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redcherrykook · 5 months ago

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──𐙚 think i need someone older (s & f)

olderBoyfriend!Jungkook x inexperienced!reader

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content: some plot first, loss of virginity, age gap of 9 years (he´s 30), thigh humping, little dry humping too, cowgirl, he talks her through it, dom!jungkook, "sweet girl, baby, love", "gguk" lowkey insecure reader, praise, making out, breast play, clit play, creampie, unprotected, hickies on him, big c!ck Jungkook, small karaoke session, he´s whipped and wants to take care of her, short mention of alcohol (bc of that fucking bar he has omg), allusions to reader being short, she's very feminine

note from cherry: i tried to do justice to the people who wanted this, i hope you´re satisfied mwah! sooo sorry if it´s not giving lmao writing this was lowkey exhausting, also sorry for typos as always

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Jeon Jungkook is exactly like his preferred alcoholic beverage; whiskey. strong, rich, smooth, smells like oak and a hint of vanilla caramel. Much like your introduction to the drink, you met this man in a bar.

A real man- none of those barely twenty-year olds that paraded around in their sagged sweatpants and with a bright tap of unlimited unopened snapchats lighting up the dark corners of the bar. Jungkook is pure masculinity, a chest so full with security, so grounded in his abilities that it was practically impossible to ignore how his large, brown galaxy eyes focused on your face, zeroing in on your cupid´s bow while you licked the stinging remains of your moscow mule away- he paid for it, of course.

Once the enticing conversation that felt almost comically easy faded, you expected him to try and take you to his house- mansion, as he revealed in a sidetracked sentence. Although you were looking forward to seeing the small metal pearls below and over his eyebrow move as they crinkle in pleasure, the tight ropes of virginity had not yet been released in your 21 years of living. Shackles that keep you tied down- as promised out of your own, admittedly senseless morality, not to be opened by a stranger. The key to your cuffs belonged to a lover.

It was unforeseeable, nevertheless natural for him to droop his heavily tattooed arm around your waist while escorting you out of the establishment. The sleeve of his white button down folded up along his forearm for you to see the beauty of his skin, wondering just how many more of those carefully crafted works of art he´s hiding beneath the business casual attire.

Once engulfed in the harsh, bitter wind that itaewon possesses, his arm only drew you in closer, so near in fact, you were able to notice a small scar on his cheek, one you hadn´t been able to notice in the curse of a dimly lit place. The more your eyes adjusted to him, so grew your anger at the lighting inside your place of first meeting- it had done an injustice to the man you had already been disgustingly attracted to, stole the wholehearted, inescapable allure of such a mature presence.

The gentleman looks down into your awaiting eyes, only to ask if he may have your number, upon your agreement, he proceeded to tell you that he would be walking you home, wanting you to arrive safely since it must be dangerous for a woman to walk the streets of a party district at 2 am in the morning.

That encounter was four months ago, and only a month after that initial conversation, he had completely taken over you. Swallowed you whole in just how well he treated you.

Insistent of using his black card to buy you anything you remotely showed liking in, dedicated to communication, random flowers that showed up at your office and a constant offer of a ride in his luxurious black mercedes-benz GT63s; no matter how long it took- even if it was a inconvenience, sometimes taking longer to get to you than it would have taken you to simply retort to public transport.

"I told you i´d make it for you, didn´t I baby? hm?" his velvet smooth voice rings, from how he´s standing, with his body pressed against your back, towering over you, you could feel the hardened muscles of his torso meeting you. His large, slim hands reach to either side of your waist, to the glass filled with ice that you´re holding in between your own, gently removing them to resume the task that you were occupied with. Your eyes glance to the bulging of his bicep, that loose, casual tshirt did nothing to hide just how big he had gotten due to his newfound hobby.

you whine- almost, biting down on your lower lip to prevent just that from happening, "thank you gguk" you say, turning to peck the very muscle that´s invading your line of sight. He hums, a low, satisfied sound from the back of his throat.

"c´mere baby" patting one of his muscular thighs, his eyes drift to your figure walking towards him, iced tea in hand, just like he had made it for you. Sweet, light, refreshing, much like your presence in his life. Almost like a sign from the stars that his hearts content was somewhere, bundled in the form of a shorter girl with eyes that could entrance any sailor- far less siren like, no, wide with love and purity. Just what he had yearned for in any women he had met before you-whether tangled in meaningless sheets or involved in a month long, semi serious relationship, Jungkook was yet to cross paths with the one woman that would make him turn so desperate, he would have begged for their happiness on his knees. It might be romantic, even a tad dramatic to admit that from the very first word that left your pink glossed lips, he knew better than anyone else that he was in deep, deep trouble. Upon seeing the curve of your waist, hearing that soft, lulling voice, that embarrassingly obvious fact only intensified after finding out just how delightful you truly were, it made him want to rip his hair out- do anything in the possibility of his grip to see even a glimpse of your smile, of that lighthearted, cheerful giggle you let out regularly. He was drawn in my your feminine nature, by the way you let yourself fall into his caring embrace.

He´s quickly directed back to reality as soon as your legs make it to either side of the thigh he had patted earlier, a familiar position for this equally familiar occasion. Muscle memory sets in for him, grabbing the large karaoke remote to hand to you while he turns the microphone on. "Can you sing something to me first?" the question sets his bunny smile off, nodding instantly "Sure love, chose a song for me" he says. Your mind floods with ideas, but you settle for a song you´ve heard him hum millions of times, mindlessly going about.

"Malibu nights?", jungkook questions excitedly while the instrumental sets in, he knew the answer, but his heart swelled with joy at the notice you took to this song. After all, he loved to sing. Another layer to him that has you melting, growing into the embodiment of love that is endlessly cherishing what little fractions were revealed to your eyes in each fleeting moment. His honey voice reaches beautiful highs and lows you can only compare to something angelically otherworldly in nature.

It made you want to know just how deep he could growl, how far his sounds can drop with the dirty nothings you would love to have whispered in your ear. You felt filthy for letting your mind wander to such extends when all he did was sing, lulling you into drunken harmony with him. Still, you consciously lean back into his body, letting him wrap his arms around your waist, encircling it with his vanilla oak scent.

During the past four months, you were doomed to have to shatter his hopes, reveal the truth that somehow felt shameful ; that you´re fully untouched. Nothing further than a bad makeout had yet graced your skin, it made you feel even smaller admitting something so vulnerable to a man that carries almost an entire decade of experience more. Much to your comfort, his hands found the curve of your cheeks immediately, telling you that there is nothing to be embarrassed about, he would hand you the full control, you set the pace.

Internally, Jungkook drooled at the idea that the woman of his dreams was to have her first, the most memorable, sexual encounter with him. Your body belonged to him, devoted to only remember the touch of his lips, the curve of his cock, how he would mold you to his shape without the intrusion of another man having tried the same. Not that he would have wanted you any less if that had not been the case, but for one time in your relationship, he was oh so selfish to want you all to himself, aroused that your first person induced orgasm was going to be his and his alone. The prophecy fulfilled when on one, alcohol induced night a week ago, two of his long, tattooed digits made their entrance into your tight hole, relentlessly filling you until your soft thighs shook, until after your third high, he licked his fingers clean and let you taste yourself on his tongue.

The tunes get lost in silence, he sets the microphone down, having felt the warmth of your mound beneath the tights while you tried to subtly gain friction, scooting back on him. His palms find your thighs, tightly flushed around his muscle. They´re shamelessly wandering up and down the thin material that prevents his hot, calloused fingers from feeling up your smooth skin.

"Wanna do that again, love?" jungkook mutters, his pillowed lips latch on to your exposed neck, right at the gentle curve that paints the beginning of your shoulder, soft, faint kisses that leave a trail of barely sounding sighs behind.

"Do what?" feigning innocence to avoid internal humiliation, you ask him, knowing he wouldn´t let it go, not until you told him to. The sound of his husky chuckle sounds right on the sweetspot of your neck, he sucks a little harder, encouraging you with the constant rub to your thighs. Instinctively, the heat inside your panties grows as do the intensity of your desperate moans, your hips push back on his thigh, seeking the solidity that grants you the portion of satisfaction your needy button longed for

"that" he simply says, having found an anchor in your hips now, your plaid skirt bunches around his hands, slowly- tortuously so when met with the deliberate little humps he helps you to complete on him. You practically whimper once his tongue glides across your skin, dragging from your shoulder, up your neck, intertwined with his open mouth, loud kisses that don´t seem to stop.

"that´s it... do you even know how cute you sound?" he smiles, and you feel it, you feel the smile rise to his lips with every additional kiss, every noise you grant the hungry male. "gguk, wanna see you" you whine- the high pitched noise has him twitching in his training joggers, semi errect but about to stand stiff, just as noticeably as that night seven days ago, having formed a huge tent inside his slacks, there was no hiding his attraction, no use to conceal his utter need for you.. nor his size, not that he would be capable to anyways.

To your request, he helps you turn around, now facing that dim glow on your slightly embarrassed features, taking note of how you nibble on your lip with every grind forward, "that feel good sweet girl?" he asks, ghosting his lips over yours faintly, just enough to see how much you need it, "mhm.. really good" you mumble back, chasing after his lips that he can't deny you of any longer, the kiss is gentle, but nourishes your heat further

"wanna feel even better?" the pit in your lower abdomen grows at the tone of his voice, something much stronger is seeping through his system, something that screams dominance, you nod- naturally wanting to get lost in it. Jungkook's hands stop assisting you, instead, they take to your shirt, "can i take this off of you baby?" he waits for that little hum of yours before swiftly tugging it away from your form

It's almost frightening how quickly your mind reverts back to wanting to run away and hide, your arms fly across your chest, everything you felt so good doing stops and he stops too,

"don't hide, you're perfect, you're so fucking sexy" his eyes trace your skin, hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your arms away, revealing your chest hugged into your bra, and jungkook almost forgets how to breathe properly,

he groans- groans that delicious deep noise that makes your head spin, even more so when you feel his appreciation for your body, hands pulling you closer by the waist so can bury his head into your cleavage. "so beautiful" he mutters, darting his tongue out to lick the slit between your tits, "wanna touch all over you, make you feel so good" he says, finding the clasp on your back to open it with one hand. a silent reminder of his experience, one you did not have in the slightest but somehow, it felt even better that way

"mh.. feels good gguk" you can't help but moan at the forgein sensation, his lips wrap around your hardend nipple, groaning sweetly while he sucks on it, carefully swiping his tongue over the little nub- your other breast is securely fitted into his palm, thumb playing with it just like he does with his mouth, mirroring every little flick

"feels so good doesn't it? you smell so good baby" his lips move to do the same to your other breast, switching sides with a trail of saliva sticking to his lips,

In that moment you feel so sensitive, so lost in his secure hold and at the same time, so small in his skillful dominance that you simply relish in the feeling, grinding your soaked core into his thigh over and over, long, hasty drags over his muscle while his lips work magic on your skin, squeezing a little tighter, sucking a little harder because every stuttered whimper fuels his urge to take care of you

"that's it baby.. keep going, you're so good" your hands find his dark chocolate locs, threading through it with the need to ground yourself. it feels as though every time your clit meets him, instead of getting you closer to sensational relief it adds to the ache, feeds into your desire to take and take more of him, be consumed by his strength

"want this off please" your excited fingers fiddle with the hem of his oversized shirt, earning a smug grin from your boyfriend as he detaches from you, discarding of his top

Although you have seen him shirtless before, it's impossible not to salivate at the sight, at his toned broad torso that curves into a unfairly small waist, large arms flexing when he reaches for your tits again, massaging them once more,

"like what you see pretty?" he says, teasingly cocking his head and biting at the metal ring on the corner of his lip, you blush- the slick drools out even more between your thighs, "so hot gguk, annoyingly hot" he chuckles, joining the sound with your airy giggle, but he sucks in a breath as soon as you shift in his lap, now fully straddling him, naked chest pressed to his with your head burried in his neck, "hmm.. what are you up to baby?" his hands find your back, soothing himself not to pounce on you because the strain in his pants is staggering his breath, your errect nipples are rubbing against his skin and it´s making him shiver, desperate, oh so desperate for you

but he knows all to well not to overwhealm your sweet, virgin body, to let you take all the time you need until he can feel every breath of your submission

