#Thanks also for requesting and being nice about it

[lovemepartly]

pathetic-bf!gi-hun ✩ headcanons

warnings: 18+, smut. pre-games gi-hun bc he was so cute and pathetic and I NEED HIM??

a/n: i love writing for gi-hun sm… thank you to all the people requesting him it motivates me to write more for him😌 also im probably gonna make some post-game bf!gi-hun headcanons… lmk if that’s something you guys want

sfw ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

• gi-hun is late 90% of the time. if you agree to dinner at 5pm, just know he’s probably going to show up thirty minutes late, out of breath from running to your apartment. you almost want to be mad at him but he’s holding a bouquet in his hand. and— well, it’s a little crumpled, but he means well. plus, you can’t stay mad at him with those eyes.

• loves loves loves physical touch. it doesn’t matter what it is, he just always wants to be holding you in some way. whether it’s a lazy hand wrapped around your waist, your fingers interlaced, or just resting his head on your lap while you play with his hair.

• seeks comfort from you like no other, because you’re different. when he comes home late at night, shoulders slumped, and a new bruise on his face from a fight he got into, you don’t scold him. you just pull him into a hug, kissing him softly, and help him into bed. and he loves you for it.

• gi-hun is constantly planning for his future with you, even though his current reality isn’t the best one.

“one day i’m gonna take you to a nice beach, aein, in another country.” he’ll murmur, his fingers tracing over your bare skin. you can only smile at his optimism.

• way too kind for his own good. it’s a quality you love about him, the way he’s always trying to help everyone— even strangers, but it also makes your heart hurt.

• gi-hun keeps every small thing you give him. whether it’s a card, movie tickets, or a wrapper from your favorite candy. they’re subtle, small reminders of you— the one constant in his messy, chaotic life.

nsfw ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

• gi-hun’s cheeks flush when you take control, even outside of the bedroom. when you tie his tie, adjust his collar, whisper anything in his ear, he’s done for.

• sooo vocal. whines, whimpers, and incoherent mumbles under his breath when you tease him.

• gi-hun literally lives for praise. he’ll be messily thrusting into you, hair sticking to his forehead, and the second you mumble something like “you feel so good” he stills, cheeks already flushed. also loves being called “good boy.”

• always asks before doing anything. it’s a small, shy, “can i…?” before burying his face in between your thighs. speaking of, he loves eating you out. he’s messy with it and whines into your core like he’s the one receiving. basically, eats you out like he’s worshipping you.

• he loves taking an innocent bath with you after sex. just you, laying against his chest, while his fingers idly trace patterns into your bare skin.

[zepskies]

I feel like we have no choice but to write angst with this character! loll (God how I love that Amber x Mark gif 🤣)

Ahhh thanks, Wayne!! 🥹 I told you, the first thing I saw when Michelle gave me that color palette prompt was "seasons." The colors were just perfect for it, so I thought the dividers were a simple way to capture that 💗

Her answer took me tf out! Loved her bold sass 😏🔥

Ehehe that's the line where I found the character tbh. 😂 Mark needs to be with someone who can keep even him on his toes!

Oh, interesting! Also ballsy of Mark to date his boss’ daughter. Let’s hope he doesn’t screw it up 🤞🙈

Right?! lmfao I figured if anyone was gonna, it'd be Mark 😂😂

I’m getting a queasy feeling in my stomach… I genuinely already love them! Their little beach day in Santa Cruz was so cute 🥹 (and my love for Cali is never ending, too) But my heart hurts so much because I think I can guess where this is going. WHY ALEX 😫

Aww yay!! 🥹 This is why I also loved getting your request and Michelle's at the same time, because I saw how this one could later connect to "Hits Different" when I looked up the lyrics 🥲☀️

Poor reader! Hard enough when a parent is dying, but even worse when you have to watch them go 🥺 (And so close to the wedding as well! Truly can understand her pain that her father didn’t get to walk her down the aisle anymore 😭)

Ugh, exactly, on both counts! 😓 And of course it's just fuel on the fire for Mark's later reluctance to tell her about his diagnosis.

(Her father's death is actually based on how my grandfather passed away in December. 💙 He was a smoker for 30 years, quit for 40, but it still unfortunately caught up to him in his 80s.)

(I had to lmao)

Bahaha winter is definitely coming! 🤣 Jon Snow = perfection

Men… lol We’ve had this discussion before with your headcanons about men and doctors/being sick. I think we can add Mark to that list 😂

omfg yeah!! 🤣🤣 Mark would literally be the reigning king of medical man denial. And that reminds me, I'm gonna have to add Mark to the HC lineup soon! 🤭

Dear God, the sister’s already a lot 🙈 You better ain’t trying to impress your sister’s fiancé, girl…

Ahaha thank you for catching that hint! She's trying to impress somebody all right 😅

The fact her father died just months before from cancer just adds such a nice and angsty layer to this whole story. Of course Mark wouldn’t want her to go through that again after he’d witnessed how the sickness and death of her father affected her. And I do understand where he’s coming from when he essentially doesn’t want to tie her to a “dead man walking,” but man, does it break my heart. It’s such a hard situation for both. Ultimately, he should’ve involved her in the decision, though. The choice should be hers if she can handle it or not, if she wants out etc.

Aw thank you! 🥲 I was trying to think of added reasons why Mark wouldn't want to tell her, and this to me felt the most impactful, especially because her dad was Mark's boss, and in my head, his mentor too. 💔

And so agree -- he should've just talked to her, even if it was probably going to be one of the most difficult conversations of their entire relationship.

Jesus fucking Christ, that makes it even sadder and more messed up 😭 (I do love your brain for this masterpiece of cruelty)

Ehehe sorryyyyyyy. 🤭 But see? He wanted to have The Talk with her, he just never got there 🥲

But man, the fact he legit was so drunk that he stumbled into the wrong room and was basically taken advantage of in this state by her sister?! I hope the bitch burns in hell, seriously 😅

Ughhhh you and me both. As you saw in Part 2, Rachel deserves every bit of the hellfire lmao

It’s been my headcanon as well that he probably cheated on Melinda with Rachel to give her an “easy out” after finding out his diagnosis, but in my opinion, it’s even worse than actually cheating on her because he’s a stupid, selfish ass because it would’ve meant he never really love her to begin with. But doing that shit to someone you genuinely love is messed up 🙈

This was my initial instinct too for Melinda and Rachel, and while it's very plausible, it doesn't make Mark sympathetic for that exact reason. If he was going to marry a girl he didn't love enough to simply tell the truth and not cheat on her right before the effing wedding, then he's a POS for that. I really hope it comes out that he fibbed to Amber about that.

And since you've already read Catastrophic Blues (tysm 🥹 - can't wait to get into your lovely amazing feedback) I'll tell you this part:

Even in this story I debated going that exact route, having Rachel and Mark actually sleep together to create that "out" (or he just lets her do "something" sexual to him lol). But in the end I felt that no, if he truly loved the reader he would've put a stop to Rachel's advances the best he could, even while drunk. 💔

But I love how you took that mini plot line and put your own spin on it. Especially for this story, I prefer Mark accidentally stumbling into Rachel’s room, and Rachel taking advantage of him. If he’d done it on purpose to “free” reader, I would’ve murdered him. After losing their father, it would’ve been so cruel of him to tear their family apart in the wake of it, so I’m glad you went a different way here. Not sure I could’ve forgiven the other thing 🫣

Exactly, I wouldn't have forgiven him either if it was intentional 😭😭

And it's an unfortunate truth that there are girls like Rachel out there: immature, selfish, jealous, entitled, even downright hateful. So I wanted to explore the thing of, there are of course predatory men out there, but there are also predatory women. Sometimes the ones that should love you the most are the ones who hurt you the most 😭

Can’t wait to jump straight into Part 2! I can totally see the song fitting for the aftermath of this 😎💜💜💜

🥹🙏🏽💗 When I tell you I got SO much inspo from "Hits Different," like immediately lol. And *gasp* I also ended up liking "Snow on the Beach" from the same album! 🤭 I also liked "Lavender Haze."

Count me as Swiftie Curious, I guess?

DOWNGRADE

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: There it was. The beginning of the end, and neither of you saw it coming.

AN: Ahhh here we go! For the first time ever, Mark Meachum! Obviously I’m still learning this guy as a character, but this idea grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go. Thanks so much, @luci-in-trenchcoats for choosing this color prompt for the 5K Follower Celebration!

Word Count: 1.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff, implied smut, and rom-com vibes, until the angst sets in (lol). Medical diagnoses, implied cheating

Spring

Mark set two mugs of coffee on his nightstand to free up his hands. He had to cut wide swaths through the bedsheets to reach you. As usual, you were a tangle of limbs and frizzy hair.

“Jesus, what’d you do here, woman?” he said, lips tugging at a smile when he heard your muffled giggle.

Eventually he unearthed your head and found your sleepy smile. You squinted at the sun glaring through the window behind him. It backlit that look of fond amusement on his face.

You clawed half-blind at the front of his shirt and pulled him down to you. He lost his footing and grunted as he fell, just barely catching himself from crushing you. Your laugh rang in his ear and forced a chest-shaking rumble out of him too.

You freed your own arms from the warm nest you created, just to take his face in your hands. Your thumbs caressed along the coarse edges of his beard.

