#it takes a lot to get you loaded but it can be used for that purpose

[sparkypantaloons]

I Protí Forá

Bruce loves his kids, he just really doesn't know how to say it. So he shows it instead, usually with ridiculous displays and gestures of affection. Because he's a billionaire, ya know? And also a massive dork.

Eleven year old Jason comes to realise all of the above, from the middle of the Aegean Sea.

The first time Jason gets on a plane he's eleven.

Bruce is taking them to Greece for a vacation. He says it's because work has been hectic, but Jason's pretty sure it's because he (Jason) has been reading The Odyssey. Bruce might be the whole big boss of Wayne Enterprises, but every meeting Jason's ever overheard from the study starts with Bruce saying "Hello!" all cheery before going "But let me hand you over to the most important man at Wayne Enterprises", and then Mr. Fox takes over, so it can't be all that hectic.

Besides, Bruce does stuff like this sometimes. Like once, Jason told him he'd never seen a basketball game and Bruce took them to see the Gotham Guardsmen versus the Chicago Bulls the very next week. They sat courtside, and Jason had the biggest load of nachos he'd ever had in his whole life, and Bruce even let him try a sip of his beer (which was gross, by the way). And then after the game Jason got to meet both teams and try and shoot some hoops with Michael Jordan, who just "happened" to be there (yeah right, Bruce) and he got a tour of the entire stadium.

So, when Bruce looked over the top of his paper one evening, with the same look he had when he asked if Jason wanted to be adopted, and said "Shall we go to Greece next week?" Jason's pretty sure it's 'cause he (Jason) was reading The Odyssey. And nothing to do with work.

They fly from Newark to Athens, in the first class suite on Etihad. They have their own mini apartment on the plane, with two wide-screen TVs and a double bed, their own bathroom and a shower. It's almost as big as Jason's old apartment in the squat he was living in before Bruce found him, but not quite. It's a lot nicer though and Jason can't quite believe all this is on a plane.

The air crew greet them with a smile and give them bags full of expensive 'amenities' and stuff and hand Bruce a glass of champagne. He tells them he used to have a private jet, but that they're terrible for the environment and he's trying to reduce his carbon footprint. He says it in that stupid voice he does when he's pretending to be what Dick calls a "himbo billionaire" but there's the secret grin at the corner of his mouth that's just for Jason, that makes Jason feel like he's with the best man in the world.

When they're somewhere over the Atlantic, the lady looking after their section asks if Jason would like to see the cockpit. It's not normally allowed, she says, but Mr. Wayne is such a good customer (and man, she adds, batting her eyes at Bruce over Jason's head, as though Jason wouldn't know what she meant) that the Captain has agreed to make an exception.

It's dusk, and the sky from the cockpit is bigger and more brilliant that Jason has ever seen. A glorious canvas of pastel pinks and purple hues, stretching up into a deep dark blue where stars are slowly beginning to blink into life. The Captain greets Jason with a smile and Bruce with a handshake. Explains what all the different lights and buttons and switches mean, and let's Jason wear her hat for a photo.

By the time they land in Athens, Jason is pretty sure this is the second best day of his life. (The first best is the day Bruce adopted him).

They're spend the night at a fancy hotel, in a room on top of a cliff over looking the Saronic Gulf, which Jason has never heard of but is apparently part of the Aegean Sea. They have their own private swimming pool and two huge beds - one each, though Bruce says Jason can still share if he wants to.

The air is warm and thick, even as the day begins to fade, and though he's not that good at swimming yet, Jason is desperate to jump straight into the pool. "After some supper," Bruce promises, sounding a lot like Alfred. But he keeps his word and the two of them lie on their inflatables as night falls. Above them, in the dark, there are more stars in the sky than Jason has seen in his whole life.

~

The first time Jason has been on a boat he's still eleven.

He and Bruce wander down to a little dock below the cliffs wearing matching boat shoes and shirts. Jason is wearing his Gotham Guardsmen cap and Bruce has a white strip of sunblock under his eyes.

"Technically it's a catamaran" Bruce tells Jason, explaining the difference between hulls of the two as they step aboard. "Kalimera George!" He says, "O gios mou, Jason. Jason, this is our skipper, George."

Later, many years later, Jason will know enough Greek to realise Bruce introduced him as his son, but as he steps aboard the cat all he can do is wonder what Bruce said, smile shyly and shake George's hand.

They sail south from Athens, passing the Temple of Poseidon in coastal Sounio and onto the Aegean Islands. Jason has finished The Odyssey by now, but has moved onto other Greek myths, Theseus and the Minotaur, Artemis and Apollo, Icarus and Daedalus. The sea is a brilliant, turquoise blue, diamond bright under the warm Mediterranean sun and by the time they reach the island of Kythnos, Jason is itching to jump in.

They find a secluded cove, with a small rocky beach and George drops anchor.

"Last one in is a Green Lantern fanboy!" Jason crows, and he leaps from the back deck into the crystal cool water.

It's his first time in the sea, any sea, and he can taste the salt on his lips. The water is calm and he bobs lightly, laughing as Bruce makes a strangled cry and leaps in after him.

"You love Green Lantern!" Jason teases, giggling with his head thrown back to keep it above the surface. He's not so good at treading water yet.

Bruce drifts over to him, pouting. "I wasn't ready, no fair." He says, pulling Jason towards him and onto his back.

Jason closes his eyes to the sun as Bruce swims them round the cove a little.

"Let's swim back to the cat." Bruce says, and Jason chews his lip because it's a little far. "I'll be right beside you." Bruce promises and they swim back to the boat, together.

That night they lie out on the deck and Bruce points out all of the constellations from the Greek myths; Orion and Cassiopeia and Hercules, though obviously Herakles is the proper Greek name for him.

"Whose your favourite Greek hero, B?" Jason asks, his head on Bruce's stomach.

And because he's corny like that, Bruce says "Jason."

~

Jason's first crush, the first one where it feels like something, he's eleven still, and he and Bruce are on a tiny island called Nykterides. It's a nature reserve for bats and other animals and, honestly, sometimes Bruce is such a nerd, because of course he owns the island too. And of course it's a bat-island. Bat species in the Aegean are vulnerable to habitat loss and climate change (apparently), so the island offers a safe refuge. He tells Jason all of this with a very serious look on his face and all Jason can think is what a huge dork Bruce is. There's a tightness in his chest as he listens to Bruce explain, but it takes him a little while to realise the feeling is fondness.

Only a few local families live on Nykterides, Bruce says, as they sail up to the tiny harbour. The buildings are square and white, with some blue domes but mainly flat, low roofs. Conservation staff also live on the island, scientists and biologists too, and there's a small taverna on the shore where they can eat and drink together.

A boy, no more than 19 greets them as they approach. "Kalispera, Mr. Wayne." He flashes them a smile and Jason feels a little breathless all of a sudden. The boy's skin is a glowing golden bronze, his hair falling in dark, rich waves.

"Kalispera, Giannis." Bruce says, a hand on Jason's head. "This is Jason."

"Ah, like the Argonaut?" Giannis asks with a wink, and something in Jason's stomach flips. He thinks about Apollo, most beautiful of all the God's and tries not to blush.

Giannis serves them lunch, and they sit with George and the others on the island, in the shade of a few palms. They eat fresh caught mussels and clams, with salad of tomatoes and cucumber and olives. Fresh cheese with honey, and rice and vegetables wrapped in vine leaves. Jason feels like he's living in a dream, grins up at Bruce and smiles shyly at Giannis as they clink their glasses and say "Yamas!".

As the evening wanes, Giannis tries to teach Jason a few words of Greek.

"Efcharisto," The words roll off Giannis' tongue and Jason finds himself staring at the older boy's mouth.

"Eff-ha-rist-oh" Jason repeats, and Giannis laughs and says it's close enough.

That night Jason goes to bed giddy and breathless and dreams of Apollo.

~

The first time Jason realises he loves someone, truly loves them, other than his Mom that is, he's twelve. Just.

He and Bruce have been sailing for a week or so now, island hoping across the Aegean and the Cyclades. The sea breeze is just enough to keep away the mid-August heat and Jason is sure there isn't a more beautiful part of the world to be found.

Bruce has been promising something special for Jason's birthday. He's spent a lot of time on a ridiculous satellite phone (because there are zero bars in the middle of the sea) trying to sort whatever it is out. If he thinks too much about it, Jason's stomach flips with excitement, because what could possibly top all of this? Bruce is ridiculously rich, and just plain ridiculous, so it's probably a helicopter up to Mount Olympus or something totally crazy, which to be fair, would be beyond cool.

But when the night before his birthday Bruce comes to him looking forlorn, Jason is worried.

"I'm sorry Jay," Bruce says, and it looks like he's in physical pain for how sorry he is. "I really wanted to do something special for your birthday but it isn't going to work out."

"That's okay," Jason says, but before he can continue Bruce speaks again and says,

"I wanted to take you to Themyscira, and Diana thought she could get you in, but Hippolyta said no."

For the briefest of moments, Jason thinks he might be disappointed, but instead there's a rush in his chest and he laughs, head back and heart full. "Bruce, you big boob!" He says, shoving Bruce's arm. "Men aren't allowed on Themyscira."

Bruce slips his arm around Jason and pulls him in close for a hug. "Yeah, but you're just a little man, not a whole one. I thought they might make an exception."

"It would have been cool," Jason muses, from where his face is squashed against Bruce's chest. "But then I couldn't have spent my birthday with you."

Bruce makes a noise in his throat and hugs Jason a little tighter.

"Love you, B." Jason says, and it's the first time he's ever said it to anyone that wasn't his Mom.

Bruce grunts again, and hugs Jason even tighter. "Happy birthday, lad." He mumbles.

The air is warm, and the catamaran bobs lightly in the water. Waves lap at the hull and Jason grins.

He and Bruce sit and watch the stars together.

[luv3rrx]

The Perfect Toy

7 nobles x FEM!Reader

Cw; Sex-tape / Face-fucking/ Lots of cum / Have I mentioned there's a lot of cum? / PWP / Dubious consent in case

A/N; Guys,it's messy okay? And it's pure filth the server gave me a pass so let's do this also,if you want to listen with my playlist

Word count; 9K my longest fic so far

Mdni or I'm going to swallow you whole

————————————————————————————

“Get on the bed” Bimet said slightly annoyed meanwhile Foras was setting up a camera in front of the bed

“Are you sure about this?” Morax asked wanting to be sure that you were comfortable — “If they can handle the kings..I'm sure they can handle us” Amon says while taking off his suit

You were just on the bed,in a nightgown,Sitri wanted to you to look pretty for them, that's why he dressed you up

“So..I go first and then?” Bael asked — “Yeah and I go second” Naberius chimes in also taking off his clothes

“So can we start?" Bimet asked getting more impatient Foras only glared at him but to not make a fuss he nods,

He hit the record button..

Bael got on top of you..he kissed every inch of your body,his finger tip toe their way down to your area..

But hold on! How did you get into this situation?

Earlier that day,you got a message from Morax asking if you could over to hang out

And now here you are.

Bael makes you lay down on your stomach ass in the air..he didn't want to take off your nightgown..so he only took off your panties they were the same color as the nightgown

He took in your smell..you smelled delightful…he just had to dig in to have a taste,

He gets closer to your area with his tongue. He takes a long lick of your slit.. licking your leaking area..

“Fuck..slurp you taste so good” the noises were so loud and so gushy,you were squirming so much that he had to hold down your thighs so you could stay still

He was just begging to eat you out..