"wanna feel you gguk, can i?" jungkook almost purrs at how innocently you ask, suppressing the need to grind his hips into your heat from below, "of course baby, anything you want. it's all yours"

he meant it, every vein cursing through his body belongs to you, working, pumping blood through him for the sole purpose of loving you, taking care of you. "all mine?" you hum, aroused by the confidence he emitts, your hands trace up his torso, creating a small distance between your bodies to feel up the hard lines on his abdomen with laboured breath of your own, lips finding every small patch of his neck that make him hum, make his sighs of pleasure slowly turn into groans "all yours my love" the answer wasn't necessary, not when you already started to leave traces of you on his skin, faint, red bruises on his neck that he's impatiently waiting to run around with

"you feel so fucking good, need to feel more of you, will you let me sweet girl?" his words are intoxicating, washing away any doubt or fear and replacing it with a intense craving of sexual desire "please gguk i'm so wet for you" the sound reaches his ears and shuts down his entire system, his hands carelessly rip down your skirt and stockings, leaving you in those tiny grey boyshorts that he looses his mind over "baby how did you hide all this from me?" his hands caress your thighs, your hips, up your waist and to the soft flesh of your stomach with hungry, insatiable eyes that long for a taste of your every inch

"all yours" you mimic him, sounding just like him with your sultry, shy voice, already wanting to remove his own bottoms which he catches on, ridding himself of the nuisance "yeah, all mine. this is all mine" he says, smiling softly

Your drenched underwear meets his errection as he pulls you back on his lap, hands sitting on your waist, you look so vulnerable- almost fragile in his grip, shyly moaning because the curve of his cock presses into your skin like it was molded for you, needy folds clinging to your underwear and your clit throbs- throbs begging for another taste of friction

"I don't know how to do any of this" he suddenly he hears you mumble, seeing how you're playing with your fingers that sit on his lower abdomen, your head is turned to them, a slight pout decorates your features

jungkook feels the need to sob- to take away whatever is making that pretty head of yours feel so threatened even though you're the best thing he has ever felt, the only person he ever wants to lay his hands on ever again

"that's okay baby, hey, look at me for a second will you?" you comply, craving his lead, his security to catch you, most of all that gentle, masculine dominance that floods your senses effortlessly

"you're doing so so well pretty, you don't have to worry okay? i'll take you through it, make you feel so good" he says, cupping your cheeks in his palms while sitting up a little to press kisses to your nose, your forhead, your lips and cheeks,

unable to contain your smile, you nod, gaining back the heartbeat in your willing feminity to let him take care of you, "thank you baby" you say with upmost honesty, pressing your lips to his in a kiss of adoration

"mhm.. come on, let's get this off of you love" his whipers lingers on you, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before pulling it off your lifted legs, he moans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick attached to the cloth and glistening over your feminity

"so beautiful, do you even realize how lucky i am? how thankful i am that this sweet, sweet girl is all mine to love?" he says softly, so softly that your eyes gloss a little bit, feeling so utterly vulnerable in front of him, so sexy in the most feminine way possible. blush creeps up your cheeks, his hands find your inner thigh, dancing around the sensitive skin "you're too sweet gguk"

he returns your smiles, lifting your hand to kiss it before intertwining it with his own, lacing his fingers into you because being apart from your body feels like torture in this moment. but you're eyes are busied elsewhere, locked on the large outline that stands rock solid insides of his calvins, a small, wet patch that indicates his arousal decorating the very top

"go ahead baby, take it off" not needing to be told twice, you help yourself to his boxers, tugging them down in one, slow motion that leaves him biting his bottom lip, he pushes them down to his ankles, kicking them off

both of you sit like this for a moment that feels like eternity, raw, bare and without a chance to hide in front of the other's desperate gaze, comfort, pure love that's inseparable with a pulsing you can no longer ignore, not when he´s so big, so broad and decorated with a vein alongside his curved shaft

he grabs at the flesh of your ass, pulling you to sit your gushing cunt over his stiff length, cursing at feeling how soft you are, how much arousal truly spills from your body

"you're so.. big gguk.. m'scared" your whine makes him coo, stroking your head while a possessive grip that stays on your hip, his left hand tethering to your hair in the meantime, "don't be, you were made for me sweet girl, made for it" your head falls to his shoulder, arching your torso into his body with a small hump to his leaking cock, "that's right baby, feel it, feel how hard i am for you" spurred on by his encouragement, you tighten your hands on his bicep, rolling your hips over his, his entire shaft is coated in your essence, angry pink tip meeting your swollen clit repeatedly, so much so you feel your thighs shake, feel an impending orgasm waiting to flow over your body,

Ripping yourself of that sensation, not yet- you tell yourself

"want it gguk, want it so bad" jungkook hums, kissing your neck messily, cock throbbing beneath you, "want what pretty? talk to me" he says, his own desire to claim you all to himself becomes unbareable with each passing second that you stay put

You shift forward again, whining, "please gguk" he groans, twitching at how desperate you sound, entranced with how needy you've become for him, he didn't even have to make you beg for it, you just did

effortlessly perfect for him, "come on, tell me my love" but he has to hear more, he needs to hear the dirty confession falling from your pure lips

"want your cock jungkook, please" there it is- that submissive, whiny plead for him, it makes him feel alive, throwing his head back on the black leather couch momentarily "good girl, fuck baby you're so cute" he praises, taking the base of his cock into his hand but something stalls him, "do you want me to eat you out first? make it nice and slippery?" his teeth graze your ear, kissing over the shell of it, "no gguk i want it, want it now"- another nibble, "anything for you"

Your hips lift, hovering your tight, clenching hole over his thick manhood, hands sweaty and grasping at his firm shoulders, he spots your anxiety, wishing nothing more but to ease it

"sit down on it baby, it's gonna sting okay? but you're so good, I know you can take it" more, more reassuring words that you drink in, just as you sink down on it, wincing as your brows meet in frustration

"hurts.." you mutter, fingers digging into his tanned skin- you can't bring yourself to move down further, clenching your muscle tightly around only his fat tip that feels like it's splitting your drooling pussy open. his hands find your back again, "ssh baby.. i know... but you'e such a good girl, i know you can take every inch of my cock"

It takes a couple more kisses to your shoulder for you to sink down fully on his length, painfully so- having your hands claw into him, your lips trembling in confusion of why it feels so good to have him stuffed into you so deeply you can feel it inside your tummy, stretching into every crevice of your gummy walls. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, fulfilling, deep pressure that you could get lost in- bathe in

Jungkooks feelings have synchronized with yours- he's unsure where you end or where he begins but you're clamped down on his cock, your skin already wet with sweat as it sticks to his unforgivingly, moans and shaky breaths fill in the silence, a unspoken question lingers, awaits for you to answer it

until you do, taking his large hands to your hips before pressing yours against his full pecks, a glint of confidence spites your eyes that makes jungkook want to hear you cry out his name over and over again

"oh fuck- baby you-" you whine, rolling your hips forward, mouth parted when you feel him move inside of you, slolwy, deeply "that's it my love, take your time, so sexy like this" his voice is far from stable, you moan again- the grinding becomes faster, assisted by his hands that pull you onto him just the way you like it- just like he said, you have it all, its all yours

"what- what if you can't come?" he needs to contain a laugh at that- the question is so absurd to him, so unimaginable that it makes him slightly angry why you couldn't understand that he could cum from seeing you alone, from one kiss to your chaste lips- he's already twitching at how sloppy, how loud your cunt is around him

"I almost came from seeing how needy that little pussy of yours is, you feel how hard i am don't you? all because of you baby" he mutters in response, you flourish at it, getting familiar with the grinding motion but you need more, you deserve more- so you start bouncing on him- up and down, slamming your own, curved hips down onto him. he's mesmerized by your pleasure, watching how your brows are knitted, how your lips leak with drool and airy moans, how your tits bounce- he gropes at them, cupping them greedily, his hands itch for your skin, for you to let yourself go on him

"good girl.. look at you, a natural at riding my cock- don't even need my help" you shake, exhaustion already growing in your eager hips but you cannot stop, you don´t want to stop taking every inch of his cock back into you, lifting your hips only to take him back in, "you're filling me so much" you moan into his mouth, having formed a unity with his lips that welcome you like home, "just like that pretty, little humps for me" he mumbles back, interlacing his tongue with yours

he tugs at your nipples with his inked fingers, reciprocrating the moaning, he mirrors you, throbs when you clench, explores your mouth when you part for him impatiently. it leaves you to no choice but to become his own reflection, your hips ground themselves in a stable rhythm as your fingertips roll over his own nipples, unexpectedly he whimpers, bites down into your shoulder cautiously

"That's it baby, driving me fucking crazy" he grinds his hips up into you, unlocking a feeling of bliss that leads you to errupt into pornographic moans, your hand flings to muffle them, eyes rolling back into your skull,

Jungkook is making love to you, letting you reach a state you would not have been able to imagine, not even in the slightest when all you have ever felt are your fingers hastily, uncoordinated on your bundle of nerves. still, he can feel you´re holding back, afraid to be loud- to take up space, but he's having none of it

"Dont be embarrassed sweet girl, you sound addicting, so cute, give me every little noise" sinful sensuality floods you with his encouragement, "gonna make you cum for me, deserve it don't you think?" you don't- in fact, you can't think, long gone into pleasure while his hips piston into you from below,

he slaps your clit gently, your walls clench from how good that feels, "i asked you something baby" he repeats, distracted by your droopy eyes that threaten to shut him out at any moment, "answer me sweet thing, do you deserve to cum hm?" he taunts, rutting his hips with a slower but harder motion, force that hits your g-spot- reels you back into the moment, you head moves frantically "yes, yes please i need to cum"

Jungkook groans in satisfaction, "that's right.. best little cunt, all mine" he goes back lapping at your chest, licking his way to any patch of skin that your addictive smell lurs him to- he feels all over your skin, sneaking his fingers to where your bodies morph into one so he can draw tight circles on your clit, stimulating you to cry out his name,

"Jungkook.. i- i can't stop it i-" you stutter, thighs tensing around him, the feeling is so overwhealming that you can't keep your head up, can't warn him more than that since you're already letting your dew sprinkle out- letting the shocks roll over your body

"just like that.. make a mess on my cock baby, you did so well, come for me" he rasps, his heavy balls release into your tightness at the thought that crosses his mind- the knowledge that he had made you orgasm, that your virginity belonged to him solely,

It embraces the both of you, fills you with a sense of euphoria that none of you wish to end

As the high washes over you, you break out into a small shudder, aware of his milky cum that splurts your walls white, aware of the oversensitive area between your legs that jungkook's fingers slowly stop touching, landing to your unstable and sore thighs instead.

his heavy breathing is woven into yours, contrasting how slowly, lazily he manages to caress your naked skin, finding comfort in your warm body

the small whisper of his name catches him off guard, he hums, pulling back to cup your face, "are you okay my love? feel good?" his eyes rank over your tired features, glowing before his very own eyes,

"so okay. I love you" you breathe out, pressing a kiss to his button nose,

"I love you too baby, so proud of you" his nose nuzzles against yours, "you were so so good"

your shy giggle lights up his face like it always does, "thank you.. for taking my virginity... felt so good" you mumble with your bottom lip tucked away between your teeth- it awakens his soft- still nestled cock, his hands grip your ass- feeling the flesh spill beneath his fingers "thank you for your trust baby, but god, you're gonna make me lose it" jungkook says into your neck, nose tracing the delicate line of your shoulder,

"why? is it too much?" unbeknownst to you, Jungkook rolls his eyes in annoyance, how could you be so fucking adorable?

"Let me show you why" he answers, making your head perk up a little,

"Wanna lay down for me pretty? I can give you another one, as many as you want. You deserve it, wanna spoil you, fuck i wanna give you everything you want" faintly audible as he's speaking into your skin, having already laid you down onto the cold cushions of his unreasonably expensive leather couch.

#redcherrykook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook smut

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nasa · 13 days ago

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Artemis Astronauts Have Drills, Too!