“Getting scraggly, baby,” you remarked.

“Yeah, but you like your man all wild and caveman-like,” he said mischievously.

You shook your head, but you still couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“Only when he fucks me,” you said. A cheeky challenge in your eyes.

Mark’s brows popped high, his devilish grin showing teeth. It didn’t matter how long you’d been his, you still managed to keep him on the ropes.

“Well, he does aim to please.”

Summer

The sound of your laugh was like sweltering sunshine in his chest. After the wave finished dunking you both, you swept the salty sting of the ocean out of your eyes and clung to his shoulders in the water.

Santa Cruz agreed with you. It shone down on your glistening skin and caught in your eyes. You both needed this—taking a beat, just the two of you.

Finally, Mark had allowed himself to take some time off. He was reluctant at first, workhorse that he was. But the Captain—your father—insisted that Mark take a break. Wrapping up a triple homicide after four months of legwork, getting to see that motherfucker be denied bail until trial, and giving the victims’ families a sense of relief that the killer was off the streets was a decided win.

“You’ve got someone waiting for you,” the Captain reminded him. “Don’t take that for granted.”

Mark grabbed your left hand and pressed a kiss into your palm. He felt the coolness of metal against his lips. It reminded him to turn your hand over.

“Whoa!” He closed his eyes and playfully looked away as if he was being blinded. “Who gave you that fucking rock?”

The summer sun glinted off a modest stone. Your sister told him not to overthink it. Just get the classic square cut. But his instincts told him to go with something called a “cushion,” like the sales lady said at Jared’s.

Mark knew he made the right choice when you gasped, covering your mouth with shaky hands, your eyes filling with tears when you met his slightly nervous ones.

Now, you just laughed in his face. “Oh, nobody really. Just the love of my life.”

His smile quirked, even though his heart was double-timing.

“You’re so fuckin’ cheesy.”

“But you love it, though.”

(That day, you both spent an extra hour looking for the ring when it somehow slipped off your finger and fell into the sand.)

Fall

“I’m just saying, sweetheart,” Mark said, his tone deep and gentle while he steadied you in his arms. “Maybe it’s best we put off the wedding, just a few months. It’s a lot coming at you right now.”

You shook your head, covering your mouth with trembling fingers.

“No,” you said eventually, but your words faltered along with your unsteady breaths in between. “No, he wouldn’t have wanted that. I just wish he, uh…could be there.”

You were a pillar of a woman, but no one could fault you for falling apart. Your father had been a lifelong smoker. He quit ten years ago, but it still caught up to him in his sixties, a severe case of COPD that he’d been trying to hide for months. It eventually withered him down to weeks of degeneration in a hospital bed, relying on oxygen masks that could no longer sustain him.

Your mother and sister had left the room for just half an hour to grab some coffee. You stayed behind.

You were alone with your father when he died. All you could do was hold his hand.

Now, all Mark could do was hold you. But he had to blink past a sharp pain, almost like a sudden migraine. Aftershocks reverberated through his skull, radiating from the right to the left.

He’d been dealing with less intense versions of the feeling for a month, but this time, it was like a small shiv between the eyes. It took him enough by surprise that it forced a grunt out of him, making him grimace and blink hard.

You picked your head up from his chest and met him with tearful eyes, frowning in concern.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Just a little headache.”

Winter

“Mark, you need to go to the doctor. You’ve gone through three bottles of Advil. That’s not normal.”

“Look, I told you already. I’m fine.”

“Yeah. That’s really convincing.”

“…Look, that’s Rachel pulling up. You ready to go?”

 You looked out the windows near the front door and saw your sister walking up the driveway. You blinked, like you both could and couldn't believe what you were seeing.

“Wow," you said. "She couldn’t have found a skimpier dress to check out the church. Who’s she trying to impress? The pastor’s already married.”

Mark snorted in amusement, but something soon occurred to him.

“Didn’t you tell me she and her boyfriend just broke up or something?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with it?”

He shrugged. “Eh, I don’t know. She’s probably just looking for attention.”

You sighed. You loved your younger sister, but there were times when you wished she’d just grow up a little.

One appointment with Mark’s primary doctor led him to the oncologist. His entire inner world was leveled with just two words:

Glioblastoma Multiforme.

Two words he couldn’t say to you.

It all rang between his ears…

The excitement in your voice when you told him how your last fitting went for the dress.

Faces he’d put behind bars. Years he’d scraped and clawed his way through bureaucratic bullshit, standing his ground against officers with more power than him, but never as much heart.

Your raw, broken grief when you watched your father waste away from the absolute monument of a man he’d been.

How was Mark supposed to level your world too?

He kept it all inside. And like the master of improv he was, he faked enthusiasm for a joint bachelor-bachelorette weekend.

One late night. One fifth of whiskey at the hotel bar turned into numbers he stopped counting—until the Captain reminded him.

You’ve got someone waiting for you. Don’t take that for granted.

He needed to find you.

Somehow, he made it to the elevator by himself. Third floor. Room 304, 305, 306. Fuck. Was it 309?

The door opened, and his addled fucking brain thought it was you at first. She almost had your eyes, if just half the sincerity of your smile.

Rachel welcomed him in and shut the door. He stumbled at the threshold, and she stopped him from falling completely onto the floral-patterned carpet.

“Oh my God, Mark. You okay?”

No. And he knew he wasn’t ever gonna be okay.

But her hands were warm, carving sensuous paths under his leather jacket without him realizing.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

AN: 🫣 I know, I know - I'm sorry it's not my usual happy ending. 💔 But! I am working on a second part to this for @waynes-multiverse, who also requested Mark Meachum for the 5K Celebration...though that one's gonna be even angstier than this one loll 😅 (but maaaybe with a kind of happy ending?)

In the meantime, what did you think of this drabble? Don't you wish we could've stayed in Summer? ❤️‍🩹

Read Part 2: Catastrophic Blues

Summary: Nine months isn’t as long as it sounds. When you run into your ex-fiancé at a bar, he finds out what you've become. You find out the truth.

⋆˙⟡ Get notified when every new story drops! Add yourself to my Tag Lists ⟡ Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on. ❤️

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Mark Meachum Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

I haven't built out the Mark Meachum tag list just yet, but he's now available on my Tag List form, for anyone who wants to add themselves.

For this post, I'll just include the Dean Winchester tag list and some others who I think are interested in Mark Meachum. Next round, I'll only tag people who want in on the tag list.

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28

@midnightmadwoman @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@stoneyggirl2 @cheynovak @jollyhunter @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog

@leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad @kmc1989 @siampie

@masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

@impala-dreamer @spnaquakindgdom @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism @bettystonewell

@bleuatlas @podiumackles @samslvrgirl

[jessesluvr]

hellooooo first of all thank u for feeding us Jesses girlies i love u pls don’t go bald 🩷

can u write something about Jesse and reader having like a private/secret relationship and Ellie and Dina trying to figure it out till they find them plsss

operation: lovebirds | jesse x reader

author's note : hiiii ! hope you all are well ! thank you for being so patient while i do requests. you guys are the best <3. love you all ! take care of yourselves. ps. i wont go bald i promise and i am SOOOO sorry it took forever for this to come out, it's just been marinating in my drafts.

summary : ellie and dina are determined to uncover your secret relationship with jesse, convinced you're sneaking around behind everyone’s backs. what starts as a ridiculous trap turns into a hilarious game of cat-and-mouse—until you and jesse finally decide to end the charade with a kiss that shuts them both up for good.

word count : 2.7k

you never intended for it to be a secret. not really. but the way things worked out, it just kind of... happened. one minute you were just casually hanging out with jesse, swapping jokes over a late patrol shift or sharing food by the fire, and the next thing you knew, you were sneaking glances at each other across the room, sharing touches that lingered just a little too long, and hiding smiles when no one else was looking. it was easy, and it was comforting, and it felt like a little private world that only the two of you belonged to.

except, well, jackson was small, and people noticed things. especially ellie and dina.

they had always joked about how close you and jesse were. “like twins, honestly,” dina once said, smirking when the two of you had finished a patrol early and were sitting side by side on the porch, sharing a blanket and passing around some of maria’s homemade jerky.

ellie had rolled her eyes, but there was a spark in her gaze — one that didn’t miss a thing. she watched the way jesse’s eyes softened when you laughed, the subtle way you reached for his hand when you thought no one was looking. it was too obvious to miss.

so ellie and dina made it their mission to figure it out. they weren’t sure if you and jesse were actually dating, or just really good friends. the problem was, you and jesse were good at keeping things under wraps. not sneaky or secretive on purpose, just careful, guarded maybe, with knowing smiles and quiet moments that didn’t spill over in front of others.

one afternoon, the two of them cornered you while you were washing laundry by the river. “hey, so,” ellie said, a teasing grin playing on her lips. “you and jesse. what’s the deal?”

you blinked, almost dropping the bucket of water. “deal?” you echoed, trying to keep your voice casual. “what deal?”

dina folded her arms, leaning against a tree with an eyebrow raised. “you know, the one where you act like you’re just friends but also like you’re in some kind of lowkey secret club?”

you laughed, trying to deflect. “i don’t know what you mean.”

ellie gave you a look. “come on, you don’t have to lie. we’re just curious.”

