortable, Nora thinks absently. He is super tall, which also means long legs, and as spacious as the Bronco is – 

Nora lets out an embarrassing half-shriek when Bradley tugs her forward without warning, hooking her knees over his shoulders, settling between her parted thighs with a grin. 

She is still wearing her dress, rustling and glittering in the inky darkness with every breath, but Bradley doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get her naked. 

“Eating me out in the backseat of your car when I already agreed to have sex with you?” Nora jokes, a little breathless, a little embarrassed by that. Warmth flutters in the pit of her stomach at her own words, at the implication of it. Has it really been that long? “Can’t decide if you’re a gentleman or a slut.” 

Teeth gleam in the dark, and Bradley sucks a bruise into the inside of her thigh, blowing a cool breath over the spot. She holds back a shiver. 

“Who said I’m down here to eat you out? Kinda presumptuous of you, Rogers.” 

She rolls her eyes and smacks at his shoulder, catching the broad edge with an open palm. It probably hurts her more than him, and Bradley shakes with restrained laughter, which only makes her want to smack him again. Makes her want to tell him to get up or get on with it sometime tonight.  

She has a comeback, a good one, but Bradley doesn’t even give her the chance to get it out. He leans in and presses his mouth between her thighs, running his tongue against the seam of her through the underwear. 

Nora lets out something between a cough and a gasp, throwing her head back against the seat, arching into him. She might’ve choked on the breath, had anything still remained in her lungs to choke on. 

Everything flees the moment that Bradley finds the growing wet spot in the center of the fabric with his tongue. It’s barely anything, a tease, and yet, Nora is already quivering in his arms. 

“You okay up there?” 

His voice is unbearably smug, and Nora is having a little trouble remembering that really great comeback from earlier.

“It’s been… I’ve been… Shut the fuck up.” 

Hot breath ghosts across the damp strip of fabric as Bradley laughs, and on instinct, Nora jolts away from him. He keeps her there with a flex of his biceps, reaching up to tap a placating palm against her stomach, then down to find the edge of her underwear. 

He shimmies them halfway down her thighs, then realizes the obvious issue with this plan. It’ll be impossible to get them off in this position. There isn’t enough room. 

A suspiciously long pause, and Nora feels the elastic pull tight against her thigh.

“Rip my underwear,” Nora threatens, one hand grabbing at his hair in warning, “and I’m getting out of this car.”

“S’not what I was doing,” Bradley insists, almost petulant, but instantly, Nora feels the pressure ease. 

Curls brush the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as Bradley ducks back into position, abandoning her underwear around her knees. He winds his arms back around her legs, flexing his muscles, and with a bend of his wrist, skims through the wetness there, brushing against her clit with his thumb.

“Fuck,” Bradley swears. “You’re so wet.” 

And in hindsight, maybe Nora spent too much time wondering about the slight possibility that Charlie could find out about this and not enough time worrying about the very real possibility that Charlie would probably call Bradley a well-mannered young man in the future, and Nora would have to look her in the eye. 

When did Charlie want to leave again?

Nora cranes her neck, aiming for casual and can almost see the…

“Are you trying to check the time right now?” 

Fuck. She shuts her eyes tight.

“What? No. Do you always talk this much?” 

He must realize that Nora was, in fact, trying to check the time because Bradley dives back in without hesitation – and without mercy, licking a long stripe up her cunt and easing his middle finger into her at the same time. He licks her again, tongue flat and searching, spreading her open, circling her clit with sloppy enthusiasm. 

“Oh my god,” Nora murmurs breathlessly, winding her fingers tighter in his hair, starting to tremble around him. “Bradley.” 

It’s the most uncomfortable position. Her legs burn, bent awkwardly over his too-big shoulders, and Nora can feel the muscles straining, threatening to cramp and spasm, but Bradley is eating her out with abandon. 

And Nora is so so close. It’s dizzying. 

“What do you need?” Bradley asks, raising his head, mouth slick with saliva and her, eyes bright. “You need me to…” 

She shushes him impatiently, and Bradley laughs. 

He sinks back down, running his tongue back and forth in a pattern that makes her see stars, and Nora is gone, coming with a gasping moan. 

She goes boneless in the aftermath, slumping sideways on the seat, leaving Bradley to maneuver out of the trap of her legs and underwear without any help. He manages well enough, keeping the quiet cursing to a minimum as Nora stares at the ceiling and catches her breath. 

He reaches into the front seat, popping open the glove compartment and rustling around. She closes her eyes, reopening them when Bradley tugs her panties all the way off her legs, now with the room to do so. He tosses the fabric to the side, banishing them to the same bottomless pit as her heels. 