Chances are, if you have ever spent time in a school or office building, you have experienced a fire drill. Well, astronauts practice emergency drills, too!

Since we began sending astronauts to space, we have used systems and drills to practice moving people safely away from the launch pad in the unlikely event of an emergency during the countdown to launch.

Early Mercury and Gemini programs in the 1960s used a launch escape system in the form of a solid rocket motor that could pull the astronauts to safety in the event of an emergency. However, this system only accounted for the astronauts, and not other personnel at the launch pad. NASA’s emergency systems have since improved substantially to include everyone.

youtube

Artemis II will be NASA’s first mission with crew aboard the SLS (Space Launch System) rocket and Orion spacecraft. Artemis II will fly around the Moon and come back to Earth. Beginning with the Artemis II mission, we will use a track cable to connect the mobile launcher — the ground structure that supports the rocket before and during launch — to the perimeter of the launch pad. Picture a gondola ski lift beginning at the top of the rocket and ending all the way down to the ground. In case of an emergency, astronauts and support crews move from the capsule into the crew access arm, climb into one of four baskets waiting for them, and ride down to the ground.

There, members of the Pad Rescue team are ready to scoop the astronauts up and whisk them to safety. Think of the Pad Rescue team as spaceflight knights in shining armor. Except instead of saving crew from a fire breathing dragon, they are whisking the astronauts away from a fully loaded skyscraper-sized rocket that’s getting ready to lift off.

The Artemis II mission will also introduce several new ground systems for the first time – including the new and improved braking system similar to what roller coasters use! Though no NASA mission to date has needed to use its ground-based emergency system during launch countdown, those safety measures are still in place and maintained as a top priority.

So the next time you practice a fire drill at school or at work, remember that these emergency procedures are important for everyone to stay safe — even astronauts.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#NASA #Artemis #astronauts #safety #Moon #rocket #Orion #space #tech #Youtube

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parrish-the-thot · 11 days ago

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A continuation of this post I made

I imagine Steve genuinely doesn’t think about Eddie, like at all. Besides the occasional “what is he yelling about in that table” or “ Munson actually showed up to class” or once in sophomore year he thinks “how much does Munson charge for an ounce of weed? Would he take a $50 for an ounce” which causes Eddie to wait around all day at the picnic table wishing for some shmuck to offer $50 for just an ounce, but no one shows up (Steve had to go pick up Dustin after school and didn’t want him to find weed the weed when he inevitably starts going through Steve’s car)

The lack of soulmate thoughts really irks Eddie, because he knows his soulmate is in Hawkins, but he never thinks about Eddie, like at all??? Positively or negatively?? Eddie jumps on more tables, he blares loud music from his van, he is in a band, he is the drug dealer for all the teens in Hawkins and all his soulmate thinks is “why the fuck did Munson double park his van, I’m going to be late looking for a parking spot now” it absolutely drives him crazy.

He eventually figures out his soulmate must be a jock of some kind because one day he hears “what is Munson doing under the bleachers?” when some sports team is let out of playing with balls practice. He is briefly heartbroken his soulmate isn’t a nerd like him, but then spends the night thinking about how a certain fluffy haired jock could play with his balls anytime.

Steve isn’t not thinking about Eddie on purpose, but they just don’t run in the same circles, so he doesn’t really think about him too much, just in a genuine, “I don’t know them, don’t interact with them, so I don’t really think about them” sort of way. Especially after befriending the kids, Steve’s focus goes to keeping them safe and being a babysitter instead of finding his soulmate.

Steve’s experience with his soulmates thoughts is completely different. Starting in middle school he heard his soulmate think he was cute which he thought was nice. As he got older his soulmate would still think he was cute, but also handsome or pretty which, he doesn’t know any girls who call their boyfriends pretty but ya know, he can roll with that. He thinks he will have to roll with a lot of stuff, since hai soulmate seems to into a…a lot of interesting things, to say the least. Steve has dated a lot of girls but none of them seemed to want to rub their face in his chest hair like his soulmate did, who also wonder is Steve was that hairy everywhere which- he was but he didn’t think a girl would want to know about that.

He would be in the middle of a basket ball game and he hit with a 15 minute monologue about how wonderful his ass looked in “thise little green shirts that ride up his ass in the best way” and how his soulmate “wanted to be those shorts” causing Steve to miss three different shots. Also with all this wildly kinky stuff and even general sex things Steve has never heard of or thought about he figures he should become more knowledgeable to better be prepared for his soulmate.

One day when Steve is cleaning up a drink he spilled in the cafeteria and heard “god Harrington looks good on his knees, bet he would look even better with my cock in his mouth” figures chances are his soulmate isn’t a girl at all.

With not much else to loose and a new door opened up to him, Steve starts spending time thinking equally horny thinvs about different guys he sees in class, just to see if they will react to what he is thinking. This is how he figures out Eddie is his soulmate.

Steve notices eddies table is getting a little rowdy, as is always does before Eddie gets up on someone’s table and he rants about jocks and preppy girls while stepping on people’s lunches, Steve thinks “what if comes over here, spits in my stretched out hole, and fucks me right next to Heathers Halloways tuna sandwich”

Eddie, whose soulmate didn’t even think about Eddie that one time his car got spray painted a fit was all the school talked about for a week, was NOT expecting that at 12:30 on a Tuesday and promptly trips on a chair and slams face first into the lunch table, breaking his nose.

Eddies friends rush him to the nurse and Steve is torn between this being a sign Eddie is soulmate or Eddie just clumsy, Steve has seen him walk into a door twice, so he don’t 100% sure. Steve decided to test this anytime he has a clear viewpoint of Eddie and starts thinking the most horny, kinky things possibly about Eddie to see if Eddie reacts proves he is Steve’s soulmate (also revenge because Steve had to go through years of Eddie horny pondering interrupting Steve during important tasks games or tests so Steve figures he should pay that forward during eddies dungeons and dorks games)

#Eddie trying to remain cool and mysterious as a dungeon master while hearing the most filthy things imaginable #steve at home looking at his watch like #oh it’s 4 Eddie it starting his game now I should start thinking about the different ways I would let him fuck me in his nerd throne #eventually Steve will come forward like 👋 hey it’s me your soulmate #I thought it would be funny if Eddie is thinking something kinky while in the library #and Steve just goes over to him like you know choking someone like that during sex can be dangerous #and Eddie is there like what the fuck what the fuck how did you-what #but I think it could be dinner that depsite sexy thoughts bringing them closer it’s Eddie bashing on sprouting Steve likes #like abba or something that makes Steve speak up #and Steve is like hold the fuck up abba is great why would you think it’s prep garbage #Eddie is there like :0 while Steve goes in a rant about Eddie not truely being minded about people liking different things like he claims #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #just a drabble #stranger things #soulmate au

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alexispunkkk · 3 days ago

Text

the giver

- pairing: joel x reader x tommy

- summary: the ‘sweetheart’ of jackson has both the miller brothers wrapped around her finger—and they’re ready to take what she’s willing to give

- warnings: sex, threesome (m/m/f), rough sex, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, light spanking, cum eating/swallowing, sort of cucking, alcohol consumption, manhandling, creampie, light fingering, joel lovessss ass, kissing, neck kissing, thigh riding, orgasms

- word count: 10.3k 😮‍💨😮‍💨

very roughly inspired by the song ‘the giver’ by chappell roan…. writing that as i forgot about it being the inspo a third of the way through

on ao3

masterlist

Being the sweetheart of Jackson comes with its perks.

You’re not one to join patrol shifts. Not one to dig perimeter trenches or be on the lookout for infected or raiders in the distance. Hell, you barely raise your voice in town, and folks just seem to gravitate to you.

Not once have you had any real work to do like everyone else–you sit and look pretty while the world is practically in flames around you. The comfortable town of Jackson keeps you safe from the apocalyptic world outside, and it’s virtually all you know now. Just sunsets dusted over the sky like gold, wooden porches, horses, movies every Friday night.

It’s never too serious with you, and that’s how you like to keep it. You have the freedom to head out to bars and drink your heart away, sing alone and spend your time however you like it.

Nobody expects much out of you. You’re always in your pretty cowboy boots and tiny tanks, glossed lips, baking for your neighbors and planting flowers.

Maybe it’s your baking. Sugar-dusted pies and muffins that everyone swears are to die for. Or maybe the wildflowers you insist on planting on wooden walkways to bring pops of color to the town saddened by the reality of the outbreak. Or, it could be your smile–looking stitched by sunlight, a certain sweetness that can only come with a warning.

The rumors say you came from a QZ in Colorado, wearing boots too clean for the end of the world. Some women are skeptical, but many of the men in town are stunned. Two, in particular. They’re wrapped around your pretty finger.

And you, on the other hand, don’t care. You wear that sneaky smile proudly and walk around Jackson calling everyone ‘darling.’ Handing out cookies to children, making friends with the community’s animals alongside Ellie, and sending an occasional wink to the many older and married men of the little ‘commie’ town. Cowboys are a favorite of yours.

You don’t normally need a map to find trouble–or to find men. They find you, and you hear it in the boots clacking on porches and smell it in the sweat and whiskey of Saturday night bonfires.

You’ve learned how to read a glance. To read pauses, sense held breaths. Quite familiarized with stares.

It’s in your nature.

So, you sit and look pretty on a daily basis, humming along to old country songs with the warmest voice and making your rounds. While you don’t have your own job, you seem to always help everyone else. You’re a giver.

When a job needs to be done, they know they can call you.

And that’s why everyone seems so devout to you–Jackson’s angel and heartbreaker all at once.

Tommy Miller, though, is a flirt. The man could sweet talk a bloater if he thought it’d wink back. The kind that talks to anything that breathes–but in an effective manner.

He’s attractive. A smile that belongs on a billboard and the warmest laugh ever that makes women peek over their shoulders. Lucky for Jackson, there weren’t many billboards left–so Tommy’s handsome face is kept safe in the borders of the town.

And unlucky for you, the man knows how to work that charm a little too well. Often in your direction.

A walking distraction dressed in boots and a perfect Southern twang, he carries himself well despite going through hell–still comes out the other side with a wink and the occasional joke. Where his brother, Joel, is more silence and tension, Tommy is easy laughter and a lazy arm slung around your waist. Before you can even realize he’s too close.

He always seems to be smiling, even if his mouth physically isn’t.

And it’s unfair. It makes you forget what you’re doing. What day it is. Your own name.

Tommy’s hair is always a little tousled by the wind, messy like he’d just taken off a hat or came in from a horse ride. His tan and freckled face seems to season him, and he wears it proudly. Comfortably. He’s gorgeous.

Strong, sure, after years of patrol and learning to fend and survive after the outbreak. But he doesn’t wear it. He’s laid back, like he’s not trying to intimidate, like he’s so casual and comfortable in his own skin that he doesn’t feel the need to flaunt. He’s the embodiment of warmth wrapped into a gorgeous body of a man–steady hands and touches.

An occasional shoulder bump, knee grazing yours under the table. Even his arm slung around your shoulders while he plants a wet kiss on your rosy cheek during a bonfire. Each touch lingers just enough to make you wonder whether or not he meant it, or if he’s just that friendly.

Joel, on the other hand, is a harder read.

Tommy is all sunshine stirred into sawdust, and Joel is dusk. Slower movements, eyes that see more than he lets on–he doesn’t say as much as his brother. He’s older, and you can tell. You sometimes see him holding the small of his back when he stands up or hear the crack of his knees when he leans down.

And when he does talk, it’s usually gruffer and quieter. About something pragmatic, not flirtatious in the slightest.

He fixes fences, carries crates by, drops things off you don’t ask for with a small “figured you could use it.”

Not much for compliments.

But he watches, and you enjoy that. The quiet is nice sometimes in contrast to Tommy’s outward flirtation and neverending sweet talk. From across the town square, behind his guitar, over the rim of his coffee mug at his favorite diner in Jackson–he’s always just there. Watching.

Noticing you. The feeling of his dark eyes burning into you makes the rest of the world go quiet, even managing to mute a drunk Tommy on saturday nights.