“i’m not lying,” you insisted, though your heart was pounding.

“hmm,” dina said thoughtfully, “okay. if you’re not lying, then explain why jesse keeps disappearing when we come around.”

you bit your lip, then shrugged. “maybe he’s just avoiding patrol duties.”

ellie exchanged a look with dina. “yeah, sure. and maybe the moon’s made of cheese.”

the two of them giggled like kids, then ellie added, “seriously, you two are way too subtle for your own good.”

you sighed. “fine, maybe we’re seeing each other.”

dina’s eyes lit up. “finally.”

ellie smirked. “told you.”

“but it’s not like we’re shouting it from the rooftops or anything,” you warned. “we like having this little secret. it’s nice.”

“yeah, but we’re going to find a way to catch you guys,” ellie said, clearly amused. “we’re not letting this go.”

and so it began. the sneaky missions, the secret stakeouts, the endless teasing from dina and ellie who weren’t going to let you keep this under wraps for long.

one evening, you and jesse were out by the old watchtower, the sun setting behind the mountains, casting everything in that warm golden glow you both liked. he took your hand, fingers weaving with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“we really should be more careful,” you murmured, leaning your head on his shoulder.

jesse chuckled softly. “nah. this feels good. like it’s just us.”

“that’s the point,” you smiled. “but those two—”

jesse groaned. “ellie and dina. they’re like bloodhounds.”

you laughed, “yeah. i swear, if they catch us, they’ll never let us live it down.”

jesse tightened his grip on your hand. “let them try.”

ellie and dina weren’t subtle about it. not that they cared to be. they’d taken to what they called “operation find out what’s going on with you and jesse,” which mostly meant following you around at a distance, hiding behind trees, or pretending to do chores just a little too close to wherever you and jesse happened to be.

one afternoon, you and jesse were fixing up an old motorcycle by the edge of town. the sun was hot, sweat dripping down your backs as you worked side by side, passing tools and stealing glances. jesse’s hand brushed yours once or twice, a silent question in the way his eyes met yours.

just then, you caught movement in the bushes. peeked your head up and saw ellie crouched behind a fallen log, binoculars glued to her face. dina was a little further back, trying unsuccessfully to blend in with a pile of firewood, her bright purple scarf sticking out like a sore thumb.

you rolled your eyes and whispered, “the spies.”

jesse smirked, “guess we’ve got company.”

instead of hiding or pretending not to notice, you grabbed a rag, wiped your greasy hands, and sauntered toward the bushes with jesse right behind you, exchanging knowing looks. “hey,” you called out cheerfully, “want to learn how to fix a bike? it’s not as hard as it looks.”

ellie blinked, caught off guard. “uh, no thanks.”

“come on,” you insisted, “we’ll make a mechanic out of you yet. plus, jesse says he’ll let you take it for a spin if you’re good.”

dina shifted awkwardly, clearly not expecting an invitation. you gave her a cheeky grin and beckoned with your finger.

ellie and dina exchanged a glance, then slowly got up, brushing dirt off their clothes. “alright,” ellie said reluctantly, “but only so we can prove you two are up to no good.”

you led them back to the motorcycle, and jesse handed ellie a wrench with a grin. “start here. it’s just loosening these bolts.”

ellie frowned, awkward but trying to play along. dina hovered nearby, giggling when jesse whispered something in your ear that made you smirk.

as the “lesson” went on, you noticed ellie’s eyes flickering between jesse and you every few seconds, clearly trying to read the unspoken between you two. dina was more obvious — she kept nudging ellie and whispering, “see? they’re totally into each other.”

you and jesse shared a look and decided to have a little fun. when ellie wasn’t paying attention, jesse lightly bumped your hand with his, causing you to drop the wrench near her foot. you both caught each other’s eyes and grinned, like kids caught in the act.

ellie caught the look and huffed, “okay, you two are definitely messing with us.”

dina laughed, “yeah, what are you hiding?”

jesse shrugged innocently. “just a couple of friends fixing a bike.”

you added, “the best kind of friends.”

ellie narrowed her eyes but said nothing more. as they left, you heard dina mutter, “we’re going to crack this one day.”

after they disappeared around the corner, you and jesse burst out laughing. “they’re relentless,” you said.

jesse smiled, tugging your hand gently. “i don’t mind, though. it’s kinda nice, having them so interested.”

“yeah,” you said softly, leaning into him. “it makes it feel real.”

“don’t worry,” jesse whispered, “our secret’s safe. at least for now.”

it started with a note under your door.

meet me by the greenhouse. 11. bring the blanket. – j

you smiled when you saw it, folding the paper and slipping it into your pocket like it was some kind of treasure map. you knew the spot — just beyond the old greenhouse, where the hill dipped into a field of overgrown wildflowers and tall grass. not many people wandered that way anymore, which made it perfect.

when you got there, jesse was already waiting, hands in his pockets, moonlight catching in his hair. he gave you that lopsided grin, the one that made your heart trip over itself a little.

“you brought it?” he asked.

you held up the blanket with a flourish. “obviously.”

“then come on,” he said, and took your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

the two of you laid the blanket out beneath the stars, the air cool and still, the sound of cicadas buzzing in the distance. jesse brought a stolen jar of honeyed peaches, slightly squashed in his coat, and you laughed as he tried to open it with too much enthusiasm, the lid popping off with a satisfying plop and spraying juice onto his shirt.

“nailed it,” he said proudly, and you kissed his cheek in return.

you talked for hours. about stupid things. good things. small, safe things. like the way you used to sneak candy as a kid, or how jesse once tripped in front of maria and tried to play it off like he was stretching. he told you he used to have a crush on you even before you noticed him, back when you thought he was just “that guy who always smells like cedar.”

“i still do,” you teased, burying your face in his chest.

jesse tightened his arms around you. “i know.”

you didn’t want it to end. but eventually the sound of footsteps in the distance made you both freeze. low voices — unmistakable. ellie and dina. again.

you sat up quickly, heart racing. jesse immediately started folding the blanket, tossing the peach jar back into his coat.

“shit,” you whispered. “how the hell—”

“they must’ve followed us,” he hissed. “they’re getting better.”

you grabbed his hand, eyes darting toward the bushes lining the edge of the hill. “okay, we’ve got two options. hide… or run.”

“let’s hide,” he said. “running’ll just make us look more guilty.”

“we’re already guilty.”

“good point.”

you ducked low in the grass just as ellie’s voice rang out, distant but getting closer. “i swear they were out here.”

“we probably just missed them,” dina muttered. “again.”

“dammit,” ellie groaned. “i was sure this time.”

you clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. jesse’s shoulder was shaking beside you, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned in and whispered, “they’re gonna go crazy if we keep this up.”

you turned to him, your noses almost touching. “is that a challenge?”

he grinned. “maybe.”

eventually, the footsteps faded, and you and jesse stayed hidden for a little longer, just in case. when you finally sat up, hair tangled and cheeks flushed, he reached out and tucked a piece behind your ear.

“you know,” he said, voice softer now, “i don’t mind keeping us quiet. i like having something that’s just ours.”

you nodded, fingers brushing his wrist. “me too. i just… i like how it feels when it’s just you and me.”

he kissed you. slow, sweet, with a kind of care that made the world feel far away. the kind of kiss that made you forget about everything else.

and when he pulled back, he said, “but someday, when we’re ready… i won’t mind showing everyone. not if it means they get to see how lucky i am.”

your heart fluttered. “jesse.”

he gave you that crooked smile again. “what? it’s true.”

it started with ellie barging into dina’s room, waving a crumpled map in the air like she’d just discovered buried treasure.

“i got it,” she said breathlessly. “i figured out how to catch them.”

dina didn’t even look up from where she was lying on her bed, flipping through a dog-eared comic. “ellie, you said that last week. and the week before. and the week before that.”

“yeah, but this time? this time it’s foolproof.”

“uh-huh.”

“swear to god. listen. jesse and (y/n) always end up disappearing around the same time. every tuesday. after dinner. and guess who’s conveniently off-duty tomorrow?”

dina sat up. “you’re serious.”

ellie grinned. “dead serious.”

the plan was ridiculous. childish. messy.

so obviously, they did it.

the next day, ellie left a forged note on your door that read:

urgent patrol reassignment – meet jesse at the west barn. –tommy

and she left a near-identical one for jesse:

urgent patrol reassignment – meet (y/n) at the west barn. –tommy

then, like the absolute menaces they were, ellie and dina set up in the hayloft of the barn, lying flat on their stomachs with snacks, binoculars, and smug determination.

“this is it,” ellie whispered, stuffing dried apple slices into her mouth. “tonight’s the night we expose the lovebirds.”

dina rolled her eyes. “god, i hope so. if i have to watch jesse pretend he’s not in love for one more second, i might scream.”

it wasn’t long before you showed up, confused and a little suspicious, holding the note in your hand. jesse arrived a few minutes later, looking equally wary.

“you got a note?” you asked.

“from tommy?” he raised a brow. “same.”

“…i think we’re being set up.”

“oh, 100%.”

you both turned toward the loft at the exact same time.

“should we—”

“—absolutely mess with them?” jesse finished, grinning.

you exchanged a look. it was war.

jesse grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the far end of the barn, just out of view from the loft. you leaned in, close enough that your laughter tickled his neck, and whispered something into his ear that made him turn red.

meanwhile, ellie was peeking through a crack in the wood.