“You decide yet?” Bradley asks. He wipes at his wet mouth with the back of his forearm, setting down his hand right next to her head and leaning in, and Nora can see the slight tremble to the muscle. 

“I already said I’d have sex with you, asshole. Give me a second.” 

He barks a laugh. “Not that. The other thing. Am I gentleman or a slut?” 

“Hmmm…” Nora spies the square of plastic clutched in his fist, narrowing her eyes in the dark to make it out. Her voice is a little hoarse. She could use another glass of water right about now. “Do you keep a box of condoms in your glove compartment?” 

“Always good to be prepared.” 

“Slut. Hands down.” 

His amused exhale warms her neck as Bradley nudges her head to the side, pressing kisses in a path down her exposed throat. He pauses for too long again, as if considering the risk and reward of sucking a bruise into her skin, and Nora digs her nails into his bicep in warning. 

“If I’m such a slut,” Bradley whispers against her throat, nosing under her chin to get her to tilt her head back further, “what does that make you, huh?” 

She smirks. “Charitable.” 

He freezes in place, breath puffing against her neck, and Nora has to hold back her laugh.

Bradley spots the wide grin on her face, the mischief dancing in her blue eyes, and laughs. Low, in a way that promises retribution. “Charitable… Fuck you, Rogers.” 

“Well, yeah. Did I come all the way back here for nothing?” 

He shakes his head, laughing under his breath, and unbuckles his belt, freeing himself from his boxers to slip the condom on. 

“Wait,” Nora says, tapping at his shoulder. He freezes in place. “My neck is cramping. Let me get on top.” 

Nora sinks down on him, head dropping back at the sensation. 

Time blurs from there, a languid hue of stuttered breaths and soft, drawn-out moans and murmured words. Her dress is pooled around her waist, and Bradley turns his attention to her breasts, first with his fingers, then with his mouth.

She alternates between grasping the head rest and the strong line of his shoulder, rocking down on him. 

“You feel so good, so fucking good,” Bradley moans. somewhere in the middle, brushing sweat-dampened strands out of her face. “Does that feel good?” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of her shoulder, then behind her ear, licks a long stripe across her skin. 

Half-drowned in sensation, Nora can do nothing but nod, slack-jawed, giving her answers in the form of kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw, fingernails lightly scraping across his bulging forearms. And in the interlacing of her fingers between his, right at the end, when Nora comes undone again and Bradley follows her over the edge, spilling into the condom. 

He pulls out, sprawling across the back seat, and Nora follows him down, resting her head in the crook of his arm. They are still breathing heavily, coming down from their highs when Nora’s stomach gives a twisted pinch.

“What’d you think? Better than someone getting a drink for you?” 

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” 

“Well… You seemed to be enjoying yourself a minute ago.”

“No, Bradley,” Nora says, sitting upright, which makes her vision cartwheel. “The Tito’s.” 

His eyes grow wide in understanding, and Bradley flings the door open, just in time for Nora to lean out and vomit over the side of the Bronco. His loud laugh is cut short, and then Nora hears a stuttered “Oh god,” and the unmistakable sound of the other door opening and liquid hitting the pavement. 

And as Nora pulls up the straps of her dress and wiped her mouth, she spots her shoe under the passenger’s side seat. “You know, Bradley.” She leans forward and fishes it out, holding it up to the light. “I think I should probably stop going to these parties too.” 

He offers her a thumbs-up over his shoulder, then throws up again. 

Later, once Nora has cleaned up and tugged her clothes back into place and accepted the plastic water bottle that Bradley tracked down in the trunk, she sits on the back bumper of Aunt Charlie’s car and waits.

She is smoking a drunk cigarette, bummed from an older Naval Admiral who was standing outside the bar, and watching the moon when Charlie wanders out of the party, not even a lipstick smudge out of place. 

“Where did you run off to tonight?” Charlie asks on the drive home, and as soon as Nora starts to tell her the abridged truth, that she was with Bradley, Charlie adds, “And before you answer, I do feel inclined to point out the huge hickey on your neck.” 

Nora screw her eyes shut. Goddammit Bradley.

“Now I don’t think I should answer that question.” 

Charlie sighs. “You’re an adult, Nora, and I know I can’t really say anything without sounding like a hypocrite after Pete, but please don’t start dating someone I used to teach.” 

Nora exhales a laugh, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window, fogging with her breath. Her gaze is skyward, unfocused, watching the stars blink and out of existence between the clouds. 

After a moment, Nora says, “Since I have no plans to date a Naval aviator, I think I’m safe. No danger there.” 