Joel has the raw and rough kind of beauty that also doesn’t flaunt itself, but creeps up on you. Broad hands, calloused and rough and capable from years of both contracting and fighting infected. His forearms are tanned from work, sleeves always pushed up to keep out of the way. A salt-and-pepper scruff covering his jaw that doesn’t behave very well, and his hair always sloppily pushed back with his hand.

Compared to Tommy, it’s like he doesn’t own a mirror. Rugged and hardened and messy but so, so gorgeous. Carries himself like a man. The most masculine you’ve ever seen. Big frame, thick and warm like a large space heater. Makes you wonder if all of him is that big.

He’s older, but not in a way that makes him seem out of place. More like he’s earned the scars and little creaks and marks dug into the crevices of his handsome face. He looks like a fighter and still doesn’t deserve to rest, like he’s carrying something you can’t figure out.

And his voice–god–his voice. Gravelly, but smooth and bourbon-like, hiding something a little dangerous beneath it’s drawl. Everything about him gets to you. The way he keeps greater distance, doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t let himself get close like his brother does, but it ruins you even more.

So you flirt a little more with Tommy when Joel’s around. Maybe you like watching him try not to look.

Yes, ma’am. No, darlin.’

Their matching Texan accents ring in your head, drawing you to them while you head out in Jackson with an unsurprising batch of cookies–baked to perfection and nestled in tupperware–in your arms.

The sun today is high, but not cruel, casting a warmth over the town that makes it look as golden and sugary as the pies you normally whip up. Kids are running barefoot down the road while their fathers work on splitting wood. Someone is playing their radio out of an open window.

You can hear the faint and tinny country music over the hum of townspeople going about their normal afternoon routines. Taking your time for a nice stroll, you have an apron tied around your waist and maybe a hint of flour streaked across your denim-clad thigh. Like your badge of honor.

And, like always, you’re not in a rush. What’s the rush when there's a dozen voices calling out to you when you pass by the men working?

“Smells like cinnamon again.” One calls out, giving you a charming smirk while obnoxiously chewing on his gum. Hot.

You laughed, but waved them off. Okay, maybe you gave him a wink.

But it’s just a batch of cookies, nothing too fancy. Chocolate chip with a sprinkle of coarse sea salt on top for the added flavor: your signature. You’re not trying to cause a stir, it just comes to you. People happen to notice when you walk by, smelling of baked goods and looking like the sweetest girl Wyoming has ever seen.

And then, like an answer to a distant prayer, there he is. Your favorite of Jackson’s men.

Tommy Miller, shirt half unbuttoned and clinging to his broad chest and shoulder blades with streaks of sweat. He’s standing in the gravel yard beside a pile of fresh cut logs. An axe in one hand and a rag in the other.

He’s mid-wiping the sweat off his forehead when he catches sight of you, dragging it along the back of his neck right after while he presents his usual ever-charming smile. Cheeky, but slow. And so, so handsome.

Normally, you just shoot him a smile and offer a small glance up and down–occasionally narrowing in on his crotch. So you do the same–smile, wave, move on with your day.

“Hey, hold on.” This time, his voice pulls you back. Easy, like he doesn’t want the moment to end quite yet. Needs a good look at you, a taste of the cookies you’re holding. Maybe of something else.

He seems to take interest in the outfit under your apron when you stop: a pretty little white tank made of cotton and decorated with innocent lace. Big jeans held up by a dark cherry-colored red belt, matching maroon cowgirl boots thrown on your feet. And maybe he wants to know if what you’re wearing underneath would match the so-perfectly planned boots and belt technique.

He doesn’t move, not really. One hand is still resting on the axe handle, the other now supporting his weight against the chopping block. Leaned over and propped up on his hand, shamelessly checking you out. Sweaty. Gorgeous.

“You in a rush? He smiles, tilting his head just slightly to the left.

“Uh-uh. Not unless there’s a line somewhere waiting on these cookies.”

You giggle and lift the tupperware, showing off the newest batch of everyone’s favorite sweets. Better than the bakery’s, that’s for sure. Your smile distracts him for a second, the pretty gloss pasted over your lips luring him in like a siren.

Tommy chuckles, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. Kind of makes him look like an asshole. But you like it.

“As far as I know, I’m the only one who should be getting a fresh one.” He raises his eyebrows, letting go of the chopping block of wood and setting his trusty axe down. He steps closer, resting his thick fingers on the lid of the container.

“Please?”

He looks down at you, a manipulative smirk crossing his face. His gaze is switching between your face–your lips, eyes, freckled skin–to the batch of cookies you’re supporting. Almost begging.

When he moves closer, you catch a whiff of his scent. Most people wouldn’t exactly enjoy the smell of a man’s sweat after chopping wood for an hour in the summer, wearing a long sleeve shirt, but something about it is alluring to you. Anything that relates to masculinity is alluring to you, really. Musk and the faint scent of cedar from his cologne that was barely holding on but also accentuated by the aroma of the wood surrounding you.

“Fine. One.” You give in to that smile, any woman would. Stepping back, you set the container down on a nearby block of wood, crouching down next to it. You flick your hair back and Tommy is soon gazing at your profile now, the way you bite your lip in focus to get a cookie out for him. Also, the way your ass looks when you crouch down in the dust like that.

You grab one with a napkin, shutting the lid and standing back up to return to him.

“Here. Guess you’re special today. These are actually meant for the preschool.”

Tommy looks at you for a moment, and this time, his flirting is a little quieter. Muted. Softer. “Special? Not sure I’ve heard that one before.”

You roll your eyes, handing him the warm treat carefully before crossing your arms over your chest.

“Then nobody’s been looking close enough.” You snort, motioning for him to try the cookie. Your words shut him up for a second, eyes flicking up and down as if deciding something. Looking for the right kind of words.

But he ignores the feeling, taking a big bite of the cookie. You watch his lips as his teeth sink down into the dessert, the way his tongue darts out to clean the crumbs off his bottom lip while he chews.

And, as usual, his face displays his reaction to the taste shamelessly. He leans his head back, the cookie eliciting a small groan of pleasure from the back of his throat. His head bobs up and down with a nod of approval, of complete satisfaction at the taste of a single bite.

Upon swallowing, he looks down at the treat in his hand and grumbles in delight. “Mmhm. Sweetheart, that’s it. You’ve mastered it this time.”

His reaction is a little dramatic, but it makes you laugh. Makes you proud. Draws out that sweet giggle of yours that he loves so much, which makes him proud in return.

“It’s the same recipe as always. I did not master it, sweetheart.” You answer, playfully mocking the nickname he likes to use on you. Something about the way that Tommy is an expert flirt changes the way you flirt back. You don’t go easy on him, you’re a little ruder with it–sassy.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You did.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and mocks back, expression quickly changing back to an amused grin. He finishes the cookie in two short bites, stuffing his face and rubbing the crumbs off on his thighs.

You go back to the block of wood to pick up your cookies so you can carry on with your day, but Tommy follows. He steps right behind you, wrapping a warm and rough hand around your wrist before you can pick up the container.

“Hey–hey.” He stops you with a laugh, making your head turn to look up at him.

You try your best to seem annoyed, but it’s all performative. Really, you’d stay here as long as he wanted. Stay and watch him chop wood, feed him cookies to his heart’s desire.

“One more. C’mon.” Tommy grins, holding a hand out so you bless him with another.

“No, Tommy.” You groan, keeping your hands on the container to ensure it stays shut and he doesn’t cheat you for more treats. “They’re for the kids. I’m not gonna keep giving away my cookies to a grown ass man. You had one.”

He grumbles like a petulant child, pouting down at you. It’s annoying, but a little funny. Makes you want to give in and give him all the desserts in the world.

“It’s not for me,” he starts explaining, shaking his head in protest. “For Joel. He’s on patrol, I’m sure he’d appreciate a little snack when he returns.”

The fact that it’s for Joel makes you a little more receptive to the idea. You’re a sucker for that man, for whatever reason. And, unluckily for you, Tommy knows that. Joel Miller is your weakness.

You sigh, shaking your head and slowly opening the container back up. Tommy grins at the sight of the lid coming up and your hand reaching in for a second.

“Atta’girl.” His hand lands on the small of your back while you’re leaned over to get Joel’s treat, a warm presence that brings a flush up your neck and ears. Tommy’s always been a touchy one, especially in comparison to his brother. He loves to swing an arm around your shoulder and ruffle your hair whenever he can. Loves to say things like ‘atta’girl’ and ‘good job’ to watch how you get as red as a tomato.

Once the cookie is wrapped up in a napkin and kept safe in his pocket for Joel, he straightens his back and lets you stand back up, removing his hand from your spine. He rubs the back of his neck, something that would seem sheepish if it was anyone else. But on Tommy, it seems practiced. Like he knows just how to make you wanna lean in even more.

“Speaking of him,” he starts, pointedly. “There’s a bonfire tonight. Out past the paddock fence.”

You nod, knowing of it–you’re planning on going already, actually, but you listen anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Couple folks are bringin’ instruments. Drinks and whatnot. I might even get Joel to bring out his old guitar.”

You lift an eyebrow in intrigue, especially by the sound of Joel bringing out his guitar. You’d love to hear him play–love to see his big fingers work the chords and strings under the light of a fire.

“You’re working real hard to make it sound casual, Tommy.” You giggle and tilt your head, finally picking up the container of cookies once and for all.

He snorts and shakes his head, wiping the sweat dripping down the back of his neck again. It catches your attention, distracting you, drawing you to the sight of little beads against his hot, tanned skin.

He gives you a crooked, stupid grin. “Yeah, well. I ain’t askin’ the whole town if they’re going. Just you.”

Your heart does the little thing–not jumping, not exactly skipping. But warming up. By the idea of Tommy only asking you about the bonfire. Like he wants you there. It felt like settling into a chair that feels just right.

You let your gaze drift down to the sweat-streaked white shirt clinging to his shoulders and the way the sun is catching on his temples. The crumb of the cookie still left on the corner of his mouth. Hell, he could be selling sins door-to-door and you’d still buy it. Of course you wanna go.

“I was already planning on going. But since you’re asking so sweetly…” You start, drawing out the words teasingly.

“That a yes?” He perks up, the grin on his handsome face growing exponentially.

“I guess so. Depends. Will you save me a seat with you and your brother?” You grin and lean back, fingers drumming against the tupperware in your arms.

Tommy nods obediently, crossing his arms over his chest. They look big that way, especially when the sweat seeps through the white shirt he’s wearing and makes it a little see-through.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fuck, that always gets you weak. Being called ma’am–by none other than Tommy Miller, in particular, has you aching. The things you would do to hear that in a not-so-innocent context invade your mind.

“M’kay. As long as you two behave–and don’t talk through all the music–I’ll be there. See you tonight, Miller.”

You lift the tupperware in a little sort of a wave, sauntered off before he can even say anything else. Left with the little cookie in his pocket saved for Joel. Oh, it’s gonna be a long night. He’s in trouble.

Later that night, the sun starts to dip low and spill gold light into your kitchen window. That sweet, syrupy light that makes your skin glow. Makes you wanna dance in the kitchen and mess around.

You spent the day baking and then handing out cookies to the kids at Jackson’s preschool–it was adorable. But now, you’re getting ready for a night of drinking by a fire. A self-proclaimed “date” with both of the Miller brothers at once. With the town’s two hottest and beaten up men.

You’re standing barefoot in front of the mirror, one boot on while you weigh the options. Black, brown, or red? The outfit you settled for was a tiny old denim skirt held low on your hips and supported with the same belt as earlier. Paired with a little red gingham top you’d stitched yourself from scraps.

It was only the right option because it hugs your waist perfectly and clings to your chest, enough to surely make Tommy lose his train of thought mid conversation.

As hard as you tried to tell yourself this should just be another normal night, another bonfire, another excuse to laugh and drink with friends–it isn’t. You know why you’re going. You’re going to get drunk and mess with two brothers to the best of your ability. Fuck it.

Tugging a brush through your hair and letting it fall around your shoulder in lazy curls, not too fussy, you stared in the mirror. A dull red lipstick painted over your lips, highlighted by a smooth cherry-flavored gloss. Vanilla perfume on your wrists, lotioned legs–you smell as sweet as the cookies from earlier. Maybe Joel and Tommy would want a bite of you instead.