“shit. they’re holding hands.”

“are they kissing?” dina demanded.

“not yet. but the vibes are very kiss-adjacent.”

in response, you and jesse leaned just into view. he gently cupped your cheek, angling your face toward his, but stopped right before your lips touched.

then, he pulled away.

again and again, you repeated this dance—leaning in, pausing dramatically, then walking off laughing. jesse would tuck your hair behind your ear or brush imaginary dirt from your shoulder, and you’d rest your hand on his chest a little too long. it was torture by almost-romance.

in the loft, dina groaned. “this is cruel.”

“they know we’re up here,” ellie muttered, jaw clenched. “they’re doing this on purpose.”

“they’re monsters.”

you and jesse eventually sat down beside a pile of hay, fully out of sight. you leaned against his side, giggling into his shirt. “you think they’re dying yet?”

“probably writhing in agony.”

“good.”

he kissed your forehead and whispered, “we’re the worst.”

you grinned. “they started it.”

after another few minutes of watching nothing happen, dina sighed and sat up. “okay. that’s it. i’m done.”

“wait, no—” ellie started, but it was too late. dina had already stood up, brushing hay off her jeans and hopping down from the loft with a dramatic thud.

you and jesse looked up just as she landed.

“alright, enough is enough,” dina said, hands on her hips. “we know. okay? we know.”

you raised your brows. “know what?”

“oh my god,” ellie groaned as she slid down behind her. “don’t play dumb. we’ve been onto you for weeks.”

jesse blinked innocently. “onto what, exactly?”

“you’re together!” ellie shouted. “secret relationship! sneaking around! the looks, the touching, the—you brought a blanket to the greenhouse, dude!”

you tried to look surprised. jesse bit back a laugh.

“okay,” you said slowly. “let’s say we were together. how would you know for sure?”

dina narrowed her eyes. “we wouldn’t.”

ellie crossed her arms. “not unless you, like, full-on made out in front of us right now.”

a beat.

jesse looked at you. you looked at him.

and then—because you were feeling dramatic, and maybe just a little victorious—you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him right there in front of both of them.

it wasn’t a small kiss. it wasn’t subtle. it was all hands and smiling and breathless laughter when you finally pulled apart.

ellie’s mouth fell open.

dina threw her hands up. “oh my god, finally!”

you leaned into jesse’s chest with a smug grin. “you happy now?”

ellie blinked. “honestly? yeah.”

“good,” jesse said, laughing. “because we were running out of ways to mess with you.”

dina groaned and collapsed into the hay. “this better be worth it.”

[factual-fantasy]

30 Asks! Thank you!! :)) 🪥

Realistically? I cant think of a good reason why Jax would jump in fear at the sight of corn. Like it was going to bite him or something. Gooseworx said its because it reminds him of the farm but later said she may have lied.

Personally I think he was given a fear of corn just because it would be funny. 😅

As for my AU, he wont jump in fear of corn like he does in canon. But I'm thinking when he was a kid he ate a bunch of corn and then got really sick. Or maybe he choked on corn really bad one time. After that he cant stand the smell or taste of it because it makes him so queasy and uncomfortable.

He likely hasn't told anyone about it out of embarrassment. But he could have told Caine that he really hates corn and to keep it away from him AND keep it a secret. Which Caine would oblige without much question.

XD Thank you!

I can hardly remember them 😔💔 I think I remember them being cool tho.

I can kind'a see it in the boots and hat! :0 Though I cant see him throwing himself at giant monsters without flinching <XD

So far its been fun! :)

Thank you, 😭🫶I was prepping to be raked over the coals for speaking poorly of Jax.💔

@starloveshamburgers

I'm not sure how to make one really <:( a sona can look wildly different from person to person..

Also, I have no intentions to watch Rescue Bots for several reasons.. But mostly its because its supposed to be attached to Prime. Which is a bad thing because it breaks established prime lore pretty badly and that would really bother me throughout the whole show 😔💔

What is going on in this show man 💀

@linkinaboxx

Thank you! I have the spectator mode in my back pocket if things get overwhelming <XDD

Looking the song up, that is the most living looking zombie I have ever seen XDD But can see your point!

Noted :0📝 Thank you!

Thank you! :DD Same to you if you're participating! :))

Thank you so much! :D So far so good!

Yeah, it would be really sad if he did :( Thankfully in my AU he will not :)

@crossover-enthusiast

XDD No worries! Thank you!! :))

As for Bonny, I had this idea that no one in the circus really knows how to deal with her. She's only 8 years old.. how can they possibly make her understand the gravity of the situation she's in? Would they want her to understand?

For now, Caine takes care of her as best he can. Dr.Football and Bubble follow her everywhere, and tend to her every need. I considered Caine making an entire fake town for Bonny to live in but I don't know if Kinger and Queenie would tell him that's a bad idea or not.. Beyond that I haven't brainstormed a whole lot :(

@pundertalefan (Referencing this post)

AWWJFNDFDFN THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! :DDD

(Link in ask)

I've had that video in my watch list for ages. This ask finally gave me the push to sit down and watch it. Very heart breaking 😢💔

I thought it was cool! I was surprised to see such a style change XD

@theglassflower

AAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DD💞💞💞

Also, Starscream actually has that cheek scar in canon! :0 He got it from battling Arcee one time.

In my AU he could have still gotten it fighting Arcee, even though he didn't kill Cliff. Also I just exaggerated the scar and made it go all the way down his face so it would look cooler 😎

I'm thinking in my AU, Caine wouldn't want to upset or stress out the humans with that kind of adventure. But if Jax and the others were getting bored and specifically requested that adventure, Caine would make it.

It would be a little tamed down and would not include the tiny swarm of souls in hell.

As for me? I've been hangin on. My condition has been kicking my butt these past few days but Art Fight has been a nice distraction.👍 Thank you for checking in 🫶

:((((( frfr

@minnesotamedic186

I'm as ready as I'll ever be! :D

Oh yeah absolutely, the circus is a nicer place but their real world is still as cruel as ever.

I don't like him as a bot just because I don't like the entire game of SOTM because of how it changes the FNAF timeline.

HOWEVER.. I like him enough as a character that I've added him to my silly sister location AU. 👍

I honestly have no idea what happened to their bodies. I'm curious about which path Gooseworx chose 👀

@fandomgurl1987

XD Thank you!! :))

Yeah I thought he was really funny for only having two half lines. XDD

@nolitogfoling

Hello! :D

@beryl-shade

They sure can! :)

[lullxby]

hello my darling!! i am the same anon who just asked if you’re taking requests, thank you so much for getting back to me!! i’d absolutely love a niccolò x reader imagine where reader is new to collodi and niccolò finds himself intrigued by her. she’s kind of shy because italian isn’t her first language so she has a bit of an accent, but he thinks it’s cute, and finds himself wanting to be around her and know more about her, much to his friends’ surprise <3 thank you so much in advance!! i love your writing 🫶

.✦ JUST SAY YES (n.g.)

IN WHICH… a boy falls head over stubborn heels for the new girl.

W. C. : .9k

PAIRING : niccolo govender x fem!reader

A/N : thank youuuu for this request! i live laugh love writing for niccolo!!

i’m also 100% down to do a little part two with the date, just lmk!

WARNING(S) : none, no ‘y/n’ use!

| BABY MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION |

Niccolo Govender was not the type to settle, in anything. He didn’t settle for just being ‘okay,’ he didn’t settle for doing anything half-way, and he definitely didn’t settle on one girl. Even when in a relationship, he was still messing around behind his girlfriend’s back.

That was, until she came to Collodi. He had been arguing in the hallway with some girl he had hooked up with. Hannah, maybe? Anna? When he got a whiff of what felt like the sweetest thing he’d ever smelt. His eyes had darted up, finding the source almost immediately.

New students didn’t come often, especially not in the middle of the year. Definitely not looking like her. He didn’t even know her name, yet he was already smitten.

His friends watched with surprise as over the weeks he tried to sit with her, waited for her outside of class. All for the girl… to not want anything to do with him. He didn’t know if she was just shy, or if she had heard rumours about him, or what, but he was tired. He was obsessed with this girl, but whenever he tried to talk to her, she practically sprinted in the other direction.

So he kept trying. He refused to back down from the challenge that was her.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and of course, he was waiting outside the door for her. Stalker-ish? Maybe. Obsessive? Definitely. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Tell me your name,” he instructed when he saw her walk out, silently cursing himself for how blunt his voice sounded. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off… again.

His fears were put to rest when she finally, finally spoke up. Sure, it was just her name, but a win was a win in his book. Plus, her voice was just about his favorite thing he had ever heard. He swore he could listen to it a thousand times over and not get bored.

��I’m Niccolo, it’s nice to meet you.” His voice had taken on a dramatized gentleman’s tone as he stuck out his hand for her to shake. He almost withdrew it, nervous the joke hadn’t landed right.

But then that gorgeous little laugh spilled out of her lips and he almost wanted to die on the spot. He would’ve gone a happy man, anyway. He felt a grin tug at the corners of his own mouth at the sound, the tips of his ears turning red beneath his overgrown hair when her soft hand landed in his own calloused one.