From the corner of your eye you saw Naberius with his head thrown back biting his lips while he was jerking off to the point where he took off his glasses

At the moment the only name you could moan was Bael’s name from the way he was eating you out,

It was like he hadn't eaten anything in years..or even drank something..

But oh..it felt so good.. but he wasn't doing this for your pleasure..

Oh no honey..it was for his pleasure that he was doing this

"Bael..! Ngh- I'm so close please..!!!" — you were so close to cumming,but he stopped abruptly..

He got up and Naberius was now behind you

"Finally my turn" he said slapping the tip of his cock on your area,

He sinked in slowly taking in the pleasure of how tight your insides were..

But not for too long.

His pace was hard and rough has if he leaving a load of stress and anger inside you,and you had to be a good and take all of him

Feeling that it was too much you try to run away but he grabs your waist and slams you back into him making your moan distorted and loud

“Should have escape a long time ago sweet thing” he leans in whispering in your ear before kissing it and blowing on it

Before long you cum around his cock, earning a raspy chuckle from him

“Hurry up Naberius..” Sitri said, groaning while still jerking off..he was going third after Naberius..

He couldn't wait to get his hand on you..

“Calm the fuck down..and let me enjoy them" Naberius barked back to him spanking your ass

Sitri groaned..feeling close

You whined feeling Naberius twitch inside you knowing that he was close..

And there it was... your first filling of the day

As soon as Naberius pulls out Sitri picks you up, lifting your legs so that your area could be seen in the camera

He slid inside you hearing a gasp from you

He just put you in a full Nelson! How strong was he?

You always looked at Sitri thinking that maybe he would be soft with you because of his frame,but you were so wrong

He was fucking you like an animal in heat

But can you help him? The way you were clenching around him asking him to leave..even tho there was Naberius cum inside you he kept on fucking it back

He was close too..

As you looked dazed and in a fuzzy state Amon was looking at you..those sharp eyes looking directly at you keeping eye contact while Sitri was fucking you..

How lucky you are..he got closer not fasting time in sliding inside of you joining Sitri in the process of fucking you

They were both rough and fast..

“Fuck they're so tight” — Amon said moaning and breathing heavily — "Doesn't matter..they're our toy now" — Sitri replied

The faster they went it meant that they were close...

Bimet watched the pleasure on your face..it was golden..

The way your eyes rolled back..your tongue out drooling mess babbling and mumbling words that could be heard..

You were mind fucked yet

There it was that warm feeling..they both stuffed you like a creampie..

They laid you down on the bed,your head turned towards the camera and right in front of you there was Bimet..

His cock laying on your face..he was sliding it across your face slapping the tip on your mouth asking for you to open wide..

When you opened your mouth he slid in, hitting the back of your throat making you gag..

He pinched your nose and started to slowly face fuck you..

“Ahh..— Fucking..stupid slut..you like getting used?” He degrades you..you were just a pathetic little whore who was getting used and tossed to anyone and everyone..

But he didn't want to share, did he?

He picked up his pace going faster and faster calling you names and degrading you

Foras and Morax were watching..

Releasing your nose he kept on face fucking you even tho he already came

Till the last drop right?

“Swallow you fucking slut.” he said watching swallow his cum lolling out your tongue to show him

“Move..” Foras said, nudging Bimet out of the way,he made you sit down and watched how the cum of the other devil trickled down your thigh

He laid down demanding you to sit on his face while you suck his dick

And so you did.. you tried to suck his cock..but it was impossible from the way he was eating you out..you had too..but it was just too much and-

Spank!

He spanked you..you were paying attention to his throbbing cock that needed so much of your attention..

You tried, you really tried to give him the attention he needed…

And all you earned were spankings on spankings

But at the end..you made him cum!

Good job..

On the other hand..Morax didn't want to join just yet..

You were getting exhausted..and Morax just got close to you healing you

He caressed your cheeks before getting up

They all surrounded you, starting to jerk off..

Soon enough you were covered in cum even your pretty nightgown..

“Fuck..I didn't know that humans were so slutty..” Bael says before taking his suit

“Your right..humans are way more fun to toy with" Naberius chuckle buckling back his pants

“We should do this way more often” Foras says

“Tsk..they won't be that greatful” Binet says scoffing earning a slap from the back from Sitri — "Shut up, you're just salty because we got more round than you"

You just looked at them trying to get up,but failing miserable so you decide to stay on the bed

Foras laughed and took his camera

“I’ll have fun with this tape..” he says smirking to himself

"Perv.." you mumble under your breath

When all the other nobles left the room and house..

Morax gave you a bath..cleaned you..even gave you food

But now it was his turn to have his fun

Your gentle giant wasn't so gentle after all..

He threw you on the bed his body hovering over yours you were so small compared to him

From eating you out to fucking you doggy style..having your face in the pillow hearing the headboard of the bed slamming on the wall

To picking you up and fucking you roughly against the wall he was fucking you as if you were gonna get away from him

But he didn't give you rest he healed you over..and over again.. feeling the pleasure that you had coursing thru his body

How can you make a calm and collected man lose his cool so easily?

Was it the way you move your body? Your lips? Or was it your charm?

Either way..

Hours passed..and you couldn't take it anymore..the overstimulation was just too much

He kept on filling you..and filling you..

He wasn't going to stop till he was satisfied..until you were stuffed with his cum to the brim.

To the point where when he was fucking you the cum would spill out

Form doggy style to missionary

“Open your mouth..my good slut” he said and you obeyed..he spat in your mouth the same way Bimet did

And he was fucking you the same way Bael did

Bael would go from soft to rough wanting to make your legs give out

He wanted to make you forget everything

He was using you like a fleshlight

A perfect toy..the perfect Fleshlight for him

————————————————————————————

Anon do enjoy this because this is a very old draft since 2023 yep

[clustermuck]

ugh...I'm still very upset about how part 2 handled Colin & Pen's characters post-LW reveal, ESPECIALLY if they weren't going to give us a lot of Happy!Polin married bliss after their reconciliation in ep 8. If you're gonna have a boat-load of angst in a story like this, you need to have a balance of resolution and happiness, otherwise there's, like, narrative whiplash (which is basically how I felt about the epilogue...)

HOWEVER — as right as I think I am that they could have made better narrative choices with writing and editing this season, I'm also starting to be like,

"are angst-driven stories just not for me?"

I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm down bad for the enemies-to-lovers/bickering couple trope and I always appreciate a quality slow-burn, so I'm hardly against angst in any form. That is, until that angst is prolonged longer than the plot or the characters organically would or should suffer with it.

So, maybe this is me just not understanding what it means to watch a Shondaland show?...I've never been a Grey's or Scandal person and I dropped out of HTGAWM pretty quickly. So maybe Shonda's approach to romance isn't for me and I need to recognize that in the show to enjoy it (or try to)? Perhaps I'm asking the show to be something it's not...it's like going into a Subway and asking for an ice cream cone—I don't know.

I guess my hill I die on when it comes to stories of any kind that feature romance is: don't confuse angst with conflict. They aren't necessarily the same thing. There is so much Polin angst in those last two episodes that could have resolved without resolving the conflict of the Queen/Cressida vs. LW (or even between Penelope and Colin! There could have still been tons of conflict there, it just should have manifested in them being on the same side of the conflict...more Polin vs. The Problem rather than Pen vs. Colin and The Problem.) I guess I mean having Colin be stonewalled against Penelope for so long (narratively speaking, I get that it was only 2 episodes) didn't feel honest to me. I understand where all of his feelings of anger, betrayal, and doubts were coming from and he's totally entitled to them! I'm not trying to take that very real, honest response away from him. But by the time it was, like, mid-episode 8 and Colin was still acting almost cruel towards Penelope, it started to feel like angst for angst sake, not for the betterment of the story. And whether or not angst-ridden stories are your "type" of show or not, you can tell poor choices from good ones and I do believe that even for fans of Shondaland's approach to storytelling, there was much to be desired. We all deserved a bit better than what we got.

[franzkafkagf]

What do you think of the choice to make Aegon a rapist? That's the whole thing that really turned me off his character originally & I think it's a shame they went that route because he genuinely seemed so interesting. ( Though I don't expect everyone to have the same reaction it's all fiction and I can empathize with fictional murderers just fine so it's just a personal thing )

Your Aegonposting did kind of changed how I felt about him tho!

Hi anon! First things first thank you lmao!! It's wild to hear that people actually change their opinion/feelings on Aegon based on my ramblings! <3 (For the uninitiated: #aegonposting)

Honestly, him being a rapist in the show does not bother me as much as it bothers other Aegon girls (I understand hating the decision, though)— the implications are there in Fire & Blood (he was known to be promiscuous and to fondle serving girls even as a younger boy) -> him being a rapist is not really that big of a jump from his "characterization" (using this term loosely because we know so little of F&B Aegon).

I didn't even have that much of a problem with introducing him as a rapist in episode 8— the thing that bothers me most is that they had 8 minutes (so odd to give adult Aegon so little screentime!) to establish Aegon as a character and they decided to load so many negative traits onto him that the audience automatically saw him as a Joffrey-like figure when he is pretty clearly not that. The fighting pits was a very… interesting choice.

Now they're trying to give him other traits and people scream OOC— I already had some of those in my askbox. It's very bizarre because, as I said, we have seen adult Aegon for only 8 minutes, most of that screentime he was going through a lot -> we have not seen how Aegon acts normally and it's frustrating to see people act like they already know everything there is to know of Aegon.

Particularly grating is the entire debate on him being a proud/good father; being somewhat of a distant / uninvolved parent can definitely coexist with loving your children fiercely.

Getting back to your question on him being a rapist, I see the choice to portray him like that as a commentary on the broader rape culture that exists in Westeros. Theirs is a society that is so deeply entrenched in misogynistic traditions and practices, where women are often treated as commodities and men are raised with a sense of entitlement over their bodies.

In ASOIAF, noblemen are frequently seen visiting brothels, viewing it as a normal and even expected activity— the act of buying sex in itself it not bad, but it becomes violent when you realize how many of the women in westerosi brothels were sold against their will and are working under unfair indentures.

This normalization of brothels, where many women are forced into working against their will, reflects the casual acceptance of sexual exploitation and the use of women for the pleasure of men.

The tradition of First Night is another example of the institutionalized misogyny in Westeros. Though it’s mostly looked down upon in present-day Westeros, this tradition allowed lords the privilege of “taking” the bride of their vassals on their wedding night.

Aegon himself is also an example of the problematic views on consent and autonomy within Westerosi culture. His forced marriage to Helaena highlights how even the nobility often has little control over their own bodies and destinies. Both Aegon and Helaena were forced into their union to serve as pawns and nothing more. They could not and did not consent to what they were forced to do.

This lack of autonomy over one's own body is further illustrated by Aegon's behavior. He brought Aemond to a brothel to lose his virginity at the age of thirteen, suggesting that Aegon himself had likely experienced something similar, why else should he see it as a necessity for Aemond to do the same? This cycle of abuse and distorted views on sexuality perpetuates the culture of normalized sexual exploitation and a fundamental misunderstanding of consent.

Some shameless self-promo, I actually deal with Aegon's fucked up views on sex and consent in my fic The Dog Days Are Over give it a read if you’re interested in the topic.

When considering Aegon's character and the choice to make him a rapist, it's important to recognize the narrative purpose it serves. While it may turn some people off, it also provides a deeper understanding of his place in the culture and how young men are socialized in a feudal society. It highlights how systemic rape culture and the normalization of sexual exploitation can corrupt young men, even those who might otherwise be good people.