Sure, the world is over outside of Jackson. But tucked safely in the town, your biggest worry is how good you look tonight. And which brother you’d choose. Or if you’re even going to settle for one.

Your mind drifted as you put on all your jewelry.

Tommy. Sweet-talking and warmed from years in the sun. The biggest flirt you know. He makes you feel like the only woman in the room, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. There’s something so easy about him, which makes you feel comfortable.

He’s never boring, just familiar. Worn-in and all feel-good.

The only issue with Tommy is his flirtatious nature. Sure, it works on you, and makes you feel seen. But if he’s that good with his words, touch, and eyes, he must have too much experience. You’re sure he sweet talks every single woman in this town the same way he does with you, which makes you uneasy.

He flirts and doesn’t try to hide it. Makes it clear as day that he wants you. But might also want other women, so you’re not sure if he’s the perfect choice.

Then there's Joel.

Quieter, broader, and stiller. Doesn’t flirt or talk you up the way his brother does, but hovers. Makes you feel pretty with his eyes rather than his words.

He looks for too long, staring at you, whether you’re paying attention or not. His rougher voice settles low in your stomach when he speaks, smoke curling around your ribs and heating up your insides–all the way into your cervix, actually.

He’s much harder to pin down and slower to trust, but Lord, he’s worth the chase. You just know it.

Something about the fact that he makes it so much harder to tell if he wants you than Tommy arouses you. The slow burn of it all, confusion at each of his lingering glances. It gets you wondering, which eventually leaves you more hot and bothered than Tommy can get you. If Joel’d ever let himself get closer, he’d hold on tighter than his brother can.

Tommy is more a sunrise and Joel is a storm on the horizon. But they’re both fucking beautiful and dangerous, all at the same time.

You tap on your bottom lip in the mirror’s reflection, weighing the options. Most days, you don’t let the thought linger for two long. Jackson is small and gossip gets around quick, and you don’t want to ruin the existing flirtatious friendship with one brother and the stolen glances you exchange with the other.

Truth be told, most men wouldn’t be able to handle it very well if they were to find out that one woman was sharing attention with both him and his brother.

But, fuck, the idea of it?

Two men, both strong and stubborn and so big. So much bigger than you. Older, beaten by years of working. They’re burdened, and it makes them hotter to you in some sick way.

One with charm and one with intense heat, both circling you as if wanting to worship you and warn you off at the same time. What would it feel like to be in the middle of that want–to have Tommy’s hot breath and mouth on your neck and Joel’s big hands holding your hips down?

You exhale, slow and deliberate. Your thighs squeeze together and you allow yourself a single quiet smirk in the mirror.

No harm in thinking of it, right? After all, tonight’s just a bonfire. A little whiskey and music and possibly a seat between the Miller brothers on a bench. Not so bad.

So, you settle on the red boots. They match your belt and lipstick, after all. Lacing them up and giving yourself a last look, you head out.

The supposed ‘sweetheart’ of Jackson, ready to stir up trouble and, hopefully, have her way with at least one brother.

Later that night, you arrive just past nine. The bonfire is crackling tall and bright, its flames licking up at the starry sky. The scent of smoke curls through the air, sweetened by sap and pine of the surrounding forest. The low hum of voices–and a guitar being tuned–fills the space.

Tommy catches your eye first, sitting on a hay bale near the fire with one boot planted in the dirt and the other propped up on a small stump. He smiles, not flashy this time, but warm. Warmer than the fire, warmer than the heat beginning to return to your belly.

He knows exactly who you’re here to see.

Joel’s nearby, hiding more out in the corner, further from the fire. He’s tuning his guitar held across his lap, catching sight of you.

The signature look. He doesn’t smile or wave yet, just lips tightening in a greeting as he holds your gaze. Enough to make your breath catch in your chest. He looks back down like it’s nothing, deciding the strings of his old guitar need more attention than you do.

Fair enough, you’re already getting enough in that little outfit. From the men around the fire–Tommy, obviously.

You make your way over with a friendly smile, the firelight catching on your smooth bare legs. The glint of your lip gloss and shine of your hair not going unnoticed by the first brother.

“C’mere. Finally made it!” Tommy pats the spot next to him, thigh brushing yours while you sit. His gaze is quickly drawn to your lap, how short the skirt is–low on your waist but still only mere inches away from exposing your panties.

The warmth of the fire pressing on the two of you and making his skin glow more than it already does feels good, settling the moment into something comfortable. The familiar hum of the forest at night around you, all of your friends and neighbors gathered around the fire.

“I did make it. Can’t deny an invite from you.” You flash a smile back at Tommy, already entirely turned toward his body. With a little bit of whiskey on his breath and a more relaxed outfit now, he seems even more genial to see you tonight.

“Yeah? He chuckles, lifting the hand that isn’t occupied with a bottle to settle it on your thigh. Your smooth, shaven, and moisturized patch of skin that’s all free for him to touch. The bonfire is heating your skin up, and so is Tommy’s touch, making you feel like you’re truly on fire.

“You look good, though. I’m likin’ the gingham on you.” He nods casually, moving the hand up to toy with the bow on the straps of the top. “Lookin’ like a little cowgirl. Would never guess you’re not from the South.”

His voice is so sweet and lazy, more laid back than normally, most likely due to the bottle of whiskey in his other hand.

“Made this top myself,” you answer, stealing the bottle from his hand and taking a long swig. The feeling of it burns your throat, makes you almost sputter. You’re still so young compared to Tommy, and the intolerance to the strong alcohol reminds him of the fact.

He raises his eyebrows, shifting to face you more, forgetting entirely about the fire and his brother thirty feet away, tuning away at a guitar.

“Looks real good. I like it.” He takes the bottle back and drinks, slowly, before setting it down on the ground in front of the hay bale. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the apron and all the flour on your jeans.”

That makes you giggle. Of course you’re known to everyone in Jackson as the sweet girl who bakes, constantly lost in a cloud of flour and never seen without an apron. Valid comment.

“Is that a compliment or an insult, Miller?

“Both,” he chuckles and leans his head back to gaze down your body again, eyes narrowing down on your chest–the way the homemade shirt squeezes your breasts together perfectly. With the way you’re sitting, he’s got a great view down your chest. And you certainly notice–but, obviously, don’t mind. You’re not one to dislike attention.

The whiskey is rough but sweet, lighting your stomach up, and it slowly brings everything around you into a softer blur. The music presses pause on the rest of the world when Joel starts playing his guitar. Low and easy, something old and slow that sinks into your skin.

Everyone quiets down a tiny bit and limits their conversation as Joel gets up and moves closer. Inevitably, he comes right over, plopping down and sandwiching you between you and his brother.

The weight of the two men on your sides is two very different kinds of attention. Tommy’s is neverending, letting you know how he feels. His hand gravitated back to your thigh possessively when Joel sat down, silently pulling your leg against his.

And Joel’s was muted. Barely looking, focused on his guitar. But every chance he got to look away, it drifted toward your lap with his brother’s hand resting on it. If the guitar wasn’t strewn across his body and covering him, it’d be hard to miss the tent forming over his crotch.

The conversations around you died down to a low whisper, leaving you able to soak up Tommy’s touch and Joel’s music. His fingers stretched out on your thigh while he let out a satisfied sigh, lazy and confident and familiar on the skin.

He’d occasionally lean in, whispering all up close in your ear–on purpose, obviously. His breath is warm and smells of the whiskey and faintly of a cigarette he must’ve smoked before you showed up. His touch is unmoving, keeping you grounded by his side like you’re his.

His whispers are a random assortment, making you laugh and quiver all at once. He’d mention something stupid, like making fun of someone across the fire, or he’d lean in and remind you how good your tits look in that little top.

Joel’s playing slowed after a while, then stopped altogether. When he sets his guitar aside without ceremony the conversations pick up around you again.

You can finally take a breath as Tommy backs up and it isn’t as quiet anymore. But within seconds, it all gets more intense. Joel finally lets himself lean in and speak, smelling dangerously of cedar and something darker.

His thigh brushes yours, jaw clenching when he gives you a polite nod.

“Cookie was good earlier. Tommy gave it to me when I got back.”

You don’t even register what he’s talking about for a moment, awfully distracted by the feel of both their thighs pressing into the sides of yours, especially when accompanied by Tommy’s hand that seems to keep moving higher and higher.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” For a girl who’s normally confident, you choke up a little. Tommy laughs to himself, covering his mouth and letting his thumb rub the inside skin of your thigh.

Fuck, they’re actually getting you nervous. This isn’t what you planned for. You turn to look at Joel upon sensing he’s gonna speak again, the slow pull of attraction tightening in your belly.

But he whispers, glancing at Tommy leaning back with his hand splayed so intimately on your leg.

“You’re lettin’ my brother get real close tonight, huh?”

He questions, finally letting on a small smirk. He’s fucking into this. They planned this. And you’re only just now realizing.

It overwhelms you, but it makes the wetness build in your panties more than it may ever have before. The idea that the two brothers actually discussed this beforehand–sharing you–gets you weak.

“Pretty dangerous sittin’ between us like this.” Tommy interrupts before you can respond to Joel, making your head snap back around to him. You almost let out a nervous whimper, you can’t even register what’s happening. But somehow, you’re into it. You let it happen.

“Okay? I like it here.” You manage out with a gulp, eyes trained on Tommy before his brother’s hand lands on your other thigh. Still sassy. Both of them tighten their grips, squeezing at the supple flesh shamelessly as if you’re not all in public right now.

Too gone to care.

Joel snorts, shaking his head, and you look over at him now. He’s smiling, which isn’t too common of a sight. Must really be satisfied with their work right now.

“Careful what you ask for, baby.” He whispers and strokes your skin, hand moving up and down tantalizingly. You don’t know who to look at. Hell, you don’t actually know what you just asked for.

The moment goes entirely silent, the three of you exchanging glances. You–confused, but into it. The two men–seemingly have practiced this scenario millions of times before actually illustrating it.

Tommy’s watching you with a little half-smile, like he’s been waiting for this moment for longer than either of them would like to admit. His gaze zeroes in on your chest yet again, almost predatorily. Then, to Joel–his gaze is unreadable but filled with more desire than you’d like to imagine.

It hits you. Not fear or nerves, but want. This isn’t something to be scared of. Fuck, you were hoping for it in your bedroom while you were getting ready. You wore this outfit just for the hopes of this happening. Said ‘fuck it,’ so why would you be afraid?

In return, you let your hands rest on both of theirs, fingers trailing lightly over their knuckles. Your thumbs brush their skin, and nobody moves. The fire crackles and everyone nearby is laughing, drinking, and–most importantly–distracted.

As if reading your mind, Tommy leans in.

“We could get outta here,” he whispers, almost too casual. “Back to mine. Joel’s. Yours. Wherever you want.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, licking your lips and letting the overwhelming desire shine through once he essentially confirms what’s about to happen.

“Only if you want to.” Joel adds, ever the gentleman compared to his brother.

Their hands slide a little higher on your thigh, wanting and ready, and nothing else is exchanged but a quiet nod of approval from you.

Yet again, you’re the one left breathless.

The next thing you know, you’re at Joel’s, laid out on his bed like prey.

His place wasn’t far from the bonfire, a quiet little house on the edge of Jackson, tucked behind fencing and lots of trees. Quiet in the same way he is. You’ve been here before, dropping off food or supplies, but never like this. Never with your heart thumping this hard, two sets of heavy footsteps made by boots following behind you, two sets of warm hands ready to explore you and converge the different flavors of need in one space.

Joel opened the door without second-guessing anything, no more ‘are you sure?’ The two men gave you a look for confirmation when you reached the bedroom, and that’s all they needed. You, on the other hand, didn’t even have to answer.

Inside his house is warm, very lived-in. Very Joel. An old lamp in the corner and a woodworking table in the living room where he carves little animals and whatnot. He walks ahead, dropping his guitar in its case by the couch while Tommy peels off his jacket and throws it mindlessly on the floor.

You stood quietly for a second to process, and they both just looked at you. The air shifts, thick. So, so heated.