Since then, they had been hanging out more and more. She had even let him join in on her little study sessions. He never got any real learning done, always getting distracted by how pretty she looked while she was concentrating.

Suddenly, he felt himself change. He didn’t know when it happened exactly, but it felt like a flip switching to the right side, or a jigsaw piece falling into place. Visions of getting married someday. A dog, kids, a white picket fence all clouded his thoughts whenever he saw her.

He hadn’t even asked her to be his girlfriend, but he wanted to. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He knew he sounded insane. It wasn’t like him at all, but something about her...

He wanted to know more about her. Correction; he wanted to know everything about her.

“Where’d you come from?” He asked out of the blue, watching as she lifted her eyes from the book, how they roamed around his face.

He started backtracking, shaking his head. “I just mean,” he had to pause to think of the right words, “You have an accent. It’s— I mean, it’s gorgeous but I can’t place where it’s from.”

And he tried. Constantly. He listened so closely to her voice, you’d think he was trying to clone her or something.

He listened to her tall, occasionally asking quetsions about her homeland. It was like a landmine— in a good way. She had been so shy, but as soon as she started talking about where she came from, she couldn’t stop.

He’d do anything to keep her talking.

Until, of course, he cut her off.

“Go on a date with me.”

He couldn’t help it, truly. She just looked so pretty. But she had gone quiet again, and for the first time in his life, he felt the need to fill the void.

“Anywhere you want, fuck, I’ll even take you to the bookstore down the road. Get’cha anything you want, just—“ spend more time with me. But he couldn’t say that, so for once in his life, he settled. He settled for a hoarse, “Please,” rather than saying everything he truly wanted to.

To his utter surprise and delight, it worked. Because she was slowly nodding her head up and down. That meant yes, right? His brain had slowed, filled with thoughts of her. Yes, he knew he needed to see more of her, outside of these pathetic study sessions. Yes.

Yes.

Yes, she was saying yes. She was saying yes, and suddenly it was like nothing else mattered in the world other than the fact that she was saying yes.

baby taglist : lmk 2 be added!

[bananakozaka]

Deltarune PMMM AU: SUSIE EDITION!!1🎉🎊🎉🎉🎉🗣🗣 Outfit & Doppel (Also Humanization by Proxy)

hii again >:3 i drew susie as a magical girl! her magi outfit isn’t as interesting as kris in my opinion (i just drew a human version of her darkworld outfit, nothing too crazy) BUT i went all out on her doppel. also there’s a bonus meme at the end as thanks for all the support on my last post :D

BACKSTORY (click ALT for text if you need it)

You thought Kris’s life was bad? look at susie: at tender age of 11, her parents died in some sort of contrived accident and she was shuffled between foster homes ever since. well, until she turned 15. She had enough of being at the whims of selfish adults and contracted with a kyubey (not UB) to “take her away”. this sent her to HomeCity, where kris and the plot reside.

It also gave her teleportation powers! Nothing too major, however. susie can teleport herself 10-20 ish feet away and if she’s teleporting with someone else, the distance is halved. She can also teleport her nifty Thrasher Axe for surprise attacks.

Susie steals/hunts for grief seeds to sell them to weak magi. she gets on kris and ralsei’s radar after she kill steals from them. later, after a witch hunt gone awry and a timely rescue from kris and ralsei (kris helping because a certain red incubator kept badgering them) they all become the S#1t/Fun/Stupid squad; an uneasy alliance and future friend group.

UB is very intrigued by the innate karmic potential radiating off susie. Kris really does not know why; all she seems to be is a bully street urchin friend going through a character arc that anyone could go through. but who knows? kris isn’t the one who’s designed to collect energy from the souls of the innocent.

DESIGN NOTES

To me, susie’s darkworld design is very jojo-esque with the gold heart belt, so I kept those aspects in her magi form. gangster camp is still camp after all, and if susie doesn’t like frills i have to camp it up some other way. the bandages aren’t part of her magi outfit, btw. they’re just there. :)

Her soulgem is a triangle wrapped in a spiky bow around her neck. This is a reference to the throat chakra representing truth and agency and other character-relevant qualities. It’s green because I felt it would make for a nice contrast to all the purple in her outfit.

NOTE ON HER HUMAN FORM: notice how susie’s sweater is the only thing not torn or beat up? It was a gift from a nice motherly lady that helped susie one day. she holds it close to her heart ever since.

CW: Mild blood in the next picture (only a couple drops)

CATHERINE

“The Doppel of Helplessness. It takes the form of a sewing spindle, but the master uses it as a breaking wheel. The master of this emotion is endlessly frustrated by the doppel’s insistence of sewing fabrics out of the master’s hair; a task that the master has no experience in.

The doppel lashes out due to its master’s uselessness; its wheel growing spikes to kill any unfortunate foes foolish enough to approach. The master wishes to turn over a pacifistic leaf, but the wheel turns still.”

i chose the name “Catherine” because 1) its another name for a breaking wheel and 2) because the legend of saint catherine feels like a very helpless tale.

I gave cathy a pastel color pallet as a nice contrast to its violet nature, and to contrast susie’s tomboyishness. its a representation of all the times people called her useless for not fitting into societal expectations for how she should act.

BONUS

you know how magical girls in pmmm and magiareco wear their soulgem rings on their middle fingers? yeah. this is how kris & susie transform. ralsei can chide them all he wants, the bird begs to be flipped.

Thats about it! If you have any characters you want me to magical-fy next, you can reblog with a request! *wink wink nudge nudge pls reblog this it took me a long time to make :>*

[paperbacksinner]

AHH I FIRST OF ALL, I LOVE LOVE LOVEEE UR WRITING SMM! U WRITE JOE GOLDBERG SO WELL<3

Also can i request reader taking care of sick Joe Goldberg :3?? (bonus points if it includes smut🫣) thank youu!

Don’t Leave Me

Joe’s sick. He swears he’s fine. He’s not. But you’re there — and suddenly, being taken care of doesn’t feel so foreign after all.

TW: 18+ explicit smut

———

Joe looks like shit.

Like, actually. Pale, sweaty, hoodie clinging to one shoulder, hair messy in a way that isn’t quite cute today. You find him in the kitchen, hunched over the counter, trying to pour hot water into a mug with one hand while the other rubs at his face.

“You’re up,” you say gently, padding into the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” he mutters before you can even finish the thought. “Didn’t want to waste the day.”

“You have a fever.”

“It’s just—” cough, sniff “—a cold.”

You pluck the mug from his hands before he spills it all over himself.

“Joe,” you say softly, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, “you’re burning up.”

“I’m not—”

“Come to bed,” you murmur against his spine. “I’ll take care of you.”

That gets him.

He stiffens. Just slightly. Like the concept is foreign to him.

But then you feel him melt.

“…Okay.”

You run a bath first—warm but not too hot, with eucalyptus salt because he “doesn’t care about stuff like that” but you know he secretly likes the way it smells.

You sit beside the tub, guiding his hand to the washcloth when he’s too tired to lift it on his own. He won’t meet your eyes. Won’t say much. But he lets you wash his back. Lets you shampoo his hair. Lets you wrap him in a towel like he’s fragile and precious.

Because today, he is.

You help him into bed—oversized hoodie, clean sheets, a cool washcloth on his forehead. You bring him soup and meds, rub his chest with Vicks (he glares, but you catch the way his eyes flutter shut under your touch). He tries to protest, but every time, your voice soothes him:

“Shhh, I’ve got you.”

“You don’t have to do all this.”

“I want to.”

By evening, he’s settled in the sheets, curled under the blankets with his head in your lap.

“Your hands are cold,” he mumbles sleepily.

You smile, stroking his hair. “That’s kind of the point.”

He exhales slowly. Quiet. Comfortable in a way he never lets himself be.

“This is nice,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?”

He nods against your thigh. “I’m not used to it. Being… looked after.”

“You deserve it.”

Another beat of silence. His eyes drift open, glassy and unsure.

“…Can I feel you?”

You blink. “Joe—”

“Just a little.” He shifts, sits up slightly, voice low and hoarse. “Please.”

“You’re sick—”

“I know.” His hand touches your thigh, warm and shaky. “But I just… I need you. I want you close. I’ll be good.”

God help you.

You nod.

You climb into his lap slowly, straddling him as he leans back against the pillows. He’s flushed, fever-warm, and desperate in a way he doesn’t usually let show.

Your lips brush his cheek, his jaw, his collarbone.

You grind down over him, slow and teasing, panties damp from the weight of his attention alone. He groans, eyes fluttering shut.

“I missed you,” he murmurs.

“You’ve only been sick for two days.”

“Still missed you.”

When you finally guide him inside you, it’s slow. Painfully slow. Your walls pulse around him, warm and wet, and he groans like it hurts.

His grip on your hips is shaky but tight.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, voice broken. “You always do.”

You move carefully—just enough to build a rhythm, keeping your foreheads pressed together, your nose brushing his.

He’s warm. Everywhere. Sweat beading at his hairline. Eyes heavy.

“You’re burning up,” you breathe.

“Then cool me down,” he murmurs. “Ride me. Please.”

You do.

Soft. Deep. Unhurried.

You grind in slow circles, fingers in his hair, mouth on his throat. He groans your name like a prayer. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth.

“Don’t stop,” he pants. “Please. Don’t stop. Don’t leave me.”