[martiandmichelle]

First let me explain this condition that I (and others!) can find ourselves in called "Sexually Blissed Out" or SBO. The definition of blissed out is given perfectly at the online Urban Dictionary which is:

a trance-like happiness, euphoric almost can be sexual, overwhelmed with stimulation leading this trance-like state of being so aroused and blissful.

So I am going to give you the top 5 things that can make me SBO or at least come close to it. SBO doesn't happen a lot but when it does, WOW! I go limp and just let it happend, usually having squirting orgasm after squirting orgasm, my nipples becoming powerful milk fountains.

So here are 5 things that can get me to SBO listed from least likely (5) to most likely (1).

(5) Cum drinking. I'm not talking just about swallowing a guy's or even guys' loads (though doing that as well helps), I'm talking about drinking glasses of cum, chugging them down. The overwhelming taste and wonderful scent of the cum fills all of me and just takes me places and one of them is close to falling into a wonderful SBO. It takes several glasses, e.g., a LOT of cum to get me to SBO.

(4) Tit fucking. That might surprise you, maybe? It's a fantastic way for your greatest sex gift (your hard cock) and what, in my mind anyway, is my greatest sex gift (my tits), to be together and the visual is just incredible. It will take a line of guys doing that to me and squirting their cum on my tits or on my face to get me to SBO, but, damn, it's fun getting there.

(3) Visual sex. I love this, especially when followed by other things on this list. This is usually a 1 on 1 act but it doesn't have to be. To just sit with someone and have them just stare at my body and don't even touch me. I especially love it if my partner or partners stay dressed and I'm nude and he/she/they just stare, with hardons or wet crotches. My breathing quickens and my head gets light and when I start arching my body out and putting my hands behind my head and spreading my legs - yeah, I'm almost to SBO. It just takes time.

(2) Nipple sucking. My experience is that women are better at this than men, some of that is because women tend to take longer when they do it and that I love how they start slowly then ramp it up. If I have one person on one tit and another on the second tit then SBO can come quickly and last for as long as the sucking does. It's almost as if I leave my body and watch from a third person position, just letting my tits enjoy it without me and my emotions getting in the way. Expect a LOT of milk and squirting orgasms when I get there.

(1) Throat fucking. (Obviously only guys can do this. Using dildos is not the same!) OK, I'm not talking blow jobs here. In throat fucking or face fucking (whichever term you choose or however long your dick is, both work), you're in control - TOTAL control. You must be serious about tit and give it your all. I can take it - really, I can (unless you have a cock with > 8 inch girth which won't fit down my throat). I trained myself long ago how to breathe with a cock in my throat so don't you dare take it out unless your changing positions and have to. And any and every position is wonderful. Don't dare stop and ask my if I'm alright - I'll let you know if something isn't working - or you'll ruin the mood. Destroy my mouth and throat as best you can and I'll love the experience ever more. This can be with just one guy (if you can last a long time or can keep going after cumming which means not get too soft). If you want to see me in deep, limp SBO then bring some of your buddies with you so you can go for hours. Rope and handcuffs are welcome, even enjoyed. Just plan to spend hours at it so I can empty all my milk and pussy juices.

Some honorable mentions would be gang bangs (the bigger the better and me in the middle), cowgirl fucking, blow jobs (giving), and drinking my own milk and/or squirt as long as I have friends to share it with. Taking someone's virginity is also amazing as is sex with someone for the first time. I'll round at the top 10 in that I find age differences to be very hot! That, of course, means I'm the older one so having a guy or gal (or, preferably, guys or gals) 40+ or better yet 50+ years younger than me is awesome. (No, no one under 18!)

(These things can change around in order. Had I written this 6 months ago I would have put having my nipples sucked first!)

I'm telling you this now because I'm writing something for you where a number of these come into play. I'm pretty deep into it already so hopefully you'll be able to read it soon.

Marti

[mustlovemassiffs]

Sergeant Hound! Does the very lovely Grizzer know any tricks???

Oh yeah, she knows loads of em! She’s a smart girl. If you’ve ever come across us on patrol, you’ve probably seen her sit or lay down, but she’s got some more interesting ones too! My favorite is when she knows to lay her head in the palm of my hand (even if she’s squirming cause she wants a scratch) so that I can take pictures of her. She’s a real good subject for pictures, even if Fox says I need to stop sending them on our Coruscant Guard message board cause it notifies everyone. I think they should be notified though. Plus he saves them even though he says he doesn’t so I don’t take it seriously comin from him. Speaking of Fox, Grizzer’s personal favorite is probably how we’ve taught her to get him to sleep. A lot of the time all she has to do is lay her head on his knee and give him those sweet little tooka eyes and he lets her on his lap no problem. From there, she cuddles into his chest and he’s snoring in his bucket in no time. But when he’s a little more stubborn about it she knows to steal his blaster from his holster and run to his bunk with it; he always gives chase and she likes the thrill of it just as much as she likes herding him into bed afterwards. But, uh- don’t tell Fox about that last trick. He doesn’t know, and if he did you’d never hear from me again… Thanks for dropping by, you’re real sweet and I hope to hear from you again!

[sweaterkittensahoy]

YAY can u write a prompt for protective bucky (with buck of course) 😁😁

After the war, when Bucky goes to Buck in Wyoming, there's a knock on the door.

Bucky answers because Buck's in the shower. There's a man on the porch wearing a threadbare suit and an oversized shirt and a tie with a good knot, but it's too long on his torso.

"I'm looking for Gale Cleven," the man says.

And it's only at hearing the voice that Buck realizes who he is looking at. This is Buck's father. He's a bit shorter, shoulders curled forward to boot, and he looks sickly in a way that Bucky realizes is likely from drinking, though he doesn't smell like it right this moment.

"Not sure he's here," Bucky says. "Let me check." He closes the door in the man's face because he only knows the one story. The story Buck told as they stood at the air raid shelter. Of a drunk, gambling father who clearly did not teach his son that there's time for fun and time for serious behavior. A man who left Buck in a headspace that a man is black and white. Either drunk or sober. Either a gambler or good with money.

Bucky still isn't sure what about him made Buck take a chance that must have felt like shoving a mountain into the sea, but he's glad every fucking day Buck took that chance and stood by it. That he saw gray and decided he liked it.

He walks into the bathroom. Buck's in a towel, mixing up soap for his shave.

Bucky doesn't know how to say what he needs to carefully, so he plucks the mug with soap and brush from Buck and waits for the question in his raised eyebrows. "Pretty sure your dad's at the door," he says. "He seems sober."

Buck shudders from head to toe, and Bucky wants to hand Buck back his shaving supplies and go kick Mr. Cleven all the way up his ass.

"Does his suit fit?" Buck asks. And, oh, how Bucky's heart breaks at everything that tells him.

"Nope," he says. "Not even a little bit."

Buck takes back his shaving brush and cup with the soap. He checks the froth of the soap, then turns on the hot water. "I'm not here," he says.

Bucky kisses Buck's shoulder because it's the closest thing to touch. "Any other message?" he asks because he can't quite help himself. He knows his vices.

Buck turns his head and kisses the side of Bucky's forehead. "You could never be him, John. Not on the very worst day you could imagine."

That feels hard to believe, but that's true on John's worst days anyway, so he takes as the honesty it is. He drags his nose along Buck's shoulder in an easy caress, and then he leaves Buck to his shave.

He opens the door and looks at Mr. Cleven, who is standing where he'd been left. "Missed him," he says. "Not sure when he left."

"Well, thank you," Mr. Cleven replies.

And Bucky feels no discomfort at what he's said because it's true. Mr. Cleven had time to catch Buck. Years and years. It's not a lie to say he's missed him.

It's not a bad thing to be the one Buck saw with similar vices and marked as different than this man leaving their porch, shoulders still rolled and suit ill-fitting, and as Bucky watches, slipping a tiny bottle out of his pocket. Bucky's mom loves to bake. It looks like vanilla extract.

Bucky goes back to Buck in the bathroom, who is halfway through his shave. He wraps his arms around Buck's waist and presses his cheek against Buck's shoulder. "He's gone," he says.

Buck continues his shave for three, steady strokes. "Did he smell like vanilla?" he asks, and his hand trembles just the tiniest bit.

Bucky waits for him to drop the razor into the basin to rinse it. "No, but I saw him drink from a little bottle," he says because he won't lie to Buck, but he won't choose the softest answer when the true one is more accurate.

Buck sighs and finishes his shave. He rubs in aftershave and drains the basin, then turns in Bucky's arms. "Thank you," he says. He presses their foreheads together and cups Bucky's head in both hands.

"I love you," Bucky says. "And you're not him," he adds. Buck relaxes after that, going soft and sweet in Bucky's arms, and Bucky believes without question what Bucky always tells him. He's not Bucky's father. But in this moment, Bucky knows another truth: Buck believes him when he says he's not, either.

[rohirric-hunter]

I love the Green Dragon keg that only teleports you to the Green Dragon.

[jokeringcutio]

Snippet 18+ content underneath the cut. You've been warned:

“Excuse me, but what is going on?” you asked, eyes wide in disbelief. What did they want from you?

But then Arthur flipped the covers open, the blanket aside, to reveal that he was wearing a shirt with nothing underneath. Naked flesh, bare thighs. A proud and leaking shaft protruded out of a bush of greying dark hair. His cock, you thought alarmed.

“Will you help me willingly?” he then asked, voice smooth and gentle, his eyes finally upon you.

~ I have yet to find the plot / and a title. It'll come. Like the reader and Arthur come in nearly all four chapters now. It is insane. Like:

[justabunchofdragons]

o... .. .,,, ! !!! i am very happy with where i am in this moment

[genericpuff]

Tbh at this point you should just make your own webcomic app/website because it would probably be 100 times better than whatever going on with webtoon right now.

hahaha it wouldn't tho, sorry 💀

Here's the fundamental issue with webcomic platforms that a lot of people just don't realize (and why they're so difficult to run successfully):

Storage costs are incredibly expensive, it's why so many sites have limitations on file sizes / page sizes / etc. because all of those images and site info have to be stored somewhere, which costs $$$.

Maintenance costs are expensive and get more so as you grow, you need people who are capable of fixing bugs ASAP and managing the servers and site itself

Financially speaking, webcomics are in a state of high supply, low demand. Loads of artists are willing to create their passion projects, but getting people to read them and pay for them is a whole other issue. Demand is high in the general sense that once people get attached to a webtoon they'll demand more, but many people aren't actually willing to go looking for new stuff to read and depend more on what sites feed them (and what they already like). There are a lot of comics to go around and thus a lot of competition with a limited audience of people willing to actually pay for them.

Trying to build a new platform from the ground up is incredibly difficult and a majority of sites fail within their first year. Not only do you have to convince artists to take a chance on your platform, you have to convince readers to come. Readers won't come if there isn't work on the platform to read, but artists won't come if they don't think the site will be worth it due to low traffic numbers. This is why the artists with large followings who are willing to take chances on the smaller sites are crucial, but that's only if you can convince them to use the site in favor of (or alongside) whatever platform they're using already where the majority of their audience lies. For many creators it's just not worth the time, energy, or risk.