And this time, the older brother moves first–stepping close once you’re in his bedroom. You don’t stop him. His hand comes to your waist, rough and solid, checking one last time that you’re still good with a raise of his eyebrows.

You nod wordlessly, and Joel lifts you up by the waist.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear before tossing you gently onto the bed. Neither of them took the time to get their boots off–or yours. Nothing stopping the three of you.

He climbs over you while Tommy stands back for a bit to watch. In seconds, you feel the first pair of lips on yours–firm and grounding. One big hand on the back of your neck, the other slipping underneath you to the small of your back, pulling you up against him as if he needs it.

Joel tastes amazing. Darker than you imagine Tommy will. More tobacco, stronger liquor.

Tommy steps forward finally, climbing onto the bed next to the two of you and smoothing a hand over your hip. While his brother is on top of you, kissing you, he waits his turn and instead lets his lips brush your shoulder.

Their energy is different, obviously, but they move together in harmony. Joel is slower, more intense, seemingly controlling the moment. Tommy is more free and tactical, his touch lighter but never giving up.

And you let yourself be used.

Growing up as brothers, they had to learn to share. And, naturally, they carried that ability into adulthood. So Joel gets off, freeing your body to his brother.

Tommy laughs, diving right in and attaching his lips to yours. It’s softer but more playful, like you don’t have to take him seriously in the way you just had to with Joel. He encourages you with his hands on your waist, squeezing and tickling at your sides teasingly.

“Tommy,” you gasp and giggle, leaning your head back and breaking the kiss.

“What?” He chuckles in return, peppering the kisses down your chin and to your neck, focusing on the soft area just beneath your ear. That way, when he whispers, it feels even better.

You don’t respond, laughing and laying back while he works at your neck so perfectly. Everything is revolving around you right now. They just want to give you everything.

In minutes, you’re forgetting where you are, overwhelmed by the feeling of not one, but two sets of hands exploring you and worshipping you in every way possible.

“Pretty little thing,” Tommy would laugh, sitting up and tangling his hand in your hair to give it a tug.

Joel was more quiet, but still whispered little instructions. He was more of a guidance while his brother was the fun part: both necessary in the moment.

“C’mere,” Joel whispered, moving back on the bed after you all actually took the moment to remove your shoes. He sits back against the headboard and pillows, spreading his meaty thighs and patting the right one. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping a hand around your waist to get you nice and close.

You comply, climbing right up and settling yourself on his thigh–legs spread and straddling his denim-clad leg. You’re surely leaking and making a mess on it, your skirt pushed up to your waist.

Joel’s head dips down, nose brushing your jaw while he murmurs and begins to guide your hips.

“Good girl. C’mon, you can move, sweet girl.” He manages out, hoarsely, with a bite at your sensitive earlobe. It makes you shudder, following his orders and shifting your hips.

The feeling of his jeans pressed against your clothed pussy elicit quiet gasps from your lips, leaning in and resting your head on his shoulder. He keeps an arm wrapped around you, grounding you against him and ensuring you feel safe while getting off on his thigh like this.

By the foot of the bed, Tommy is forgotten now while Joel’s scent and touch invades your brain. He’s fine with waiting his turn, though. He undoes the buckle of his belt, the clank of metal not disturbing you and his brother.

Discarding his jeans, Tommy pulls himself out of his boxers shamelessly, unable to help himself. He’s been hard since you sat down with him at the bonfire in that pretty outfit. Hell, since he saw you earlier today and you gave him a cookie.

He begins to stroke himself–one hand moving up and down the shaft, stretching himself, while the other rests under his balls and gently tugs at them to heighten the pleasure. His eyes are trained on the way your hips move back and forth on Joel’s leg, the small wet patch he can see forming on the denim fabric, even through your panties.

“She looks so good on you like that, doesn’t she?” Tommy groans, thumb brushing over the tip of his own cock while his brother nods.

“Mm–real pretty.” Joel grumbles, leaning back and letting his head hit the wall when you let out a particularly pretty little moan. His big hands come back to your waist, squeezing it and holding you tight to guide you in a slower rhythm.

You whine, opening your eyes back up to look into his. Eyebrows furrowing, you pout and try to speed up again.

“Baby,” Joel chuckles, squeezing you harder to keep you in place, to keep you going the speed he wants you to. “Gotta slow down for me, yeah? Be good. Take it slow, relax.”

His words are meant to be soothing and encouraging, but the low tone of his voice that gets you so wet only makes it all worse.

“Want–wanna go faster. Please, Joel.” You whimper, trying to rut your hips and speed up the agonizingly slow pace he’s got you going at. “Feels good.”

“I know, I know it feels good.” He sighs, giving up for now and letting you do it how you want to. Tommy laughs from across the bed, amusement and arousal all wrapped into one while he jerks himself off to the sight of you and his brother.

Joel only lets you get off on his thigh for maybe a generous twenty seconds before lifting you up, patting your ass in the process. The pressure was building in your belly, tiring you out, making you feel so good. You were approaching an orgasm in a short time, motivated by the arousal the scene itself produced in your brain, but soon were stopped by his big hands.

“Joel.” You frown, writhing on the bed and reaching down to touch yourself instead when he sets you down.

Tommy sits up, abandoning his achingly hard cock, crawling up to you and grabbing at your wrist.

“Uh-uh. Don’t gotta do that, angel.” He laughs, collecting both of your wrists in one hand and pushing them back. You’re pinned down and whining under him, but eventually give up protesting when you remember it's you versus two–very, very large–men.

He passes your wrists to Joel, who holds them with even more ease due to the size of his hands.

“Let’s make sure Tommy gets some lovin’ too, sweet girl.” Joel kisses you once, a soft peck, holding you down for a moment to let his brother get settled. Both of you watch as Tommy fully discards his boxers, stripping off his shirt and socks in the process until he’s entirely bare.

The man is a work of art. Tanned skin, some sun damage from always working outside–little spots all over his body, and freckles. He’s covered in hair, which you’d always expected due to the thick head of it he carries.

His lower stomach, especially. It’s got the most gorgeous spread of tiny hairs leading to something even more beautiful–thick and wiry. Not graying just yet. His cock is long but thin, already red and twitching from jerking himself off to the sight of you just a couple minutes ago. The fat tip of it is leaking desperately, just begging to be treated.

Tommy lays back, seated against the headboard like Joel was, his legs spread out wide. His head tips back lazily, sinking into the bed and patting his thighs.

Joel lets your wrists go, and you’re lunging forward like an animal in seconds. His thick, hairy thighs open to accommodate you while you kneel between them on the bed.

“Nice n’ big.” You whisper and giggle, hands on his thighs while you sort of nestle your head down for now. Nuzzling into his crotch, you worship Tommy’s cock–nose exploring every crevice, tongue darting out under his heavy balls.

He moans out quietly, hand finding your hair before you even begin and wrapping it up into a tight makeshift ponytail.

“Look at you, baby.” Tommy praises, lifting his hips up to encourage you to take him. You were resting your head on his thigh and taking a moment, but the sight of him literally aching for you has you moving quickly.

You grab the base of his cock, giving it a slight squeeze to draw more noises out of the man. Satisfied by a little grunt, you snicker and open your mouth, taking his tip into it eagerly.

“Fuck.” He jolts, head tipping back and eyes shutting happily. You focus on only the tip for a moment, swirling your tongue around the head and collecting the embarrassing amount of precum before sinking your head down and taking as much of his length as you can.

You sputter for a moment, just as you did earlier on the whiskey, but regain your bearings and start to move. His tip is hitting the back of your throat as if urging you to take more, but you physically can’t. He’s so big,

Tommy’s hand tightens in your hair, a little rude with the way he’s tugging and forcing your head down.

“Jesus, Tommy.” Joel interrupts after watching carefully for a few moments. “Careful with ‘er. She’s gonna gag.”

The older brother’s hand comes to your back, gently stroking it to keep you grounded while his brother forces your head down on his cock. Tommy doesn’t mind too much, easing up on the pushing but not entirely stopping. He’s always been much less of a gentleman.

“You’re okay, angel. Go slow if you have to.” Joel whispers to you, patting your back before standing up and discarding his own clothes. You hear the sound of fabric and a belt hitting the floor, and want nothing more than to look.

But you can’t, because his brother is holding your head down on his dick. It’s not all bad, though. You’re still eagerly taking it, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him with near-perfect technique. He’s very vocal, noisily encouraging you to somehow work him even better.

The mattress sinks as Joel returns from undressing, and while you can’t see, you feel where he’s going. While your head is buried between Tommy’s thighs, Joel gently unfolds your body and pulls your skirt off for you, leaving you in pretty panties and that damn gingham top.

He smiles, stretching the elastic of your underwear and letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp.

“Tommy, look at this.” He rubs your ass, giving it a gentle smack, showing off the fabric. It’s little cherries over the same red gingham that your top is made of. Matching, making you look like the prettiest cowgirl they’ve ever seen.

Tommy snorts, opening his eyes and giving your head another push down on his lap at the sight.

“How cute. Bet you wore 'em just for us, ain’t that right?” He smiles and uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, stroking it with a thumb while you suck on him so perfectly. “Fuckin’ slut.”

Joel shoots him a glance to be nice, because he’s already pushing your head down. He shouldn’t be calling you a slut like that.

“Ignore him.” He advises you, rubbing the skin of your ass that’s now pink from the little slap. He pulls at the fabric, tugging it down gently and working it over your feet before throwing them on the floor. On his way back to your ass, he kisses the back of your feet, ankles, calves, and thighs, leaving a trail of fire all the way to where he really wants to be.

His fingers go straight to the source, not even bothering to spread your legs. He digs two digits into your folds, groaning lewdly at the filthy feeling of how wet you are. Soaking his fingers, soaking the bed underneath you. Genuinely dripping for the two brothers.

“If only you could feel how wet this girl is,” Joel huffs in amusement, slipping his fingers back out and gripping the supple flesh of your ass again. The loss of touch elicits a quiet whine from the lips you have wrapped around Tommy’s cock.

“I bet.” Tommy answers, groaning and leaning his head back yet again in pleasure when he hits particularly deep in that warm, wet mouth of yours.

Joel grabs at your body with a mix of gentleness and fervor, lifting your hips until your knees are able to support your weight. Your head is down between his brother’s legs, your back arched, and your ass in the air for him to do whatever he desires with.

He leans over you, pressing a trail of kisses down your back–the center of it. Between your shoulder blades and down your spine, while his fingers trail all over your soft skin. Exploring. Taking his time.

He ends the trail at your back dimples, the spot where your butt and the small of your back meet. One last little kiss before he sits back up, spreading your legs just a bit so he can fit.

Once Joel ensures you’re not overwhelmed with what you’re doing with Tommy, he grabs his own cock and strokes it before gently pressing it against your ass. You moan around the other man’s length, and Joel taps him to let you have a break.

Tommy releases his grip on your hair, gasping when your mouth comes off of him–a string of spit connects his crotch and your mouth due to the excessive slobbering you’d been doing. Dirty and beautiful.

“Fuck.” The two men say, almost in perfect unison.

You take a moment to catch your breath, glancing back at Joel behind you when you remember he’d gotten undressed.

And, lord, he’s somehow more perfect than Tommy.

He’s built. Broad, hairy chest and a little tummy coming over his hips. Looks like he works out but certainly doesn’t deny a beer when offered. He’s hairier, even, a thicker and grayer trail leading to his pubic bone that’s pressed against your ass currently.

Older. Seemingly more experienced. He’s scarred and hardened, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. The mere sight of him makes you moan.

Both of them laugh at the little strained moan you let out, Joel’s hand rubbing your hip while Tommy’s strokes your hair.

“You like him that much?” Tommy chuckles, kissing your forehead.

You nod mindlessly, still searching for the air you’d lost when your head was getting pushed down.

“Mm–mmhm. Like Joel. A lot. Fuck.” You manage out, dropping your head back on Tommy’s thighs and resting it there.

Joel smirks and lets the hand on your hip travel back to your ass, rubbing it before gripping his cock and giving it a few small strokes. “Yeah, baby?”