You cry out when you come—body shaking, heart pounding—and he follows seconds later, spilling deep with a long, ragged moan and his arms locked tight around you.

After, you clean him up. Wipe the sweat from his neck. Kiss his warm forehead.

He pulls you down beside him, still half-hard, still feverish, but softened.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You kiss his temple.

“For what?”

“For loving me when I’m not at my best.”

You nuzzle into his shoulder.

“I love you all the time. Especially then.”

[dandysworld-meh-imagines]

HIIIII I love ur writings sm ehehea ive been wanting to request but i dunno if this was weird or not-

could you do astro with a gn reader who has paw pads that glow in the dark? i hope this isn't odd, thank you!!:]

Astro With A Reader Whose Paws Glow In The Dark!

Hey, dear anon!! Thank you for your kinds words!! Not odd at all, no worries! I found this request quite cute, just hope the things I came up with are okie, I came up with stuff! Here you go, thank you for requesting! <3

-Anna

-Your paw pads were really cute, even being a huge hit with the kids that visited! It wasn't something exactly that was noticable at first on you but kids, toons, even the staff would look at them. You were one of the few if not the first toon to ever really have paw pads on them. Gardenview really does have a variety of toons, objects, animals, you name it. Toons and kids would be curious about them, staff would talk among themselves and just be entertained watching you and your paw pads.

-Astro really seemed fond of them even if he didn't make it super obvious. He would often gaze at your hand or even reach out and gently hold, squeezing gently as he looked away with a more soft expression on his face. One thing he really liked to do was hold your hand, especially to feel your paw pads. It's a bit uncomfortable at first since Astro's hands are quite cold but after a while, it feels both cold and warm but it's not really uncomfortable anymore. You guys hold hands for a long time too, it's comforting and feels really nice.

-It wasn't a lie when it really would be quite popular with kids. It would also be used to help guide kids around or even help them get out of their shy shells. The texture would help get their minds off of stuff, remind them of their pets at home and more. They liked to stick close to you as you showed them around or even made sure they had a good time on their Gardenview visit. You even let them play with your paw if they wanted to, anything to get their little minds off of things and get that fear away. Some would take a bit longer to open up but you liked to see them leave with a smile on their faces, even if it was small.

-Astro also found himself playing with your paw pads, something about it makes him feel calm and sleepy. He doesn't know if it's the nice warmth or texture or the fact that it's you, his beloved, though he really likes playing with it slowly. If that overwhelms you, he doesn't do it, of course. But on the cases where you do allow him to play with your fingers and palm, Astro is genuinely mesmerized by you and these paw pads. He's very gentle with them too, he really hopes his hand being cold doesn't make you feel uncomfortable or anything as he knows that what you have can be sensitive to cold. He is a very considerate boy.

-You like to press it against Astro's cold face, not that he really complains. He finds the warmth from your paw pads strangely comforting. He even amuses you and even leans his head on them whenever you lean your hand close to him. He really likes seeing you smile so he does it randomly here and there. Astro really likes to also cup your face with his hand, if you don't mind the cold that is but it's not that bad a little later where it warms up somewhat. Cup his face with your paw pads and watch him get flustered as he feels the texture, warmth and anything else, he tries keeping eye contact with you but looks away quickly.

-Since they glow in the dark, you like to help out toons during more darker areas of Gardenview. It's kinda funny how you don't even need to carry a flashlight or anything like that because your paws just glow in the dark! You still remember how funny it was the first time you showed it to someone, they just never know they can glow! During night time, it used to be quite hilarious back then when you were still a new toon to Gardenview and everyone looked at your hands and feet very confused. They seriously thought you were broken or something happened bad to you though the relief on their face really showed when you told them this is normal.

-You and Astro sometimes like to sit in the dark and his soft blue aura shows while your paws glow and it can be quite funny since your paw pads is on your palm and you can move them around in the dark fast enough, for some fun moments of just messing around in the dark and giggling. Astro likes to lower his light enough to see your paws glow better. Then you try to make shapes in the air by moving your fingers fast enough and Astro has to guess what exactly you're trying to show him, you can't make any hints and it can be pretty fun and long, Astro just softly chuckles as you try your best to make the shape to show him.

-You really like to use the light to distract Astro whenever he's feeling low after a rough day, it can be one finger with a paw pad and you like to make it fly around before landing on Astro's cheek and even poking there gently, it's something silly but it makes him have a small smile again. It's like a very small firefly in some words. One thing you like to do is playfully say a small "Boop!" especially when you tap his nose. Of course, if that doesn't cheer him up, you comfort him as usual and make sure he feels better, he really appreciates what you do for him though.

-It's another silly thing but you like to do that and instead of poking Astro, you like to lean in and give him kisses. You basically tap with your light on his cheek, forehead, even nonexistent nose and lips before leaning in to give him a big ol kiss. It's something that makes him feel quite flustered and make him look away shyly, it's basically a thing that is guaranteed to happen at this point. It could be that he is expecting the kiss there exactly where you tapped and it really gets to him. The blush on his cheek really shows almost immediately when you lean back.

-Overall, Astro really likes your paw pads and loves how they glow in the dark as well, he feels like he is matching with you with the whole "glowing in the dark" thing and it makes him happy. He loves seeing them when he spends time with you, it's another part he really adores on you. He feels a soft smile grow on his face whenever he gets to hold them and he loves to automatically reach out for them, even adores how they glow in the dark. He really loves you and everything about you, you're his beloved star, after all.

Thank you for reading! <3

[mint-mania]

If it's not too much to ask, may I request some fluff with gn!reader (who is also a soldier for the hollyberry kingdom) x Wildberry cookie? To be more especific, where Wildberry just takes care of reader after a mission.

Also kinda unrelated but it seems your Rules masterpost isn't working? I tried checking but it's no use so sorry if my request breaks any of those in a way.

-❀

After work

A/N: thank you for telling me! I think I fixed it, he might be a little ooc sorry

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After a long day of work your muscles were screaming for a nice hot bath and a cup of berry juice. Sadly fate didn’t seem to allow this. 

Instead of being able to relax you were asked to help with some tasks around the palace, while you could have refused, saying “no” isn’t exactly your strong suit. So that leads you to helping dust some fancy busts in the halls.

“What are you doing?” 

Turning to face the voice you see Wildberry standing there looking as deadpan as usual. Being a soldier for the hollyberry kingdom you’ve come to know him quite well. And it’s for that reason he was worried. He is aware you had a long and tiring day.

“I’m just doing some cleaning! What about yo-”

“You should be resting.” he stated while walking closer.

“ I know..but I’m almost done! I’ll rest after- HEY!”

Before you could finish explaining your plan to rest you were picked up by the cookie. As he started to head for your chambers you complained about leaving work unfinished, though he wasn’t having it.

“Let’s get you to bed, while you change I’ll grab us some berry juice, and don’t even think of trying to go do more work. That’s an order”

Even with the flat tone of his voice you could tell he was being light hearted. And as much as you wanted to finish dust (you really didn’t) you knew he was right and that some rest is much in order.

So you did as you were told and changed into something soft and comfy then going to lay down in your bed, within a few minutes Wildberry had returned with berry juice, handing you a cup and getting ready to listen to you about your day.

[good-beanswrites]

hi! may i request some mikoto + amane (platonic obvs) … anything? they are very dear to me 😭

Yes!!! Thank you so much for the request -- they really are such a good pair ;-; (The thing is, I had so many nice scenes in mind about how they parallel each other, but they wouldn't know or reveal that about each other so I kept restarting...) Anyway, here's something right after Mikoto's first trial/verdict!

Mikoto could pick up on someone’s bad mood from a mile away, though the skill was unnecessary when the other party very clearly and calmly informed him, “I’m in a bad mood.”

After refusing his offer, Amane turned back to a thick textbook she’d been taking notes on. Didn’t kids usually complain that school was already a prison? She must have wanted the full experience. He'd worked nonstop at his studies as well, but this was a new level. Amane often reminded him of his little sister, though she always took the extra step like this. His sister would have jumped at this opportunity to play a few rounds of their favorite card game.

“It’ll be fun!”

He flashed a smile, but it had no effect on her severe expression. “I know you’re just trying to comfort me about our verdicts. I refuse to be pitied.”

“Comfort and pity are two very different things. But anyway, it wasn’t either of those things.” He gave an easy shrug “To be honest, I’m just a little bored. It’s weird not having any work to do during the day.” 

Mikoto couldn’t remember the last time in his life he’d had so many hours to himself. A lot of the others were fun to play games with. A few of the sportier prisoners helped him stay active. He enjoyed smoking breaks with the other men. Still, he was left to his own devices for the majority of his time. It was maddening. He’d recently requested some more art supplies, having used up the last batch, but they had yet to come in. Now with the verdict announcement, he wasn’t sure they’d ever arrive.

“That is your own problem. I already have something to do.” Her eyes lingered on the cards for the briefest of moments before returning to the book. “I told you, I’m not in the mood for it.”

Regardless of her hostility, he took a seat beside her. He leaned his arms out on the table. “We don’t have to play the same game.” The last time they'd played as a big group, several prisoners pulling the tables together to fit everyone. Amane had kept very quiet, eyes darting around at the cards as she tried to keep up with the rules. Not many of the others noticed the frustration clear in her face. Mikoto wasn’t the type to let her win out of pity, though he had begun to mutter the rules and strategies to himself a bit more as the night went on… 

“Is there a game you liked to play at home?”