Even if you find short-term success, in the long-term there are always going to be profit margins to maintain. The more users you pull in, the more storage is used by incoming artists, the more you have to spend on storage and server maintenance costs, and that means either taking the risk at crowdfunding (ex. ComicFury) or having to resort to outsider investments (ex. Tapas). Look at SmackJeeves, it used to be a titan in the independent webcomic hosting community, until it folded over to a buyout by NHN and then was pretty much immediately shuttered due to NHN basically turning it into a manwha scanlation site and driving away its entire userbase. And if you don't get bought out and try your hand at crowdfunding, you may just wind up living on a lifeline that could cut out at any moment, like what happened to Inkblazers (fun fact, the death of Inkblazers was what kicked off the cultural shift in Tapas around 2015-16 when all of IB's users migrated over and brought their work with them which was more aimed towards the BL and romancee drama community, rather than the comedy / gag-a-day culture that Tapas had made itself known for... now you deadass can't tell Tapas apart from a lot of scanlation sites because it got bought out by Kakao and kept putting all of its eggs into the isekai/romance drama basket.)

Right now the mindset in which artists and readers are operating is that they're trying way, way too hard to find a "one size fits all" site. Readers want a place where they can find all their favorite webtoons without much effort, artists wants a place where they can post to an audience of thousands, and both sides want a community that will feel tight-knit. But the reality is that you can't really have all three of those things, not on one site. Something always winds up having to be sacrificed - if a site grows big enough, it'll have to start seeking more funding while also cutting costs which will result in features becoming paywall'd, intrusive ads, creators losing their freedom, and/or outsider support which often results in the platform losing its core identity and alienating its tight-knit community.

If I had to describe what I'm talking about in a "pick one" graphic, it would look something like this:

(*note: this is mostly based on my own observations from using all of these sites at some point or another, they're not necessarily entirely accurate to the statistical performance of each site, I can only glean so much from experience and traffic trackers LMAO that said I did ask some comic pals for input and they were very helpful in helping me adjust it with their own takes <3).

The homogenization of the Internet has really whipped people into submission for the "big sites" that offer "everything", but that's never been the Internet, it relies on being multi-faceted and offering different spaces for different purposes. And we're seeing that ideology falter through the enshittification of sites like Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc. where users are at odds with the platforms because the platforms are gutting features in an attempt to satisfy shareholders whom without the platforms would not exist. Like, most of us aren't paying money to use social media sites / comic platform sites, so where else are they gonna make the necessary funds to keep these sites running? Selling ad space and locking features behind paywalls.

And this is especially true for a lot of budding sites that don't have the audience to support them via crowdfunding but also don't have the leverage to ask for investments - so unless they get really REALLY lucky in EITHER of those departments, they're gonna be operating at a loss, and even once they do achieve either of those things there are gonna be issues in the site's longevity, whether it be dying from lack of growing crowdfunding support or dying from shareholder meddling.

So what can we do?

We can learn how to take our independence back. We don't have to stop using these big platforms altogether as they do have things to offer in their own way, particularly their large audience sizes and dipping into other demographics that might not be reachable from certain sites - but we gotta learn that no single site is going to satisfy every wish we have and we have to be willing to learn the skills necessary to running our own spaces again. Pick up HTML/CSS, get to know other people who know HTML/CSS if you can't grasp it (it's me, I can't grasp it LOL), be willing to take a chance on those "smaller sites" and don't write them off entirely as spaces that can be beneficial to you just because they don't have large numbers or because they don't offer rewards programs. And if you have a really polished piece of work in your hands, look into agencies and publishing houses that specialize in indie comics / graphic novels, don't settle for the first Originals contract that gets sent your way.

For the last decade corporations have been convincing us that our worth is tied to the eyes we can bring to them. Instead of serving ourselves, we've begun serving the big guys, insisting that it has to be worth something eventually and that it'll "payoff" simply by the virtue of gambler's fallacy. Ask yourself what site is right for you and your work rather than asking yourself if your work is good enough for them. Most of us are broke trying to make it work on these sites anyways, may as well be broke and fulfilled by posting in places that actually suit us and our work if we can. Don't define your success by what sites like Webtoons are enforcing - that definition only benefits them, not you.

[von-karmas-a-bitch]

you’ve got this!!

girl help i have no context ghskfhskbf thanks for whatever it is you're trying to pep talk me abt

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Picture this: Dragons using their caves to age cheese. Dragon Cheesemakers!!

The dragon coiled his enormous body, completely blocking the entrance of the tunnel that lead to the caves.

“No,” he snarled, smoke pluming from his nose.

The cheesemonger pinched the bridge of her own nose. “Look, I explained this to you at the start,” she tried once more. “I make cheese.”

“Yes,” the agreed, nodding his scaly head.

“Then I bring the cheese here.”

“Yes.”

“Then you store all the cheese in your cave, keeping it at the perfect temperature and humidity.”

“Yes.” He sounded particularly proud of this part.

“And then when the cheese has ripened,” she concluded. “I come to pick the cheese up again.”

A thunderous scowl clouded his maw. “No.”

“But that’s how it works!” she cried in exasperation. “I make the cheese, you store the cheese, I sell the cheese, I make more cheese!” She peered up at him. “You do realise I cannot bring you new cheese until I have sold this cheese.”

The dragon considered this for a moment. “Ah, but what if—” he began. “What if you go and make more cheese. And bring me the cheese. And I put it in my cave, with the rest of the hoard. And then I keep it there forever.”

“No,” she said flatly.

It was remarkable how much a dragon could look like it had just swallowed a lemon.

“You can’t keep cheese forever,” she insisted. “It will spoil and go bad!”

“You said it would get better and better!” the dragon roared indignantly. “And I take good care of them! With the air flow and the humidity and the temperature!”

“And that is great,” she said, trying to smile through her frustration. “But when a cheese is ripe, it’s ripe! Then you should not be kept anymore, it should be eaten.”

The dragon scraped it’s formidable claws against the stony ground and sulked.

“Look…” The cheese mongering business did not tend to require a lot of sweet-talking, but she was making an effort. “I’m sure the cheeses that aged in your cave are the best cheeses people have ever tasted. When they find out how delicious they are they will want us to make loads more. Maybe several caves’ worth!”

The reptilian eyes stared at her with disgruntled, reluctant interest. “Several caves?”

“If we’re lucky! And I could make so much cheese that I could bring you new cheese as soon as I pick up the aged cheese. Your cave would never even be empty!”

This seemed to strike a chord. The dragon lifted his head a little.

“And that would really be much better for the rest of your hoard,” she continued with fresh inspiration. “Because if you leave cheese too long, it might go bad and spoil the cheeses next to it too!”

A nervous ripple went through the beast’s scaly body, but he clearly was not convinced just yet. “But what sort of a hoard is it if I have to give it away,” he complained.

“Well! Cheese is not just any old hoard! It’s a developing creation! And you will have a hoard that is constantly developing too. Constantly changing, but, if we do this right, never shrinking.”

The dragon looked at her solemnly, wavering with uncertainty. Perhaps she shouldn’t hold it against the poor thing, it must be a difficult concept to wrap his head around.

“And I will tell you what,” she said encouragingly. “If business is good, I can start investing in some really good crumbly cheeses. You can keep those in your cave for five whole years!”

“That is quite a long time for humans, is it not?” he said, sounding a little more cheerful.

“Very long. Especially when it comes to cheese. Cheeses that have been aged that long are very expensive.”

In retrospect, she should perhaps have led with that. Gourmand or not, a dragon was still a dragon after all. A glittering, toothy grin appeared on her recalcitrant business partner’s shout and he moved just enough for her to move past him into the mountain.

“Tell me more about this expensive cheese that crumbles.”

She hid a smirk. “If you help me carry some of the current ones out, it would be my pleasure.”

[zooophagous]

So why do you hate the advertising industry?

Hokay so.

Let me preface this with some personal history. It's not relevant to the sins of the advertising industry perse but it illustrates how I started to grow to hate it.

I wanted to be a veterinarian growing up, but to be a vet you basically have to be good enough to get into medical school. I do not have the math chops or discipline to make it in medical school. I went into art instead, and in a desperate attempt to find some commercial viability that didn't involve moving to California, I went into graphic design.

I've been a graphic designer for about seven or eight years now and I've worn a lot of hats. One of them was working in a print shop. Now, the print shop had a lot of corporate customers who had various ad campaigns. One of them was Gate City Bank, which had a bigass stack of postcards ordered every couple months to mail to their customers.

Now, paper comes from Dakota Paper, and they make their paper the usual way. Somewhere far, far from our treeless plain there is a forest of tall trees. These trees are cut down and put on big fossil fuel burning trucks and hauled to a paper mill that turns them into pulp while spewing the most fowl odors imaginable over the neighboring town and loads the pulp up with bleach to give it a nice white color.

Then the paper is put on yet another big truck and hauled off to the local paper depot, then put on another big truck and delivered to my print shop, where I turned the paper into postcards telling people to go even deeper into debt to buy a boat because it's almost summer. The inks used are a type of nasty heat sensitive plastic that is melted to the surface of the paper with heat. Then the postcards are put on yet ANOTHER truck and sent to the bank, which puts them on ANOTHER truck and finally into the hands of their customers, who open their mail and take one look at the post card and immediately discard it.

Heaps and heaps and literal hundreds of pounds of literal garbage created at the whim of the marketing team several times a year. And thats just one bank in one city.

I came to realize very quickly that graphic design was the delicate art of turning trees into junk mail.

And wouldn't you know it there are a TON of companies that basically only do junk mail. Many of them operate under the guise of a "charity," sending you pictures of suffering children or animals and begging for handouts and when they get those handouts the executives take a nice fat cut, give some small token amount to whatever cause they pay lip service to, and then put the rest of the cash right back into making more mailers. "Direct mail marketing" they call it.

Oh but maybe it's not so bad, you can advertise online after all. Now that there's decent ad blocker out there and better anti-virus ads usually don't destroy your computer anymore just by existing.

Except now when I search for the exact business I want on Google it's buried under three or four different "promoted search items" tricking me into clicking on them only to shoot themselves in the foot because I searched for the specific result I wanted for a reason and couldn't use those other websites even if I felt like it.

And now we have advertising on YouTube and on every streaming service, forcing more and more eyes onto the ad for the brand new Buick Envision that parks itself because you're too stupid to do it on your own.

Oh thats ok maybe I'll get Spotify premium and go ad free and listen to some podcasts- SIKE we have the hosts of your show doing the song and dance now. Are you depressed and paranoid from listening to my true crime podcast about murdered and mutilated teenagers? That's ok, my sponsor Better Help can keep you sane enough to stay alive and spend more money.

It's gotten so terrible that now you have content farms, huge hubs of shell companies that crank out video after video to get more and more precious clicks. Which if the videos were innocuous maybe that wouldn't be so awful except now you have cooking hacks that can actually burn your house down and craft hacks that can electrocute you being flung into your eyes at the speed of mach fuck so some slimy internet clickbait jockey doesn't need to get a real job.

It of course goes without saying that animals are also relentlessly exploited by clickbait companies that will put them in compromising situations on purpose to create a fake fishing hack video or even just straight up killing them for sport by feeding small animals to a pufferfish that rips them apart for the camera.

And all of this, ALL of this doesn't even touch how adveritising is the death of art in general. Queer topics, any kind of interesting art, any kind of sex or substance use topics are scrubbed clean and hidden at the behest of advertisers.

Sex education, a nude statue, topics such as racism or sexism or bigotry in general have tags purged or hidden from search, even life saving information about SDTs or drug use, because if someone saw that and complained then Verizon might sell fewer tablets and we can't fucking have that.

Conservative talking heads often bitch and moan that they're being censored on social media. The stupid part is, they're right! They are being censored! But it's not by a woke mob, it's by ATT and Coca Cola not wanting their adspace sharing screen time with their stupid fucking opinions.