You nod again and groan against the fatty flesh of the thigh under you, kissing his warm skin. Your hips naturally move backward when you feel movement behind you, subconsciously begging for Joel. Your back arches as well, giving him quite the sight.

“You want it? Gonna take me good with my brother’s cock in your mouth?”

He smiles, teasing your dripping hole with his own leaking tip. Of course you want it. You’ve been dreaming of this all day–maybe even weeks before. But back then, it was a fantasy. Never a possibility in your mind. Now, you’re bent over, face down and ass up between the two of them. You couldn’t want it more.

“Yes, please.” You gasp out, arching more and forcing your ass back against Joel’s cock. You feel him twitch.

He hums in approval, not saying anything else before lining himself up. At the feeling of him against you, you know what you’re supposed to do in return. Tommy is back in your mouth in mere seconds, and you’re sucking and slurping to the best of your ability in hopes that it’ll get you more. More of Joel. More praise. More cock.

Joel slides in once Tommy looks satisfied, slowly stretching your tight pussy out. The noises are filthy, squelching and wet.

“Fuck–” He groans, panting and bracing himself by gripping your lower back. He isn’t even fully in yet and he’s ready to come all over you. He’s dreamed of painting you in ropes of release, of fucking you senseless and filling you up with his seed. Now it’s happening, and, God, he doesn’t know if he can even handle a minute.

You whine around Tommy, but he doesn’t push your head down again. He knows it probably hurts a bit, given the Millers are genetically big men. They let you adjust to Joel before resuming, going nice and slow.

“Pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, taking me this good. Just like that.” Joel becomes more vocal as he moves inside you, picking up the pace slowly, ensuring you’ve adjusted enough to take his size before doing anything you can’t handle.

The praise makes your head spin. Apparently, Tommy’s is too. You feel him twitch more in your mouth, see the way his hips are stuttering with each little bob of your head.

So you pick up pace. And so does Joel. Everything gets more intense.

Sucking in your cheeks, you take Tommy’s cock so deep that it hits your uvula, resulting in a soft gag. His first instinct is to let you take a break, but you continue despite the tears spilling from your eyes and the urge to vomit increasing.

Your hands fiddle with his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze that draws out the loudest moan of the night from the man. Success.

If you could smile, you’d be doing it. But he’s so deep in your mouth that you can’t move a muscle–not until you feel hot strings of release fill your throat.

You didn’t realize Tommy was that close, but he fills your mouth up more than it’s ever been stuffed. You’ve never felt a man come so hard. So much. He’s shaking as he finishes, piping it into your mouth and seeing it dribble down your chin as he pulls out.

“Ah-” he whimpers, actually whimpers, when your lips reattach to his tip to give it a final kiss.

Joel sees his brother’s orgasm, getting a little jealous. He would give anything to be filling your pretty mouth with his come right now, cleaning it off your lips where it spills out. But he remembers he’s the one inside you, and he has a better dumpster than Tommy does right now.

Once Tommy’s cock is removed from your mouth, he knows he can go a little harder. He wants to go a little harder. He can actually hear your pretty little moans and whimpers now that you’re not occupied.

When Joel starts hitting your cervix, the lewd noises slipping from your throat are unstoppable. You still haven’t swallowed the come, gurgling while moaning and trying to keep it in your mouth–almost to savor it.

His hand comes forward to grip your hair, remaking that damn makeshift ponytail his brother was just using. He tugs, forcing your back to arch as your head flies back with a whimper. He’s fucking you harder now, one hand gripping your hair and the other on your hip to press your cunt as close to him as he can possibly get it, pounding into you at a near-painful speed.

“Joel,” you cry out, more tears slipping from your pretty eyes that are quickly cleaned off by Tommy. You gasp and finally swallow his come, groaning in satisfaction and letting your head fall forward until it’s rudely tugged back by the other brother.

“You got it, darlin.’ You can take it. C’mon now, don’t go dumb on me.”

He groans, the hand on your hip giving your ass a solid smack. You cry out again, squealing with the mix of pain and pleasure. Pain, mostly now, as he’s fucking you deep and painfully harsh.

“Hold her still. She’s shakin,’ Tommy.” Joel leans forward with a growl, draping his body over yours and letting his head fall to your shoulder while he fucks you from behind. His teeth bare, nibbling on any exposed skin he can get, licking and sucking and kissing like an animal.

Tommy’s hands come to your shoulders, holding you still and shushing you while you cry under Joel’s hard body. “Almost there, angel. We’ve got you.”

And within the next minute, you and Joel’s orgasms approach at once. You can tell with him because his pace gets sloppy, hips slamming into your ass uncontrollably and inconsistently. He can tell with you because you’re impossibly more vocal, whimpering out and trembling.

When your thighs start to shake, he snakes a hand down your body and attaches his index and middle finger to your clit. That’s your weakness.

It’s not even eight seconds after he touches your clit that you’re coming, gasping and writhing and falling forward against Tommy. Joel follows suit, finishing deep inside you and smacking your ass as he comes.

The next thirty seconds go silent. You fell forward against Tommy, he pulled you into his arms. Joel’s now-soft cock slipped out, leaving you pumped full of his seed.

Tommy strokes your hair, kissing your forehead in an attempt to get your shaking body down from the intense high his brother had just given you. The other man lays next to the two of you, senseless now and in his own little world. His eyes are pressed shut, sexy pants coming from his mouth and into his pillow.

The room is quiet and hazy, heavy with sweat and the familiar scent of sex. It’s absolutely filthy. Wrecked.

Your limbs are all tangled up, breath catching. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s earned.

The sheets are tangled and damp, clinging to your thighs when Joel manages to sit up. He grumbles, moving closer and cuddling into your side that isn’t occupied by his brother.

On the floor are your clothes, laying scattered and forgotten. Tommy is on your other side, hand curled over your hip and quiet breath in your neck where his head is buried. Joel is curling onto your left, kissing your sweaty shoulder and arm, anywhere he can get.

And you–God. You’re spent, utterly and completely fucked-out. Used. Wrecked.

You’re past satisfied, actually sure that your bones probably aren’t solid anymore. Your limbs are too heavy to move, cheek pressed to Tommy’s chest and an arm slung over his brother’s body. They hold you like they’re afraid you’ll float off somewhere.

“Nothin’ left in me now.” Joel mumbles, lips brushing your skin. His voice is hoarse and dried out, more of an exhale than actual speech. “Not movin’ at all.”

The only part of him that can move is his fingers, trailing so slowly up and down your spine.

Tommy nods and huffs in agreement, kissing your cheek and pulling you closer. You just smile–lazy and slow and perfectly wrecked. Everything aches in the best kind of way. You feel as if you’ve been pulled apart and put back together with hands that know exactly what they’re doing.

Your throat is burning, hips stinging from Joel’s grip, your pussy leaking out his seed. And no one said much. They didn’t have to.

The air is thick and sticky, but also soft. Comfortable. Hearts beating in sync and bodies pressed so closely that you can’t tell where one ended and the next began.

Tommy is the last to speak–“Might have to stay here ‘til winter. Jus’hibernating.”—and you laugh. Blissed out and tangled between the men. Just laughed, warm and slow, like the fire hadn’t gone out yet.

WOO that was a journey to write. I’m going to hell. Love yall though 💋💋

TUMBLR ONLY LETS ME TAG 50 👎👎 I’m so sorry to everyone else ik i got like over 100 asking to be tagged so i tried my best

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flwrkid14 · 2 months ago

Text

Tim Drake's Immortal Babysitter

Tim Drake has always had someone watching over him. The Bast just don't know it.

Because before Tim was Red Robin—before he was even walking—the Drakes made a deal. They were rich, busy, and too occupied with their globe-trotting lifestyle to actually raise their son. But they still wanted Tim protected. Watched over. Cared for.

Enter Danny.

Young-looking, strangely unaging, with sharp blue eyes and a warm smile, he seemed like a responsible college kid just looking for a babysitting gig. Only he wasn’t. Because behind the casual charm and the easy grin was Phantom, the immortal protector of Amity Park—now moonlighting as the personal bodyguard of one Tim Drake.

The Drakes paid him an obscene amount of money to keep their son safe. But Danny didn’t do it for the money. He did it because he promised.

And Danny always keeps his promises.

-—

Tim doesn’t remember a time without Danny.

Danny, who stayed with him when his parents were gone for months at a time. Danny, who dried his tears and soothed his nightmares. Danny, who bandaged scraped knees and taught him how to ride a bike. Danny, who picked him up from school and brought him home to a warm meal, even when his parents didn’t care enough to call.

And when Tim got older—when he grew sharper, smarter, and far too observant—he started noticing things. How Danny never seemed to age. The way Danny was always there, no matter what. How he could do things no normal person could do—like pull Tim out of the path of an oncoming car and somehow appear twenty feet away a second later, holding him safely in his arms.

Tim figured it out by the time he was ten.

"You’re Phantom, aren’t you?" he asked one night, voice steady, too sure for a child. Danny stared at him for a moment, then huffed out a tired laugh. "Yeah, Tim. I am." Tim blinked once. "Cool. Can you teach me how to fight?"

Danny had laughed so hard he nearly cried. And then, he did teach him.

-—

So by the time Tim became Robin, Danny already knew.

He didn’t try to stop him. He didn’t tell him it was too dangerous. He just smiled wryly, ruffled Tim’s hair, and made him promise to let Danny help.

That way, when Tim was too tired to make it home? Danny was there, carrying him back to his apartment. When Tim got injured? Danny was the one who patched him up before anyone else could even find him. When Tim couldn’t stand after a fight? Danny was the one pulling him into his arms, flying him away before the family even realized he was gone.

And no one knew.

The Bats didn’t notice the subtle extra layer of protection. The faint wisp of cold air that followed Tim after patrols. The second shadow lingering on the rooftops.

None of them saw the glimmer of white hair that flickered out of sight or the flash of toxic green eyes that glared from the dark whenever someone got too close to Tim.

And Tim? Tim was happy.

Even when Bruce found out about Tim’s parentless situation and, with all his good intentions, suggested adoption—offering to bring Tim into Wayne Manor, to make him part of the family—Tim just shook his head.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said easily. Bruce blinked. "Tim, I can give you a home. You don’t have to—" "I already have a home," Tim interrupted softly. Because he did. Because Danny was his family.

-—

The family doesn’t know. They don’t know that when Tim comes back from a rough patrol, there’s already a cup of hot chocolate waiting for him at home. That when Tim is too tired to train, there’s someone helping him stretch and taking care of his body. That when Tim doesn’t answer his comm, it’s because Danny is already there.

And when Tim is Red Robin, moving with practiced ease through Gotham, Phantom is always nearby, invisible to everyone else but always watching over him.

Tim doesn’t need to be adopted. He doesn’t need a Bat symbol on his chest to feel safe. Because he has Danny, and Danny has him.

And that's all he'll ever need.

#tim drake #danny phantom #danny fenton #batfam #dc x dp #janet definitely knew there was something special about danny which is why she hired him instead of some professional 5 star nanny #danny becomes tim's pseudo father #tim basically gets adopted by danny

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orphicmusings · 2 months ago

Text

nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby

summary: the aftermath of what happened in skyhaven with pre-relationship sylus. hurt/comfort, exploring mc’s trauma.

A simultaneous sigh blooms from both of your lungs as the last wanderer crumbles into oblivion. The dust of its essence floated up to the polluted night sky of the N109 zone, painting artificial stars for the pair of victors below. Sylus lifts his gaze to you after he scrapes what’s left of the aftermath from his fingernails. He looks infuriatingly unaffected. You, however…

“You look like shit.” He remarks playfully, his eyes softening as he holds out his hand to help you up. You, like he anticipates, softly slap it away and get up on wobbly legs. “Fuck off.” You retort, still trying to catch your breath, and he simply smiles- striding next to you and subtly offering you his weight to lean on. You tried stubbornly standing on your own, but found yourself surrendering to his quiet help as you walked back to his bike.

“I’m not letting you ride back to Linkon like this.” He huffed, handing you his spare helmet, the one that is practically yours at this point. “Spend the night at the base.” Coming from him, it sounded more of a purring command than a gentle suggestion. “Get some beauty sleep.”