Her phone buzzes against her leg. 

Bradley Bradshaw: Always a pleasure, Rogers ;)

Bradley Bradshaw: Don’t be a stranger.

Nora holds her phone tight in her hand and tries not to smile. 

end note: i don't know how many biho readers actually care about bradley and nora, but i love the context that this one shot gives to their friendship, so i hope you did too! 🩵 likes are always appreciated, but comments and reblogs make my whole day. i love hearing from y'all.

read the series

[octuscle]

How to become the fuck whore

Lawrence was ruined. Really broke. He had lost his job. He had lost his apartment. And the suitcase containing his last belongings had been stolen. Now he stood in the rain on the street and waited for a lightning bolt to strike him. That would have been the best solution. He was now in his late 50s, had never furthered his education, was unathletic. He didn't see that there was any perspective for him.

Just as he was considering whether he should really throw himself off a bridge, a group of obviously drunken partygoers came by. "Dude, you look like shit!" one of the young lads said. "Do you need help?". It didn't matter now, his dignity was already shot to hell too. So Lawrence started crying bitterly and outlined his story. The lads around him were embarrassed at first. But then one started grinning whispering with the others and interrupted Sebastian's lament. "Dude, come join us. One of our roommates is abroad for a semester. You can have his room for a few days."

A few minutes later, Lawrence was sitting in the kitchen of the student housing community. He had taken a jogging suit from the closet of the lad whose room he was staying in. A little tight in the waistband. A little loose at the top. The lad obviously had an athletic build. It did feel a little strange to be an old man sitting among all the young studs. The lads all knew each other from sports college, two were assistants there, three were still studying. All well-built and picture-perfect alphas! He didn't fit in here. But Lawrence had no choice either.

After three beers and a joint, his eyes fell shut. He excused himself and threw himself on his bed. As he fell asleep, he noticed the smell of sweat in the bedclothes. And he wondered why such athletic young people were drinking, smoking and smoking pot. But he didn't care. He had already fallen asleep.

When he woke up, the sun was shining. He had to orientate himself for a short time until Lawrence remembered where he was and who he was. In any case, he was well rested. And he felt better than he had in a long time. He went to the bathroom of the shared flat in his borrowed jogging suit to pee. And one look in the mirror confirmed it: the night had been good for him. Maybe everything really was going to be okay. The bathroom looked like he had imagined the bathroom of a student shared flat would look. Dirty, untidy. So he made himself useful. The others seemed to be still asleep, in any case he didn't hear a sound. When he was done with the bathroom, he continued in the kitchen, where there were still weeks of dishes. And while he was dishwashing, two of the lads came into the kitchen. Obviously both had been jogging, sweat glistened on their bare torsos and they were breathing heavily. Sebastian handed them both a glass of water and asked if he should make breakfast. The two lads grinned at each other and exchanged a fistbump. And ordered scrambled eggs and coffee.

For the rest of the day, Lawrence cleaned the apartment until you could have eaten off the floor in every room. He'd also been to the laundromat, and for the evening he'd made plans to iron the clothes. The lads came and went, had food made for them in between, and had no problem leaving a trail of devastation behind them each time. But Lawrence thought it was only fair to tidy up and clean again. In the process, he found himself getting a stiff cock more and more often at the sight of the lads. Why did they all have to walk around the apartment bare-chested, too. Or directly completely naked.

For ironing Larry was allowed to come into the living room of the shared flat. The lads were lounging on the sofa watching a football game. Every now and then, someone would ask for a beer or a sandwich, and Larry would interrupt his ironing to go to the kitchen. It was late when he was finally able to go to bed. But he still wanted to clean up the last remnants of the TV evening before he went to bed himself. In the process, he had already taken off the top of his jogging suit. And while cleaning the bathroom mirror, which was already smeared again, he noticed that he didn't look so bad with his naked upper body. And as he lay in bed, he noticed that his room was the only one where the beds were not freshly changed. And it hadn't been cleaned yet.

When Larry got up the next morning to get rolls and make breakfast, something was different. The top of his jogging suit was stretching across his chest. And he had trouble pulling his pants up over his thighs. Maybe he'd have to go through the closet later to see if he could find something better to wear. But now he had to hurry. The first of his masters would be leaving for their morning jog in a moment. By the time they returned, he had to have breakfast ready. As soon as he got back from the bakery, he had to take off his sweatshirt. Way too tight. Besides, it was rude to cover his tits when he was allowed to see his masters'. And his tits were something he was proud of. He was proud of his whole body. But as his masters' cleaning slave and fuck whore, he also had an obligation to do his best.