However, they won't ever figure that out, because the talking heads they get their marching orders from like Tucker and Jones ALSO rely on the sweet milk flowing from the sponsorship teat and they aren't about to turn on their meal ticket so they have to come up with even stupider shit to say for the train to continue rolling.

I managed to rant this far without even getting into the ads I see for the beauty industry. The other day a botox ad described wrinkles as "moderate to severe crows feet" as if wrinkles are a symptom of a fucking serious disease! Like having a flaw in your skin is a medical problem that you need thousands of dollars of literal botulism toxin to fix! I was incandescent with anger.

Advertising is a polluting, censoring, anti educational and anti art industry at it's very core. It destroys human connections, suppresses human thought and makes us hate our own bodies. It ads no value, actively detracts from value, and serves no real purpose and I believe it should be almost if not entirely banned.

[strang3lov3]

Dirty Laundry

Joel's best kept secret is the washer and dryer he's not supposed to have. Your best kept secret is that you've been using that washer to get yourself off.

Tags - 18+, smut, fingering, cunnilingus, masturbation on a washing machine, dirty boxer sniffing (you fucking freak), fantasizing about a dirty old man, unprotected piv, creampie, curmudgeon joel talks you through knife safety, washing machine repairs, and overstim. 8k words, idk what the fuck happened. Thank you to @noxturnalpascal , @beefrobeefcal , and @papipascalispunk for helping me edit this monstrosity and @joelsgreys for letting me scream about washers and dryers for days <3 A/N - i have worked harder on this than my finals, but that should surprise no one. i only have one more left and then you should be seeing more of me this summer <3 i have a lot a lot a lot planned and I've been so excited to share new shit with you. Roman girlies, I haven't forgotten about you. He's up next. Anyway, you maniacs know what you’re here for, so please enjoy.

Joel’s best kept secret is his Whirlpool brand washer and dryer set, which is hidden deep in his basement. You stand before it now, loading your dirty laundry into it, using what is definitely too much of Joel’s detergent. 

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say his washer and dryer set was his best kept secret, until you came along and forced his hand. Everything was fine, and then you showed up, both yourself and your basket of laundry soaking wet, leaving Joel with no choice but to lend you a hand. Biggest mistake of his life. 

As great as Jackson is, it still comes up short sometimes. Not with everything; you’re beyond blessed to live in the safety of its walls. Just technologically, sometimes it can leave you missing the finer things. It's not Jackson’s fault society is twenty years into an apocalypse, thus running on twenty-plus year old appliances. The older ovens, refrigerators, and other appliances that were built in the seventies to the nineties or so are surprisingly doing alright, but the ones built when manufacturing began to take a turn for the worse around the later nineties and 2000s are beginning to crap out, especially the washers. God, you hate laundry day. The washers at the laundromat in Jackson always give you a hard time. Week after week, your chosen washer won’t start, or it’ll stop mid-cycle. The laundry attendant, Patti, often helps you wash your clothes by hand which is nice, but still frustrating for you both. 

On a busy and gloomy Sunday a couple months back, you were lucky enough to pick one of the less temperamental washers and hardly had to fight or beg and plead with it to get it to wash your clothes. However, your luck ran out when it came time to dry, your dryer wouldn’t run. Refused to start, even with Patti’s help. Worse yet, every other dryer was in use at the moment.  You were shit out of luck. Patti offered you a sympathetic smile and sent you home with a baggy full of clothes pins and a wagon to carry your basket of sopping wet clothes. The clothespins were a nice gesture, but didn’t help much as you didn’t have a clothesline. And - you had to laugh - most of them were broken. Oh dear, sweet Patti.

Once at home, you did your best to hang up your clothes on your porch, laying them out over the thick wooden railing, securing them with rocks. The wind was blowing something fierce that day, and then you felt it – a raindrop. And then another, and another. Before you knew it, you were caught in a torrential downpour, with your clothes blowing every which way. Working to gather your clothes as quickly as possible, you haphazardly chucked the rocks that were keeping them still in every direction, your neighbor Joel interrupting the task when he came outside and started to shout at you. Joel’s a man that can only be described as crotchety. A curmudgeon, even. 

“The fuck are you throwing rocks at my window for?” he shouted, but you couldn’t hear him over the sound of the wind and the rain smacking your porch. 

“What?” you yelled back, “Joel, I can’t hear you.” 

“ROCKS,” he shouted again, “Why are you throwi–” Joel realized it was a lost cause then. He could see in your face that you couldn’t hear him, you looked puzzled and annoyed for a moment before you returned to throwing rocks and gathering clothes. “Fuck it,” he mumbled to himself. Through the pouring rain, he marched across both his and your lawns and right up the steps of your porch. “What are you doing?”

“I was at the laundromat and the dryer stopped working so Patti gave me clothespins but I don’t have a clothesline so I tried to lay them out on my porch with rocks so they could dry but then it started to ra–” Getting the picture, Joel had stopped listening to you and joined you in gathering your clothes tossing stones back into the rock edging surrounding your house. “What are you doing?” you asked. 

“Nothin’, just– come on. Let’s go – we’re goin’ to my house,” he answered, dumping the last of your clothes into your basket. 

“Why?”

Lightning shoots from a nearby cloud, with booming thunder following suit. Joel’s soaking wet, as are you. His hair was dark and stuck to his forehead, his thin t-shirt clung to his body, outlining his soft, pillowy tummy and belly button and his thick, muscular biceps. “Go, go, go,” Joel shouted, waving you away. “Just go. Move.” he grunted as he lifted up your laundry basket and hauled it across the grass in quick strides. He held the basket on his hip as he opened his door for you, guiding you inside with a push to your lower waist. 

Your shoes squeaked as you followed Joel through his house. He took your basket down his basement stairs, “Be careful for me, stairs are steep,” he warned you, “Don’t need you crackin’ your skull open. Got enough shit to deal with.” It was sweet, knowing that he was looking out for you – even with the irritation lacing his tone. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes as you saw what Joel had led you to. A washer and a dryer, olive green in color. He opened the door of the dryer and shoved your wet clothes inside it, then took off his own soaked shirt and pants and tossed them in too. “They’re clean,” he told you. 

In another lifetime where the world doesn’t go to shit and fungus is the least of your problems, the mundane appliances in front of you would be the very last thing on your mind. You’d be focused on Joel, watching rivulets of water slide down his jaw, past his Adam’s apple and pool in the hollow of his throat. You’d be tracing the outline of his body with your eyes, following that thin line of hair that spreads down his lower stomach, disappearing under his boxers. You’d be eyeing his thick bulge and the way that if you squint, you could see the outline of his cock. But in this life, in this moment – where the world went to shit a long time ago – you’re more amazed by the washer and dryer he stands next to. “This is why I never see you at the laundromat? The whole time, you’ve had a washer and dryer?” you asked, astonished. 

“M’not supposed to, but yeah,” Joel answered, shutting the dryer door before turning to you with his chin tilted down, eyebrows raised. Don’t you go tellin’ anyone, now.”

“I’m gonna tell Patti.”

Joel looked betrayed and puzzled. “I’m doin’ you a favor,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

“You want me to dry your clothes or not?” You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek as you shrugged. “Oh, Christ,” Joel grumbled under his breath. “Why the hell would you go and rat me out?”

“Because, Joel, ” you began explaining, “All of the washers and dryers are breaking and you’re hoarding your own? I don’t think so – if everyone else has to share the washers, then you do too,” you scolded. “It’s selfish.” 

“Life ain’t fair, sweetheart.” You stared at Joel for a moment before turning on your heel to go tattle on him, just like you swore you would. “Wait–” Joel grabbed your arm, stopping you. Despite being long gone from Boston QZ, Joel couldn’t quite shake those smuggling and bargaining habits of his. You were serious about this threat, and he knew it. You’d march your ass through the pouring rain to go snitch on him to Patti. And really, the worst that would’ve happened to Joel would be a scolding from Maria and the washer and dryer removed from his home and placed in the laundromat. It’s not like he’d be placed in a pillory and have rotten tomatoes thrown at him. But still. Joel liked his washer and dryer. He sighed. “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything, Joel. I just want to better our community.” 

Give me a break. “What do you want,” he repeated, his voice lower. 

You pressed your lips in a thin line, eyeing those pretty olive green appliances of his. It’s not a far walk to Joel’s house… And you wouldn’t have to wait in line to wash your clothes behind twenty other people. You did want to better your community, that much was true. But you weren’t opposed to bettering your own life. “Let me use your washer and dryer. Whenever I want.”

Joel was quick to counter in a stern voice, “Twice a week, tops.” 

“Three times,” you tried.

“Once,” Joel lowered his offer and then looked at you with his eyes squinted, his head cocked to the side. “Who does laundry three times a week?” 

It was a fair point. Even with your very own washer and dryer, you wouldn’t do that much laundry. “Fine. Twice,” you agreed, and Joel held out his hand for you to take and you shook on it. His palm was warm and calloused, his grip firm. In that moment you met his eyes, taking in the beauty of his face. Those sparkling, big brown eyes and the beautiful curve of his aquiline nose. Your eyes traveled lower still, and it hit you both at that moment - the realization that Joel was wearing nothing but his boxers, and that you were still shivering in your cold, wet clothes. Joel dropped your hand quickly and grabbed a clean t-shirt from one of his own laundry baskets on top of the dryer. “Here. You can change into this and toss your clothes in there too, f’ya want.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, taking the shirt from his hand. “Do you have something to wear?”

“I’m a little behind on laundry, actually…” Joel trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. You scoffed and chuckled at that. The luxury of his very own washer and dryer, right in the comfort of his home, and Joel had the audacity to be behind on laundry. “Uhh, anyway. You just turn the knob on the dryer to ‘high’ and press the start button. I’ll give ya some privacy to change, you can meet me upstairs when you’re done,” he said, and then shuffled past you. 

Once Joel was up the stairs, you took off your clothes and put them in with the rest of the clothing in the dryer. You changed into Joel’s t-shirt, the fabric was soft with time and many wearings, and it smelled like him despite being washed. It was a muted teal in color, littered with a couple of bleach stains here and there. You liked it. 

Upstairs, Joel made a couple of mugs of hot tea to warm you both up. “Honey?” 

“Yeah, Joel?”

“N- no, like…Was askin’ f’ya wanted honey in your tea.”

“Oh.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “Y– yes please. Thank you.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks. What a stupid thing to say. You watched as Joel stirred a bit of honey into your cup of tea, smirking as he then handed you the mug. Asshole. “Thought you were a coffee drinker,” you mused awkwardly, attempting to change the subject after taking a sip of the hot liquid, “You like tea?”

Joel grimaced in disgust as he took a sip of his own tea. “No. Just tryin’ to be polite for ya.” 

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it, you know,” you smiled into your mug. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Aaand there it is. Curmudgeon Joel was back, Neighborly Joel never lasted long anyway. 

You sat on Joel’s couch, warming up with your cup of tea. Joel had noticed goosebumps on your thighs and pulled a blanket over your lap. He sat next to you with his mug steaming in his hands and just stared at you, not even realizing how deeply he was admiring the way his shirt hugged your curves just right, highlighting all the right parts of you. He jolted when he felt his cock thicken in his boxers, spilling his scalding hot tea all over his bare thighs. “God bless it,” he swore. Without thinking, he pulled the blanket from your legs and covered his own lap to hide his growing erection from you. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” 

“Nothin’. Just– m’cold,” he lied. “Jesus fuckin’- just - c’mere,” Joel huffed as he patted the spot next to him and urged you closer, then laid the blanket back over your legs. You sat shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh as you sipped your tea and Joel’s went cold. Dork. 