 “No. There was no time for games in the house.” 

“All work and no play… hah… I know what that’s like.” He slumped his cheek onto his arm, lazily shuffling the cards around. He felt bad for bothering the girl if she truly was upset. He thought it was the bad experience that made her reject him, he hadn’t realized there were also family issues attached. Usually he could read people well; maybe he was losing his touch. He seemed to be losing touch with a lot of things, these days.

He readied a game of solitaire. 

“Mikoto?” Amane kept her face turned away. “There was… one game.”

“Yeah?” Mikoto shuffled the cards back together. He slid them over to her. “You should teach me!” 

She didn’t touch them. “You probably already know it.”

“Nah, I only know a few games. I’m better with tarot cards, though those aren’t really the gaming type. Come on, what is it?”

She told him the name of the game, insisting it wouldn’t be worth playing. She kept her attention on the textbook, but her eyes weren’t reading any of it. 

“Ahh, I’ve heard of that one! We start with four cards, right?” He started dealing them out.

“No, five –” she pointed to the deck, urging him to add two more. 

“Right, right.” He laughed lightly. “And the goal is to get pairs, and put them in a pile, uhh, here.”

Amane shook her head. She shifted her body slightly towards him. “You must be thinking of a different game. There’s actually three piles for pairs. One here, one here, and when it’s your opponent’s turn…” 

Her eyes gleamed as she explained the rules. She pointed to various cards, telling him exact moves and point values. “And to win, you need to –” Her expression shifted. “You… you already knew all this.”

“Of course not!” He put on his most convincing smile. 

She deflated. “You’re not a very good liar.”

“Tch, tell that to the warden.”

His shoulders sagged along with her. If Amane could see right through him, why was the rest of Milgram still coming up with stories about what he did and didn’t do? “Well, I might already know the rules, but it’s been a long time since I’ve played. You can still give me a hand. Plus, if you really are in such a bad mood, it’ll be good to take a break from your studies. You should always take a break when things get too overwhelming, yeah?”

She gave him a withering stare.

“Eh? What’s that face for?”

“Alright, let’s play. You can go first.”

“I mean it, what was that look? Aw, come on…”

[plexippusangel]

About to hand weave this man a potion carrying pouch in his character colors. I was already thinking about it. And then was like no. It's too early. I'll just give him a bit of the yarn my pouch is woven out of that I hypothetically would use as one of the components as a favor to wear for the tournament. I will be normal. So normal.

AND THEN HE GAVE ME A HANDMADE POTION CARRYING POUCH IN HIS BLUE THIS MAN MATCHED MY FREAK AND I TEMPORARILY SCALED BACK

gonna stay at 100% freak going forward

[ploverbear]

god these unemployment fuckers are sooo annoying ... "we got notice you didnt respond to emails from a representative who's offering job reccomendations" mfers those aren't automated and i have to reply saying "thank you"!?!?!!?!?!! what do you mean. "you ghosted a representative" did not realize that person was real.

[jinx-xxed]

I need Remmick being so down bad for his human wife pretty please

Work Song

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I needed this too so thank you for this request 🙏 I love a man that’s down bad and obsessed, those are the best kind ^_^ the title for this one takes after Hozier’s Work Song of course since I was thinking about it while writing this :P I hope you enjoy, and thank you again for requesting!! (Also apologies for me going overboard, I got way too invested in the backstory and couldn’t stop myself :’D)

Summary; Remmick comes home to his wife.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, human reader, down bad Remmick!!, soft Remmick, possessive Remmick, vampirism, cleaning him up, married to Remmick, soft sex, fingering, piv sex, cuddling, he doesn’t know how to handle “I love you”, fluff

Wc; 6.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

The house is dark and quiet when the door opens with the smallest squeak, resting on old hinges gone too long without oil.

The curtains are drawn tight, the material thicker than your typical run of the mill, assuring no light can sneak through the cracks. The air is fresh with recent movement, signs of a home well lived in with pictures hung on the wall and shoes in a small rack by the door. That’s where Remmick leaves his dust covered boots so he doesn’t track red speckled dirt all over your nice clean floors. He tosses his stained button up in the wash bin you set out for him too, just his white tank remaining as his suspenders fall loose around his hips. Stepping inside your place is like a balm on his unsettled, angry soul, letting him leave everything else behind just for a little while.

Your home is the only one he’s allowed himself to become familiar with, the only one he’s stayed at for longer than a couple months. He knows every hall, every creaky wooden floorboard, every small detail at an almost intimate level. He follows the path he’s gone down hundreds of times, the one that leads him right to your bedroom. Your scent brings him there just the same—sweet and flowery like a perfect spring day, a tantalizing whisper of iron hiding beneath.

Remmick nudges the bedroom door open, his eyes flickering in the dim lighting, red simmering in the blue-gray like the last embers of a dying fire. It’s strange how instantly something within him is calmed at the sight of you, something deep and possessive and maybe even predatory that finally quiets when it realizes you’re still here. Your form is tucked beneath the sheets, blissfully warm and cozy and utterly perfect. He sees a book tossed aside to the corner of the bed, like you’d tried to stay awake for him but ultimately gave up and fell asleep. He can hear your gentle breaths, the quiet thrum of your heart that taunts him.

His steps are near silent when he makes his way over to you. You lay on your stomach, a pillow hugged between both arms, your pretty mouth parted just slightly. You look serene in sleep, an angel come down to earth just for a devil like him. Remmick reaches forward, brushing a stray curl from your face with a tenderness most would think impossible for himself—with his hands that have taken too many lives to count, that are stained with blood every night. But with you they’re gentle, able to rediscover a mushy part of him that was buried centuries ago.

Your eyebrows pinch and you mumble indistinctly when his chilled hand rests on your cheek, relishing in the feeling of your soft skin beneath his calloused palm. He’s a little warmer tonight though, with fresh blood still flowing through him, but it’s never enough to completely chase off the cold bite of death. He leans down to pepper kisses across your face, steadily moving to your neck where he pauses, his blunt teeth teasing along your jugular and inhaling your scent like it’s a lifeline.

Under his attention is how you finally wake, shaken from meaningless dreams by frigid fingers and loving kisses. You smile lazily, stretching your arms and twisting so you’re on your back to face him. You paw at him, pulling him in with no resistance—he’d happily follow your touch wherever you wanted him to go. Your lips meet briefly, a pleased noise rumbling from him before you pull away. “You’re back.” You say, sleep still edging your words. You breathe him in contentedly, your fingers coming up to run through his short hair. He still has that signature metallic tang on him despite his efforts to clean up before coming home. “Was worried ‘bout you.”

“Aw darlin’, you ain’t have to do that. You know I’ll always come back to ya.” Remmick says, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. One of his hands rests above the covers on your waist now, the weight of it comforting and familiar. He huffs, shaking his head. “Shit, thought ‘bout ya all night.”

It’s true, he really was thinking about you the whole time—something he finds himself doing a lot recently. He thinks about you from the moment he leaves your house because of the undeniable call of his hunger, all the way to when he finally returns hours later. He’ll think about wishing he could stay around when your eyes start to droop and the mortal need for sleep takes you away, when you subconsciously curl into him searching for warmth that isn’t there. He hates having to move you off of him so he can go, so he can step out into the unforgiving darkness of night in search of a life to steal. You do make the cutest little noises though, something like a disgruntled cat’s. He’ll tuck you in real nice and kiss you sweetly to make sure you don’t miss him too much, and so he can seal the image in his memory to keep him motivated—a reminder of what he gets to come home to.

“You were gone for so long.” You say with a small pout, holding his face in your hands, his light stubble tickling your palms. The gold ring you wear glints in the darkness, a twin to his own.

He tilts his head so his lips connect with your hand, nuzzling into your touch that he always seems to crave. “Just got caught up with some things s’all.” He’d cut it close tonight, the sun appearing like a reckoning seconds after he’d shut the door. “I’m here now, darlin’.”

You smile at that, pulling him in again to kiss him, enjoying the taste of him. There’s always something metallic hiding beneath every bit of him, something too old for your mind to comprehend, something otherworldly. For most it would be unnerving and terrifying but for you, that’s just your husband, your Remmick. You’d accepted that when you agreed to marry him about three years ago, opening your arms and home to him and every unnatural part that came with him.

It was two years before that when you’d actually met him, the memory always sitting clear in your mind like it happened yesterday.

You’d spent the whole day baking—cookies, pies, cobblers, tarts… the list went on as you prepared for the market happening in town the next morning. You prided yourself on your baked goods, and people always bought you out. The whole house smelled of your efforts, the scent carrying out the open windows and into the trees beyond. You hadn’t heard it at first, the whispers in the leaves, the way all the animals went silent, the world seeming to hold its breath for just a moment. You’d been too busy singing a song you knew by heart as you were prone to do whenever working in the kitchen. (Remmick has told you countless times how much he adores your voice, he says it’s like a fine wine).

You were rotating the food left to cool on the windowsill when you saw him, standing out there by the tree line, watching you with eyes that at first gave you the willies. “Hey there,” you’d called, watching as he flinched at the sound of your voice, “what brings ya over?”