You had felt your muscles tense and your heart clenched as you were rapidly reminded of the last time you stayed over someone else’s place. The sound of doors locking, the pills, the confusion, the breathing man that you still mourned. Before you could refuse, though, a traitorous yawn escaped your throat. You knew he was right, that you were in no shape to travel home, and it’s not like he could exactly traipse into Linkon at the moment to accompany you. Besides, you’ve been fighting alongside him for a while now, and while he has little weaknesses, you’re willing to exploit them if need be. “Alright.” You breathe your surrender as you put the helmet on, bracing yourself for his driving skills.

Luke and Kieran greet you at the door like eager puppies. What happened, boss? Boss lady? Did ya kill something? How many? How bloody? Any guts?

Sylus held out a commanding hand and answered for you, thankfully. “Don’t ambush the poor girl, she’s beat up.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “I’m not beat up-”

“Come.” He holds his arm out for you, and you defeatedly take it, blindly following wherever he deigns to go.

“My head…” You groaned at the harsh overhead kitchen light being flicked on, rubbing your temples. “Does the big bad mob boss happen to have ibuprofen?”

“I’m not headache proof, believe it or not.” He exhaled a small chuckle. “Sit down.” He ushered you to the sofa across from the kitchen table. You obliged, but not because he told you to, of course. You were achey, dirty and exhausted. He held a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other, and you hesitated slightly as you let him give them to you. Turning the pills over in your fingers with a squint of your eyes, you looked for the label etched into the chalky red circles to identify that it was, in fact, ibuprofen.

Sylus noticed. Of course he noticed, he always does. “What?” He tilts his head, confused, but his tone still holds a hint of safe and familiar teasing. “You think I’m slipping you something?”

Swallowing back those nagging memories again along with the medicine, you force a chuckle. “Can never be sure with a lawless scoundrel like you, can I?”

He grinned, one of those rare smiles of his, toothy and reaching for his ruby eyes. “I may be a lawless scoundrel, sweetheart, but I’m not a monster.”

Not a monster, because a monster would do that.

Your best friend in the whole world would do that.

A deep breath left you, ready to be rid of this conversation topic. “Can I take a shower?”

His wide grin melted down to his signature smug smirk once again. “In which wing?”

Sylus’s living situation was fucking ridiculous. Four bathrooms with showers, three of them with tubs. For, what, three people? You shake your head in disbelief as he leads you to a guest room. Just as lavish as the rest of the place, the first thing that stares back at you is the neatly made king sized bed. A leather futon sits across it, right next to an enormous closet. Before you can gawk at any other evidence of luxury in the room, he shuts the door behind you. Your gaze instinctively flies to the knob, the phantom click still ringing in your ears. Your shoulders hunch, posture stilling as you find yourself waiting for it— but the door remains unlocked. If Sylus noticed, he gave you the grace of ignoring it and deciding he teased you enough for now. He opens the closet, unhooking a hanger from inside, draping a plush back bathrobe from it. “This should fit you.” You ran your hands along the fluffy material, unable to stop touching it. “And could I wash my clothes after-“

“I will.” He assures you with an interruption. “Leave them outside the door. I’ll find something laying around for you to change into so you don’t have to wait for them to dry.” You nodded, not expecting this level of consideration from him. It brings an irritating, fond heat to your cheeks. “Right. Thank you.”

“Just being a good host.” He smirks, opening the bathroom door. The bathroom was, of course, also fucking ridiculous. Dark marble walls, spotless black tile floors. A black Japanese bathtub next to the spacious shower stall. Woody, spicy potpourri wafted through the air from a bowl on the sink. He moves to shut the door, and you turn. “Um…” Swallow. “Is it okay to keep the door unlocked?” He frowned in confusion, and you quickly added, “It’s the steam. Too much in an enclosed space, I get a headache and I already have one, so I-“

“Okay.” He simply agrees, leaving you no room to over-explain and lie further. You’re almost taken aback with the ease he’s treating you with, but if you think about it, he’s always just accepted. He may question once or twice, but always nods his head without judgment.

You showered all of the blood and grime off your skin, but the reminder of Skyhaven clung under your fingernails no matter how much you scrubbed. It was something you had been pushing away from the forefront of your mind for weeks, almost a month now.

It’s not what you think it is, you remind yourself as you clench your fist, watching the hot water droplets roll off your knuckles. It’s Caleb. He was trying to protect me…

“No, we’re not doing this right now!” You mumbled aloud to yourself. Think, think, think of something else. You abruptly turned the valve to the wall, the water turning freezing cold. Your breathing seemed to slow down with the ice hitting your veins, and by the time you caught two chills, you stepped out and toweled off. The robe felt nice against your damp skin, the fuzz of it all absorbing the water droplets quickly. Opening the door, you see the clothes Sylus left for you in a neat pile: two items. A black satin button down with an “S” monogrammed into the breast pocket with golden embroidery, and grey basketball shorts. A dry snort found its way out of your nose. What a look.

You swam in them, of course, but in a cozy way. You folded the waistband of the shorts until they would aptly rest on your hips, and you didn’t mind the way the shirt’s sleeves hung past your fingers. The shirt smelled like him. Like his stupidly nice cologne, the familiar scent of spices and leather on the collar.

You let your exhausted body drive you to sleep.

The door is locked.

The eyes you used to seek comfort in refuse to soften.

You blindly take his sleeping pills.

The door is locked.

He pins you down on the sofa, next to a photo of the two of you in a frighteningly similar position, play-fighting and laughing.

He threatens to wrap a collar around your throat.

Your pleas fall on deaf ears.

The man in front of you is breathing, but he is long dead.

The door is locked.

Your heart drops you awake, out of breath and eyes watery.

You are not in your bed.

Where are you?

You push the covers off you before you could even remember, rushing to swing the door open. The force of the mahogany hitting the wall got the attention of your gracious host.

“Sweetie…” A deep voice rumbled up your spine. Sylus.

You’re with Sylus.

The pet name lacked all the familiar playful condescension, more of a brace, a concerned approach to a wild, wounded animal. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer at first, your clouded mind still assessing the situation. Your shoulders relax a fraction as you register your surroundings, Sylus’s base. You spent the night here after a hunt. You’re with Sylus, you want to be here, and the door was unlocked. Your grip on the doorknob loosens. Sylus slowly comes out from behind you and into your field of vision. “Sit.” He ushers you back into the room, sitting on the bed and patting the silk sheets. You slowly obey, perching on the bed with your knees hugged to your chest. A gentle expression paints his face, something you could’ve sworn you’ve never seen before. “I’m going to ask again.” He urges softly, slowly, the brisk command his tone usually carried melted away.

You can lie to anyone in your life. You could have said it was a bug in your blankets. A noise, he thought of an intruder. Even a nightmare about something else. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man in front of you who looks worried for the first time you’ve seen it. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man who seems to know your very soul despite only knowing you for a handful of months.

You don’t even try, clenching your fists so tight you’re sure your fingernails would draw blood out of the meat of your palm.

“I can’t tell you…” You murmured, holding back the flood. “Because if I do, it becomes real.”

He frowned, his head tilting to the side slightly. He pushed a soft smile out of the corner of his mouth. “I won’t tell reality if you won’t, sweetheart.”

You exhaled out of your nose shortly, an amused puff of air followed by a sniffle. “No, I’m…it’s serious.”

“I know.” He sat back on his elbows, blanketing the atmosphere with a sense of leisure and ease. That was something you had to admit he was good at. “I’ve noticed.”

You turn to him. “What?”

“You checked the pills I gave you.” He started. “I thought that was a one off, maybe you being extra careful, but then you announced you were gonna shower with the door unlocked-“

You scoffed shakily. “Okay, I didn’t announce-“

“The point is…” He interrupted. “You’ve been…off tonight.”

You don’t know how to answer. You know that at this point, if you open your mouth, the tears will start free falling.

“You don’t have to explain.” Fuck him for always reading your mind. “But you just need to tell me you’re alright. No guest feels unsafe under this roof.”

“It’s not you.” You assure shakily, resting your chin on your knees. “It’s…a long story.”

He nodded, accepting again. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Um…” You suck in a breath through your nose. Here we go. The tube of toothpaste is squeezed. Your voice is slow, measured as you continue. “Remember about three weeks ago I went to Skyhaven?”

You began to unload. From the top. He knew of the explosion, the one you wrongfully blamed him for. The reminder of that moment brings a flash of mortified heat to your cheeks, expecting him to bring it up. You pause for it, the tease, the coy ‘Yes, kitten, I’m so bad,’ but it doesn’t come. His eyes just pave a delicate path down your face, waiting for you to continue. You watch them widen slightly when you tell him your childhood best friend survived, and that you found him up there. Your words shake and choke in your throat when you get to the next part, tears pricking the back of your eyes. You squeeze them shut, and feel a feather-light weight on your hand; his covering yours. A soft affirmation, a silent I’ve got you. The action is so tender, it pushes even more tears to your waterline. You purse your trembling lips at the gentleness of it all, the opposite of the force you two exuded over one another when you first met. You shoot him point blank in the chest, and he holds your hand like it’s precious gold.

“Sweetie…” He looks at you as if the sight of your face twisted in tears makes him violently ache. “Don’t cry.”

Which of course, makes you cry more. He closes the distance between you within a second, pulling you into his side. “I’m trying not to.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He whispers gently, rubbing his thumb over your bare shoulder, the collar of his shirt hanging off of you. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

It takes a few minutes to gather the words, because how exactly do you say, I think my best friend held me hostage in his home and slipped me pills but I think it’s not really him based on zero evidence?

His thumb stopped its soothing rhythm. “He what?”

You cringe and stammer. You feel caught, for some irrational reason. “I-I know what it sounds like, but-”

“No.” He shook his head, his tone still soft but firm. “No, you don’t have to protect him.” He has to bite back the snarl in his voice, fight to keep his words gentle. “Not after he does this…” He wipes a tear from your cheek, his fingers lingering on the skin for a moment. “Not after he does this to you.” His voice shakes alongside yours, for different reasons. “You don’t need to tell me anything more, but you don’t protect him, either.”

You look up at him, drawing in a deep breath. It makes you realize that’s exactly what you’ve been doing all this time, refusing to acknowledge it. While he was ruining you, you were protecting his memory. At the same time, though, what you know about the professor and Caleb’s abnormal behavior flipping like a switch makes you doubt it was fully him that did this to you. Even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t mean it didn’t affect you so deeply that you’re crying into the arms of the person you’d least expect. You watch his fists clench. “He didn’t…” A hesitation. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

You vehemently shake your head and you could hear a small breath of relief. “It wasn’t like that.” You go to explain again, to defend him, but stop yourself. “It was so scary.” He breathes a deep sigh, tightening his arms around you.

“I know.” He whispers. “I know, sweet girl, but you were brave.”

You scoff tearfully. “No I wasn’t.”

“You’re here.” He pointed out, brushing his hand through your hair. “Not there. I know your prowess firsthand.”

A pathetic half-laugh exits your chest, followed by more sobs. He holds you even tighter as you cling to his grounding familiarity. He does that for as long as you need it, waiting patiently as he assures you you did the right thing, that you’re safe with him, that he could walk into Linkon and take you home right now, bounty be damned; whatever it is you need to hear.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers into your hair. Your head is atop his chest, laying down now. Your eyes are closed, and he can tell you’ve cried yourself to sleep. “Always have. Always will.”

When your breaths turn steady, he moves slightly to get his phone from his pocket. One hand on your back, the other on the keyboard, he types a message to Luke and Kieran.

Farspace Fleet Colonel. Lives in Skyhaven. Name’s caleb. Need any and all information there is to know ASAP.

Another message.

Boss Lady will not let you hurt him, as much as I am dreaming the different ways I could make him hurt right now. Do not go after him. Just watch.

Two pairs of thumbs up from the twins follow the message, not needing any further instruction or explanation. He locks his phone and leans his head against the pillow, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. It’s quiet now, the only sound surrounding him are your soft breaths and Mephisto’s caws into the night as he suddenly takes a trip up north.

#my writing #sylus #sylus x reader #sylusmc #sylus x mc #sylus angst #sylus fluff #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus qin #love and deepspace

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