Moments passed. You sat in silence, the only sound was the rain pounding against Joel’s windows as your heart fluttered in anxiety, or maybe excitement. You might’ve even called it butterflies in your tummy. But you knew better. It was just the close proximity to Joel. And the fact that you were wearing his shirt, and he was practically naked. All of it pretty insignificant, honestly. It was basically nothing.

Joel finally spoke first, “Was thinkin’ it’d be best if you’d come by at night, when I’m on patrol or somethin’. Nobody’ll see you with your laundry and it’ll stay our lil’ secret, yeah?” You nodded, still a little bashful with everything that had happened. You aren’t often like that. It’s cute, Joel thought. “An’ you can use my detergent and whatnot. Whatever you need, s’yours.” 

“Thank–” an especially bright flash of lightning followed by nearly deafening thunder interrupted you. You startled and sort of hurled yourself closer to Joel, grabbed his forearm and held it tight. It was just a reflex, probably. Basically nothing. 

“It’s just a storm, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna bite ya,” Joel teases with a grin. 

“Oh, shut up,” you let go of his arm and missed the warmth of his skin beneath your palm almost immediately, but your longing for his touch was quickly soothed. Joel wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his side as you listened to the sounds of the storm together. You stayed like that, inhaling the sweet scent of him, masculine and heady. He smelled like the rain, too, and the hair on his underarms tickled your skin but you didn’t mind. When your laundry dried, he carried your basket home for you. You thanked him and moved to shut the door, but Joel stopped it with his hand, “Washer can be sorta delicate sometimes, so just be careful with it.”

“Noted,” you replied. “See ya, Joel.”

“See ya, hon.”

A few nights later, you returned to his home with your basket of laundry. Joel was gone, on patrol as he often is at night. Doing the laundry was uneventful , even though you probably used too much detergent, but whatever. Joel didn’t have to know. The next time you did laundry, Joel was at home. He told you not to worry about whichever nights you come by, that he’d always leave the washer and dryer empty in the evenings for you to use. He was even generous enough to make you dinner that night. 

It all worked out. Joel’s washer and dryer stayed unknown to the rest of Jackson, and your laundry was cleaned in a much more efficient way. There really weren’t any flaws in your and Joel’s system, as long as you didn’t include the one laundry night where Joel was gone on patrol again, but had come home just as you were leaving. You bumped into him accidentally, causing a lacy pair of your panties to fall right out of your basket and onto his shoe. He bent down and picked them up for you, not even realizing what he was holding. “Oh. My bad,” he blushed, once he recognized the garment. “I’ll just…” and put them back in your basket. From that point forward, he was always careful to stay out of your way. Aside from that it really did all work out. 

-

After loading your clothes into Joel’s washer, you shut the washer door and turn it on. You make your way upstairs and there’s a note on Joel’s table – Leftovers in the fridge are yours if you wanna heat them up.

Opening the fridge, you see a neatly packed container of what looks to be chicken and vegetables. Yum. God, you’ll miss these vegetables when it gets cold again. You take advantage of the offer and heat up the food in a pan on the stovetop, humming to yourself as you stir the food to keep it from burning. A light flickers above you. Weird. It flickers again, and then finally goes out. But it’s no big deal, you’ve seen in Joel’s basement that above the washer and dryer is a shelf full of supplies and you know there’s a couple of bulbs there. You go back downstairs where the washer hums, working its way through the cycle.

“Hmm,” you hum to yourself. You’d never quite realized just how high up that supply shelf is. And the bulbs are in the middle of the shelf, so there’s no good way to get them without climbing on top of the washer, which Joel would probably kill you for doing. He did ask that you be careful with his fragile washer, after all. Whatever. It’ll take like six seconds, tops. You hoist yourself on the washer and first try kneeling on it to see if you can reach one of the bulbs. No luck. You stand on your feet then, raising yourself up carefully, slowly, feeling the washer shake slightly beneath your feet. Joel would be absolutely irate if he saw you like this now. When you finally grab one of those light bulbs, you carefully lower yourself to a seated position on the washer to catch your breath. You’re not usually prone to vertigo, but Joel’s wobbly washer brought the dizziness on. You know better than to try and move right now, so you just settle yourself down to avoid fainting.  

The washer vibrates under the flesh of your thighs. It’s a gentle sensation, lessened by the angle you’re sitting at. But if you focus really hard, you can feel it in your core. Curious, you spread your legs and turn to the corner of the washer, tilting your hips to the floor, and oh, this is it. You’re not even thinking about potential consequences when you shimmy your shorts and panties off, then find that sweet spot once more. The metal of the washer is cool against you as it vibrates, sending sweet little buzzes through your hot core. You’re not quite wet yet, just enjoying the sensation. Letting it build and build, seeing where it can get you. You let your mind wander, not really thinking about much in particular. The low hum of the washer fades away in your mind and you’re starting to become wet. Shifting your position, you extend your arm to find something to grab onto when you feel fabric. Joel’s clothes. He’s still a slacker with keeping up on his dirty laundry. Usually it would irritate you. It does irritate you, this exorbitant waste of an advantage he has. You look at the shirt in your hand, the same shirt Joel had lent you. You think back to that first time you did laundry here at Joel’s, how he sat next to you nearly naked. The feel of his skin and the smell of him - sweat and rain and musk. And Joel being the beautiful, incognizant man he is, probably had zero clue of how sexy he looked. Or smelled, for that matter. 

With Joel now on your mind and his shirt in your hand, you decide to experiment, create a better ambiance. You keep those images of him in your mind, those feelings too. You remember the low timbre of his voice, the rain splashing against the windows, the weight of his arm wrapped around your shoulders. And with his dirty t-shirt clutched in your fist and its armpit pressed against your nose you remember his scent. Smell is a powerful sense, closely linked to memory and emotion, his shirt and what it’s doing to you is a testament to that fact. Legs spread wide, your hips angled down with your clit pressed to the corner of Joel’s washer, the machine vibrating under you as you inhale his scent deeply - you’re back in that memory. And then some. 

In your mind, your back on Joel’s couch. You can smell him, feel him, and if you really concentrate, you can even taste him. You’re on your knees and he’s drawing lazy patterns on your back as you suck his cock and fondle his balls, and he’s moaning, grunting and whimpering your name. He tastes like he smells, heady and all masculine. He grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, guides you to straddle his hips. His forehead pressed against yours, he notches the tip of his cock inside you and pulls you down slowly, careful so as not to hurt you but it does, of course it does. Not that you mind, you love the stretch and the ache of his thickness splitting you in two. You rock yourself, grind your clit against that unruly patch of hair at the base of his cock. You’re coming, you’re coming, you’re coming. 

You’re coming. Loudly, whimpering Joel’s name as you rut against the vibrating machine. As you finish, so does the washer. It sings you a little chiming song indicating the load is done washing. You can’t help but giggle at that as you bask in the discovery of this fortuitous delight. You’ve got private access to a washer and dryer and a vibrator now too? Lucky, lucky, lucky. 

God, Joel’s shirt smells good. You inhale it deeply, wondering if he wears cologne. It smells almost woodsy…smokey, even. 

Fuck. You’re smelling smoke. 

You pull on your pants and sprint up the steps, racing to Joel’s kitchen only to find that the chicken and veggies you were heating up are no more. They’re black and shriveled, cemented to the stainless steel pan, and there’s no salvaging that. No amount of scrubbing can erase your masturbatory mistake. Fuck, Joel’s gonna kill you. Your only choice is to conceal the evidence. Surreptitiously, you take the pan and hide it under a bush outside Joel’s backdoor.

You’ll be more responsible next time - yes, there absolutely will be a next time. Gas off before you get off. 

The next time came and went. And the time after that, and the one after that. Laundry was always your least favorite chore, but with access to Joel’s washer and dryer and this new trick up your sleeve, it’s not so bad. Getting off on Joel’s washer has become a weekly thing and it’s been lovely, relieving, dirty, and exciting, but you’d be lying if you were to say it’s been perfectly fine the whole time. 

You’ve been abusing the poor machine. It’s no secret. You get every bang for your buck out of the washer, taking full advantage of Joel’s twice a week offer and then some. Some nights you’ll sneak over and do an extra load, wash a blanket or something just to make the washer run for your masturbatory purposes. And so, the vibrating sensation the machine produces has begun to weaken. In order to compensate, you’ve been rocking yourself harder on it, which probably isn’t helping. But it’s still washing your clothes, right? 

…Yes. Mostly. It still washes, but it’s become sort of finicky. And the door doesn’t quite shut the way it used to, and it makes an odd noise now that it never made before. 

Tonight you’re at Joel’s doing a double load of laundry. There were no ulterior motives on your part when you came over, honestly and truly. Your first load is drying, the second load is in the washer. Joel’s home tonight, he’s gonna cook you dinner like he always does when he’s around. For such a grouch, he wears his heart on his sleeve. 

It would be more accurate to say you’re cooking dinner together. Joel came home with a basket full of fresh vegetables from the market and actually put you to work, his reasoning being that he was starving and wanted dinner ready yesterday, and that having your help cutting up the vegetables for the meal he was making would have dinner ready that much sooner. He places a cutting board in front of you and hands you a knife, “Chop chop,” he says, then laughs at his own pun as he rifles through some cabinets. “Missin’ a saucepan…” he mumbles to himself. Oops.

You start by peeling the carrots. As you begin to chop them, you realize he didn’t give you any sort of instruction. “Joel?”

“Yeah, hon.”

“How small do you need me to cut the carrots?”

“Uhhhh,” he thinks. “Lemme see.” Joel turns around and watches you with a look of disappointment and repulsion painting his features. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What?” you ask defensively. 

“Why are you tryin’ to cut off your fingers?”

You look down at your hand holding the carrot and your other hand holding the knife, then up at Joel. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I’m not trying to cut off my fingers.”

“Sure looks like it to me. Is that always how you handle a knife?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “Why?”

“‘Cause you’re gonna cut off your damn fingers, dammit, that’s why. C’mere,” Joel stands behind you where you stand at the island, then lifts up your left hand and curls your fingers underneath themselves. “Keep your fingers like this,” he instructs. “Holdin’ your fingers out flat like that are a sure fire way to cut ‘em off. Now show me how you chop.” 

With your fingers in the proper position now, you begin to cut the carrots. They wobble beneath you, you hate the way Joel has you holding them. “This is uncomfortable,” you tell him. 

“You know what’s more uncomfortable? Missin’ fingers. Keep goin’.” You groan but keep chopping per his demand. He’s pressed against your back, one of his palms lays flat against the countertop, semi caging you in as he watches you work. “Okay, okay, stop. You’re makin’ me nervous. Gimme this.” Joel wraps his hand around yours on the handle of the knife. He moves the knife for you, cutting the carrot slowly, your hand securely in his. “You’re liftin’ the knife too much, sweetheart. Just rock it back and forth for me. Just like this,” he whispers, showing you how he rocks the knife in a fluid motion to cut the carrots. His hands are warm, his grip on your hands is firm. His breath is hot and tickles your ear, sending goosebumps erupting down the back of your neck. He chops the carrots quietly, and you feel him against you - the rise and fall of his chest and tummy with each inhale and exhale he takes, his wiry scruff kissing the side of your face. “That’s it,” he praises, “Good girl.”

Fuck. His words go right to your core. As if him holding your hands and caging you in to teach you how to cut vegetables wasn’t enough, he had to call you ‘good girl’ as well. That had to be deliberate on his part, you’re almost certain of it. And now you’ve got to pay his washer another visit. His fault, honestly. “Laundry,” you blurt out, pushing his hands off of yours and shrinking away from his hold. “Sorry. Gotta check the laundry.”

“Oh. Alright, then.” Joel watches you pace down the basement stairs and listens to you pretend to check on your clothes, opening and shutting the washer and dryer doors. He’s waiting for you to come upstairs, but you never do. “You comin’ upstairs?”

“Yeah, just a minute,” you call back.

“There’s spiders down there, you know. Big an’ fuzzy too.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you yell as you unbutton your shorts and pull them down your legs. “I don’t mind them.”

Your reply immediately has Joel feeling suspicious of you. Even a mention of a mere ant should have sent you running into his arms and pleading with him to get rid of it. On more than one occasion, Joel’s woken up to you pounding on his door in the middle of the night begging him to come kill a spider that’s in your bedroom. And he always does, of course, even when the spider is miniscule and simply minding its business in a corner somewhere. He’ll scoop it into the palm of his hand and set it outside in a bed of flowers, call you a wimp and be on his merry way, grumbling the entire walk home. He wonders why the hell you’re so brave all of a sudden. 

A loud, clunking noise interrupts the silence. “Oh, fuck,” you swear. And Joel’s deaf, but not deaf enough to not hear you. “What was that?” he calls from up the stairs. 

“Nothing!”

Joel knows it wasn’t nothing, it certainly didn’t sound like nothing. You quickly pull your shorts and panties back on when you hear him stomping down the stairs to investigate. Wracking your brain to think of a lie to tell Joel, you realize you’re fucked, utterly and completely. It would’ve been more appropriate to think of one before now, probably around the time the washer started to make weird noises. Now you’re faced with god knows what consequences. 

Joel greets you with a puzzled and angered expression. “What the hell happened?”

“I d– I don’t know. Just something… Happened, I guess,” you stutter. Subtly, you stuff the used pair of his boxers you were smelling down the back of your shorts to hide the evidence of your even dirtier secret. Joel sees that you’re avoiding eye contact, looking up and away, scratching your head. The silence hangs heavily in the air and Joel sees the guilt on your face and that your shorts are undone for some reason. “You have ten seconds to tell me the truth before this becomes a much worse day for us both.”

“Nothing happened–”

 “Nine, eight…”

You fold instantly. “I sit on it,” you confess, Joel exhales in frustration. “Sit? As in… this is a regular occurrence, you’ve been sittin’ on my washer,” Joel asserts. You nod in confirmation. “Why.”

 “I don’t know,” you shrug, another lie. 

“Well, how much have you been sittin’ on it?” 

“Just like…a lot, I guess.” You look down at your feet, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.  

“Why?” he asks again.

“It…uhh…sort of…” you mumble, picking at your fingernails. 

“Sort of what?”

“Vibrates.”

Joel’s face falls at the admission. “You’re not serious,” he says, but he knows you are. “Oh my god.”

“Stranger things have happened, right?” Your voice wavers as you try to soften the blow with a joke. 

“Unbelievable,” Joel pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “No. Stranger things than you have not happened, sweetheart.” After taking a few deep breaths, he pushes you to the side and reaches for the shelf above the washer for a toolbox. He takes out a putty knife and wriggles the front of the washer off, then drops to his knees to inspect the washer. “Did I not ask you to be careful with it?” It’s a rhetorical question. Joel groans when he sees what’s broken inside of the washer. 

“What is it?”

“Belt’s broken,” he answers. “You’re lucky s’fixable.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well, it’s good you can fix it, right?”

 “Oh, no. You are fixin’ it, my darlin’. You broke it.”

Joel’s out of his mind if he thinks you’re putting his washer back together. “I don’t know how,” you tell him. You’ll make it up to him in any other way than this, but there’s no way he’s serious. Besides, he’s now the first to know that your track record with washers isn’t to be trusted.

 “I’ll walk you through it,” Joel replies plainly. “Get down there. On your knees, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes at him. “Now,” he says, unimpressed with your defiance.

You drop to your knees in front of the washer, looking for the broken belt that Joel speaks of. You find one of the big and fuzzy spiders he was talking about instead. “Jesus!” you yelp, launching backwards and nearly knocking Joel over in the process “There’s a spider, Joel - kill it, kill it, kill it, Joel - kill it, please,” you beg. 

“Oh for Christ’s sake, it’s harmless.”

“Joel!”

Joel nudges you out of the way to find the spider sitting right at the bottom of the washer. He scoops it into his hand, then holds it in front of you, “I thought you said you didn’t mind ‘em,” he taunts. 

“I lied. Get it away from me,” You shove him away from you, and he clutches the spider more carefully in his hands, laughing. 

“Yeah, I know you lied. You’re very bad at it,” Joel opens one of the basement’s egress windows and sends the spider on its way, then closes it and returns to you, first grabbing what looks to be a replacement belt for his washer from a nearby shelf. Leave it to Joel to have the most convenient yet obscure supplies right in his basement twenty years into an apocalypse. “Back to work.” You’re in front of the washer once more, and Joel takes his seat right behind you. “See that black belt at the bottom of the drum?”

“No.”

“This thing here,” he points at it with his finger. “Take it off,” You reach for the belt and tug on it a bit, “Gotta wiggle it a bit,” following his instruction, you wiggle the belt and it falls off the drum. “Attagirl. Now put this one on,” he hands you the new belt and takes the old one from you. “S’gonna be snug.”

You struggle to stretch the rubber over the drum and it snaps your hands when it slips. “Fuck.”

“Keep tryin’. Put some elbow grease into it, hon,” Joel hovers over your shoulder, just as he did earlier in the kitchen. “M’just checkin’ to make sure you got it lined up properly,” Joel tugs on the rubber belt, making sure it’s sitting where it needs to. “So tell me again how long you been doin it for,” he whispers. “Long time?”

You answer cautiously, “Uhhh…a while now, I guess.”

 “Yeah, I figured. S’it feel good?” 

The question throws you off, makes you nervous. But his voice is low and gravelly, and his tone isn’t pointed or accusatory. He seems curious, but for what reason, you’re not quite sure yet. “It does.”

“Better than your fingers?” Joel tightens the belt a bit and leans back. He’s watching you, but you can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes. You gasp when you feel his warm palm sliding underneath your shorts. “What the–” Oh, fuck. Joel found his pair of boxers. He holds the fabric in his hands, a knowing grin on his lips. “These are mine. What’re you doin’ with my dirty boxers?” he asks. He doesn’t allow you time to stutter out an excuse. “You’re a dirty lil’ bird, aren’t you?”

“Joel.”

He tosses his pair of boxers onto the dryer and whispers in your ear again, “I asked you somethin’. My washer feel better than your fingers?”

“Yeah,” you answer, “Better.”

Joel hums in amusement. He slides his hand down the front of your pants, still unbuttoned from earlier. “Saved me the trouble, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” he breathes. Your breath hitches when his fingers find your mound, as he toys with the curls there. He traces over your lips, then dips a finger between them, circling your hole, then circles your clit. “Better than mine?” he asks, dipping a finger into your center and you moan.  He holds one hand on your hip as the other pumps in and out of your center, and you lean back into his chest, relaxing with his touch. You sigh deeply. “Don’t get all cozy on me, now. You ain’t done. Gotta put the front of the washer back on, should just click right into place.”

Joel pulls his hand away from you so you can lift the front piece of the washer. “It’s not–” you complain, struggling to click it into place the way Joel says it should. You push and push, but it doesn’t budge. “Joel, it’s not–”

“It will. Just try.” 

“I am,” you argue, shoving it once more but to no avail. You’ve grown frustrated by his washer, by the task Joel bestowed upon you in fixing it, and his teasing, too. In a fit of anger, you stand up and kick it.

 “Hey, easy,” Joel scolds. “Look, like this,” Magically, the front piece of the washer fits right into place, just like he said it would. He does nothing different than what you did, it just works out for him. Of course it does. “You’re impatient, huh?” he murmurs, moving behind you. You gasp when you feel his hands on your hips, tugging the fabric of both your shorts and your panties down to your ankles, he helps you out of the garments and tosses them elsewhere. His hands are on your hips again, this time guiding you, whispering, “Back, back,” as he positions you where he needs you, spreading your legs apart. You’re leaning on his washer and he’s on his knees behind you, using his nose to tease and part your slick folds. He inhales you deeply, taking in the sweet scent of your arousal before he tastes you. He traces your lips with a pointed tongue, up and down, before he dips his tongue into your heat, savoring you. 

“How ‘bout my tongue?” he purrs, whispering against your skin. You don’t answer, and it’s not like you could anyway, with the way he devours you. His arms are wrapped around your legs, his fingertips are digging harshly into your thighs like he means to bruise you, tear the flesh off your bones even. It’s possessive in nature, but not abusive or aggressive. You know his actions aren’t borne of anything except pure pleasure and you indulge in it, in him. He moves slow like honey as he tastes you languidly, kissing you. He laps your velvety heat, his tongue teasing all of your sensitive, slick flesh. Now and then the wiry hairs of his beard will tease and scratch your inner thighs, a sensation that tickles you and rubs you raw all the same. “Oh my god,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to take hold of his head, fingers tangling in his graying curls and waves. “Joel, oh my god.”

Joel takes your lack of a real answer to his question as a no, his washer pales in comparison to his tongue. Good. He bets you’ve fantasized about him, all those times you’ve used his washer for those needs of yours besides washing your clothes. And he bets that you probably grind yourself on it, picturing it’s his warm flesh beneath you and not the cold metal of the machine. He’d be right. He sucks your clit, circling the sensitive bud with his tongue. He nips at your folds, sucking one, then the other between his plump lips, then focuses his attention back at your clit. You’re moaning his name, the only word you know anymore. Joel keeps you still, held tight in his arms so that you can’t push your ass back and grind against his mouth like he knows you’re fighting to do. All you can do is take it, feel his perfect aquiline nose tease between your cheeks. He’s buried himself face first in your most private place as he consumes you voraciously, his tongue flicking and swirling and painting you. You’re biting into your own arm, seeing stars as you come on his tongue. It’s an elusive sort of orgasm, the kind where you don’t exactly know where it begins and it ends. All you know is that you’re sensitive, so fucking sensitive and Joel is relentless. Your knees buckle as he toys with your clit, gives you a break for a moment before he’s right back there again, continuing to eat you. He keeps going and going, repeating the actions over and over again just to make you cry and beg, “Stop - please - I can’t, I can’t, Joel. T-too much.”

“Know it’s too much, sweetheart, s’why I’m doin it,” Joel coos. But he obliges, places one last kiss to your heat, soaked by his spit and your own arousal before he stands up behind you. He wraps one arm around your stomach, pulling himself close to you. You can feel his hard cock against your ass, separated only by his denim as he uses his other hand to turn your face to the side, meeting him beside you. He kisses you, tracing his tongue along the seam of your lips, licking into your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, then feel his hand leave your face to reach for his fly. You hear him unzip his jeans slowly, and then he’s pulling his cock out, still kissing you as he lines up with you, first parting your thighs with a gentle nudge of his knee before notching his tip at your entrance. He finally pulls his mouth away from yours and gently forces your chest down toward the washer. He pushes himself into you, careful so as not to hurt you but deliberately so that you still feel that ache, the stretch of his thick cock separating your insides. Joel continues holding your body close to his as he reaches for your hand with his free one, interlacing his fingers in between your own.  “How about my cock, sweetheart? You like it better, worse?” he whispers, kissing, nipping at your ear in between words. He pulls out of you nearly all the way, then pushes back into your dripping cunt. 

You try to answer, “Bet - oh, ahhh,” 

Joel chuckles at the way he’s reduced you to nothing but broken syllables and moans. “Ohhh, listen to you. I think it’s better, huh? S’that what you’re tryin’ to tell me?” You nod frantically. “Yeah, I know, beautiful.”

His pace is slower to start, but it builds in quick time. You can feel he’s fighting with himself to be more gentle than he actually wants to be, his thrusts sloppier than he intends, like he’s losing himself in you. You’re lost in him, lost in the moment all the same. You take it all in, the lewd and obscene sounds of the pleasure he creates with you - his thighs slapping against yours and the gushing of your cunt on his cock. Your moans, your cries, all babbling nonsense. And Joel’s deep breaths in and out, shaky and stuttering as he does it. His grunts and his swearing, a whimper here and there if you listen closely. He fills you up perfectly, hits that sweet spot deep inside you over and over and over…

“You coulda had me like this the whole time,” he pants, “Didn’t have to go an’ break my washer f’ya needed somethin’ more than those fingers of yours, sweetheart. Know you been needin’ some lovin’.”  He reaches for your breasts, squeezing and groping the flesh, twisting your nipples and smirking when you twitch and whine. “All you had to do was ask.” You don’t respond, but he doesn’t expect you to anyway. What he did expect, however, were your moans of displeasure as he pulls out of you. He knows, oh, he knows how empty you must feel, you poor thing.  He’ll soothe that. He flips you around, seats you on his washer. “I’m gonna make you come again,” he promises, “I’m gonna watch.”

 “Too much, Joel, I can’t,” you cry. You want to come again, really. But you don’t think you have it in you, still so worked up, overstimulated by the endless teasing of his tongue on your pussy.

 “Oh, don’t cry. You can do it, hon. You can take it,” he says, “Open up those legs for me, darlin’.” Joel pushes your trembling legs wide so he can slot his hips between them, then wraps your legs around his waist before sliding his cock into you once more. He thrusts just once, rather harshly, before he’s met with another rather loud noise from the washer. Joel halts and scratches the back of his neck. God, he hopes he didn’t just do it in. “Probably shouldn’t…uh…”

“Yeah,” you agree. 

“Did you use my dryer too?”

“Duh,” you answer. “How else would I dry my clothes?”

Joel rolls his eyes, “No, smartass. Were you usin’ it for your dirty work, is what I’m askin’.”

“No.” 

Still inside you, Joel slides you over to his dryer. “Good girl. Poor washer’s been abused plenty by you already.”  

“But I will,” You whisper defiantly under your breath, wrapping your arms around his neck as he adjusts. 

“Wrong ear, sweetheart. My right one’s deaf. I heard that loud and clear.”

Joel’s back to fucking you in an instant. He wastes no time in making good on his promise, thumbing your clit as he rolls his hips into you. “See, look at you. Takin’ me just fine,” he praises.The way you squirm and take your shallow little breaths fills him with satisfaction and delight. He knows this isn’t easy, that you’re tired and sore and overstimulated. He’ll be done with you soon. “Come with me, wanna feel you come with me, sweetheart,” he says. “Focus here, eyes on me. You’re gonna come with me.” 

It’s a few moments of Joel painting your clit with those tight, steadied circles as he fucks you hard and deep. There’s a push and pull to it, where you’re not sure who this is for - yourself or Joel. Just like before, you’re not sure where it starts and stops, but you’re there. God it’s intense, you’re gonna break and you know it. Joel’s got his palm on the back of your neck, squeezing you. His jaw clenches and he’s coming undone first, but he never loses focus on you. His thrusts stutter as he milks himself in you but doesn't yet stop - he’s making sure you’re gonna come. “C’mon baby, c’mon. Give it to me,” he says. “One more for me. Last one.” 

His words are all it takes. You whimper and moan, cry his name as you find your climax. Release washes over you the way waves crash onto sand - it’s repeated, the way the tides push and pull. Deafening. Powerful. 

But there’s a calmness yet. The rolling of his hips slows, slows, stops. He presses his damp forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re okay?”

You nod and smile, “Yeah, I’m good.” He smiles with you and helps you off of the dryer. Joel finds your clothes and dresses you in them, steadying your shaky legs. 

Joel tentatively restarts the washer. It chugs a bit, but makes all the right noises and he breathes a sigh of relief. You’re a bit startled when he takes you by the arm and marches you up the stairs. “New rule,” he says, “You stay with me when your clothes are washin’.”

You bite your lip to hide your guilty smirk. “Yes. Joel.” 

“And I still need you to cut them veggies for me, too.” 

I struggled heavily with this fic, comments and reblogs would be much appreciated if you were feeling so inclined🙏 they keep me motivated and I look back at your words when I’m writing to remember that I’m capable of pleasing you all

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ ONE KISS IS ALL IT TAKES — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fem! reader, minors do not interact, lots of morning kissies :(, reader is a jujutsu teacher, dry humping, praise, satoru cumming early in his pants like the loser boy he is, implied cunnilingus at the end

just one more kiss, baby is never just one more kiss when it’s satoru. you’ve always known that—but maybe that’s why you let it happen. it’s always the same story: one kiss becomes two, then two becomes three, and then suddenly there’s a lot more than kissing and a lot less than getting ready for the day.

but satoru’s got missions. and you’ve got kids to teach. there isn’t a day to rest, let alone afford tardiness in the jujutsu world. but satoru likes to test the waters—likes to push the limit as much as he can.

so he does. he’s leaning in for more, breath heavier as he pulls you closer, always just a little closer until you feel like you’re millimeters from sinking into his skin. it’s still not enough, you sense, because he bites at your bottom lip with a groan.

“satoru,” you pause when he kisses you again, “we need to get—” another kiss “—ready for the day—”

“just one more,” he insists.

“it’s already been loads more,” you press a hand to his mouth, blocking his lips from touching yours as he pouts against you. you grin, shaking your head as you stare at him fondly. “we have things to do. both of us.”

“can’t they wait?” he grumbles, muffled against your palm. you roll your eyes, moving your hand to cup his cheek as you stroke the swell of it fondly with your thumb.

“if you’re good, and you finish your duties early, i’ll kiss you all you want,” you tease—he huffs, unimpressed by the offer.

“you still kiss me when i’m bad, what’s the point?”

“so you admit you’re bad,” you raise a brow, making him grin cheekily.

“i can be,” he shrugs, “i love when you put me in my place.”

“you’re too much,” you sigh tiredly. it only makes him chuckle, leaning in again as his lips hover over yours, making you inhale sharply as you feel his breath fan over your mouth.

“know what i love more, though?” he asks with that smug tone of his—it’s the kind of tone that only someone like gojo satoru can get away with having. he’s eyeing you knowingly as you swallow thickly.

“no,” you lie. he knows you’re lying because your eyes dart down to the tent in his boxers momentarily.

“think you do,” he hums, pulling you to straddle his hips as your clothed cunt presses against his hard-on. you can practically feel him twitch against you through the fabric, can practically feel the sweet drops of pre cum that coat his leaky tip.

you don’t want to be late—but who wants to deny satoru either?

“toru, we can’t—”

“i think we can. cause i think you belong right here,” he says lowly, kissing your lips sweetly as his hands find your waist, “right here on my cock, sweetheart. can’t think of a better place.”

“but—”

“feel that?” he groans, guiding your hips to grind against him and drag your pussy along his hardened length. you can feel the wetness seep into both of your clothes—your slick and his pre cum separated from making a combined mess only by the fabric. you want it gone—but satoru keeps it right there. “‘s what you do to me. don’t wanna help?”

“w-we don’t have time,” you gasp as he rubs along your clit, biting your lip and grabbing his shoulders. he chuckles, pecking the corner of your mouth.

“sure we do,” he hums, “no one’s draggin’ you away, are they?”

you kiss him at that—too prideful to give him an answer and too desperate to feel him any way that you can possibly get him. he reciprocates fast, groaning as his lips mold against yours and press heatedly into you as much as he can. he tastes good—like expensive lip balm and lingering sweetness that never seems to go away.

you moan when he grinds up against you, rolling your own hips for more friction as he whimpers into your mouth. everything about satoru is sweet—the way he tastes, the way he sounds, the way he looks.

he’s flushed a pretty little pink along his cheeks, making those precious sounds that will you to stay just a bit longer, to give him what he wants and take what you want too. your hips never cease—in fact, they’re more desperate now, rubbing against him as your clit aches with more and more need.

“toru,” you gasp, “more,” you plead, trying to go faster. it feels like he’s trying to slow you down, though—it only makes you more frantic to build up that steady ache in your clit as your walls flutter around nothing.

“f-fuck, baby,” he rasps, “jus’ h-hold on a second—”

“n-no—don’t stop toru,” you whine, not ready to stop the feeling that rubbing against his thick cock gives you—but then you feel him twitch in that familiar way, in that way you’ve learned can mean only one thing as you become well acquainted with his body.

he whines, head falling back against the bed frame as his hips jerk up, chest rising and falling as he breathes rapidly through a parted mouth. his eyes flutter shut and he moans those pretty little moans you never get tired of hearing as you feel his boxers become more damp by the second. maybe a little sticky too.

“baby, baby—fuck, ‘m cumming,” he gasps, grabbing your hand and squeezing to ground himself as he spills his load into his boxers under you.

he’s sensitive—always has been. cums hard enough that his whole body shakes and you can feel every tremble. you smile softly, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth, trailing to his cheeks and jaw and the tip of his nose as he brokenly cries your name.

“good,” you giggle, “cum for me, toru.”

“for you,” he nods, moaning as he feels your pussy press harder against his tip, “only for you—sh-shit.”

“guess you’re being good today,” you murmur, “look so pretty when you cum, toru. y’know that? my pretty boy. that feel good?”

“so good,” he pants, nodding as his cock twitches under you as you rub against him to guide him through his peak, sticky ropes of cum staining his boxers and making a mess. “f-feels so good—fuck.”

“couldn’t wait, huh?” you chuckle, cupping the back of his head and letting him go slack as you watch the way his face twists in pleasure with the last few drops of cum. it’s sticky under you, hot and wet and messy enough that it’ll be a pain to clean. but he looks so beautiful like this, head fallen against your hand and lips caught between his teeth as he shakily breathes in and out.

“i tried warning you,” he mumbles, catching his breath, “didn’t listen.”

“i didn’t want to,” you grin, kissing his forehead sweetly, “wish you could see yourself—it’s so pretty.”

“not as pretty as you,” he hums, eyes slipping shut for a moment as he sighs at the way you trace his features with your other hand. your touch is delicate—too delicate against the strongest, you suppose. he doesn’t need to be treated delicately, but you think he deserves it anyway.

“now, i hate to ruin the moment,” you start, making him crack an eye open unhappily with a scowl.

“don’t,” he grumbles.

you do anyway. “we’re really gonna be late if we don’t—”

“we’re late either way,” he shrugs, flipping you over before pressing a soft kiss to your lips and crawling down until he’s between your legs. you’re so wet, he notes happily, the damp spot on your pants glazing his eyes with hunger, “can’t just leave my baby like this all day, can i?”

girl go get me the scotch tape. that man’s a drama queen he’s fine ✋🏽

also you all better have sang dua lipa after reading that title