He’d taken a few curious steps towards the house, letting you get a better look at him. Worn button up loosely tucked into high waisted trousers, a white tank hidden beneath, suspenders over the shoulders, old boots, and a banjo slung across his back. He looked like a man who traveled often, never staying in one place long enough to learn the style of it. His face looked kind, set with strong features on stocky shoulders that suggested he was no stranger to hard work. His short black hair was messy but in a presentable way, curled bangs sitting on his forehead. Still, you knew there was something deeper about him that was off, that didn’t belong in your realm of living.

His hands were loosely in his pockets and he shrugged. “Smelled somethin’ mighty sweet, heard somethin’ even sweeter. You got a beautiful voice, darlin’.” He’d given you a close-lipped smile, one that made his eyes crinkle at the edges. His southern drawl was thick like syrup, coated across every word with something mixed in that you couldn’t quite place.

“Oh, I‘ve got years of church choir to thank for that.” You’d joked. You’d tilted your head. “Would you like to try anything, sir? I could always use a taste tester.”

He’d hesitated for a moment longer than would be normal, as if debating something serious in his mind, before shaking his head. He chuckled. “Nah, I’m tryin’ to cut back.”

“Aw, that’s a shame. If you change your mind, I’ll be at the market tomorrow. Feel free to stop by.” You’d said. He’d smiled back at you in a way that suggested he knew something you didn’t, told you that you wouldn’t be seeing him at the market or any day after that.

As soon as the sun went down though, he continued appearing in your backyard. He never stayed long at first, only sticking around to strike up a brief conversation. You’d learned his name, Remmick, and he had learned yours. Your name was always soft on his tongue, like he needed to be careful with something precious. He listened to you talk like you spoke the gospel, reverence in those blue-gray eyes as he never missed a word. In turn he would tell you stories of a time long ago, weaving vibrant imagery that made you feel as if you were standing in the green fields of a country far away. It confirmed things about him that you already suspected, like how he wasn’t from here at all, that he came from something hundreds or maybe even thousands of years old.

You’d sit on your little porch swing while he’d remain in the grass leaning against the railing, never truly breaching the line of your home. The night was warm and muggy, and there was a lull in your conversation, causing your gaze to travel to the banjo he continued to carry with him. “You any good on that thing?” You’d asked with a nod towards it.

Remmick huffed. “I like to think I am.”

You smirked. “Play me somethin’.”

He’d given you that signature smile. “Well, can’t deny a pretty thing like you, can I?”

He was always quick to flatter you, and you had to admit it was getting to you a little, something foreign fluttering in your chest. He’d swung the instrument around, resting it in deft hands and idly strumming a string or two as he thought about what to play. He’d then struck the first few chords and you quickly realized you recognized the song, it being one your family had shared together for years. You couldn’t help but sing along, shutting your eyes and letting yourself feel the music within as your body swayed. It meant that you missed the way Remmick looked at you, like you were heaven come to earth, adoration and reverence burning in his eyes like the hottest fire. That was the moment something clicked into place for him, that cemented his need to have you in whatever way he could.

He was downright obsessed with you. He couldn’t stay away from you and your sweet voice, your mouth watering smell, your entire being that seemed to be kissed by the sun. He knew he’d do anything to stay in your warmth, in your blessing. He kept coming by night after night, staying as long as his hunger allowed or until you couldn’t stop yawning and finally headed to bed with a sleepy goodnight. Part of him wished to follow you inside, thinking of how easy it’d be to take you in the carnal way he secretly desired, to lock you to him for eternity, but Remmick always held back, another part of him not wanting to ruin what you have. After all, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a civil conversation with someone that didn’t end with their blood smeared along his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been shown such simple kindness, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so human.

You didn’t know how much time passed like that, with easy talks and shared songs into the late hours when everybody else would be asleep. You always kept your physical distance, as did he, like some unspoken understanding. The emotional distance was another story, something that was shortening by the day. Feelings were blooming into something out of control, mixing with your desire in order to make a sickly concoction.

You both knew you were onto him, onto the fact he was something unnatural and ancient, but you never bothered to bring it up. You’d heard enough stories from your momma about things like him, you understood how dangerous they were but… you couldn’t find it in yourself to chase him off. You’d grown too fond of him, of his stupid smile and charming words, his endless stories and soothing voice. He felt much the same and yet… you were at some kind of mutual standstill, neither of you quite knowing what to do with it.

Until the one night he didn’t show up.

You’d waited. You’d sat on the porch with furrowed brows and downturned lips, disappointment sitting heavy behind your heart. Had he gotten bored of you? Decided to disappear without a word? You’d supposed it wasn’t a shock, it happened to you all the time. You gave him an hour before you sighed in defeat, heading back inside so the bugs didn’t eat you alive for nothing. You tried to ignore the hurt you felt, knowing it was useless to feel it over someone—something—like him. He didn’t owe you anything, hell, you were lucky he hadn’t killed you. Maybe it was some kind of sign. You’d gone to bed just as thunder rumbled outside, lightning flickering between the clouds.

You were woken hours later by a knock on your back door. You’d grumbled and wrapped a robe around yourself, trudging down the hall and to the kitchen, eyeing the silhouette hidden behind the mesh screen. There was something whispering to not open it, to protect yourself and just crawl right back into bed. You noticed the silence that had settled around your home, the one that made the frogs quiet and the crickets cease their songs, the one always followed by a familiar figure. You knew something was off, could feel it in your bones, but it didn’t stop you from opening that door.

You’d gasped so sharply that it hurt, your body stumbling back a step. Remmick stood there, blood covering his front half, his eyes gleaming a deep red that reflected in the same way an animal’s did. The whole way he carried himself was different, more predatory and deadly, poised to kill at a moments notice. His clothes were disshelved, his bangs plastered to his forehead from sweat. The wind carried the smell of him to you, ancient earth and leather tainted with the iron of blood. He opened his mouth and you saw the teeth sharpened to fangs, coated with his meal.

He smiled at you, and it was no longer one that made your heart flutter. It sent a cold shiver down your spine. “You gon’ let me in, darlin’? Or just keep starin’?”

He liked the way you looked at him then, like everything finally snapped into place for you. Mixed with your fear was a kind of defiance, like you were trying to tell yourself not to be frightened. He liked you seeing him for what he truly was, liked knowing you still wouldn’t cower. It’s what made you step aside and say those simple words, even though you knew your momma was surely rolling in her grave at your stupidity.

Something heavy shifted when he stepped inside your home. Something that told you it could never be undone and you’d have to bear the consequences, but you found that you didn’t care. “So that’s what you are,” you muttered, “a vampire.” You’d heard of them before from your momma, you knew how to kill one. You were pretty sure there was even some kind of emergency kit hidden in a closet somewhere.

Remmick chuckled low and dark, shaking his head. “You knew this whole time and you ain’t ever run or scream or cry…” He smirked, triumphant. “I knew you was somethin’ special, darlin’.”

He sat in a chair at your dining table like it belonged to him, his eyes traveling around your home as he swallowed down every bit of information he could glean about you. The floral designs on the dish cloths, portraits hung on the walls, keepsakes littering empty spaces, and a thick recipe book sitting on the counter—all of it a testament to you, the woman he didn’t stop thinking about night after night. Your scent was so heavy in your home it made it feel like he was breathing in a drug every time he inhaled and fuck- he couldn’t get enough. He wanted it to live inside him, he wanted you to make your home in his veins, in the space between his ribs. He wanted you with him forever.

He watched with a predator’s gaze as you filled a bowl with water, desperate to do something to keep yourself busy. It was brave of you to keep your back to him, but it was like you knew he wouldn’t do anything unless you asked. He’d get on his knees for you if you wanted, he’d beg just to hear his name fall from your lips.

You grabbed one of your pretty little dish rags, setting it and the bowl next to him while you sat in front of him, so close your knees almost touched. He could tell how much you were trying to hide your fear from your expression but he still saw it in your furrowed brows and pressed lips and your eyes that were just a bit too wide. “I’m scarin’ ya.” He said it like a fact, one without room for dispute. His fierce red irises bore into yours, seeing everything you wanted to hide. You went to protest, your trembling mouth opening before he shushed you. “Don’t lie. I can smell it.” It was potent and intoxicating, seeping from your pores and making drool threaten to fall down his chin.

“I ain’t scared of you.” You said with a false confidence. You dipped the rag into the warm water and suddenly grabbed his face in one hand as if to prove it, shocking the both of you with your boldness. Remmick visibly shuddered under your touch, his eyes fluttering briefly and a small noise coming from him, even as your fingers dug into the plush of his cheeks. Oh, how long he’d waited to feel your hands on him, the warmth of your humanity, the softness of your skin. He couldn’t believe he’d gone this long without it, without something that was clearly so vital to his very existence. He knew then he could never go another day without touching you.

“Don’t want you makin’ a mess in my house.” You muttered like an excuse, dragging the rag across his upper lip and moving down, taking the blood with it. He was more than willing to relax into your ministrations, letting you clean him as if he was a child. Nobody had ever done it for him before, after all. He watched you all the while—the crease between your brows, the determined curve of your mouth, studying every detail and committing it to memory.

“I ain’t a stranger to blood, you know. My daddy used to be a doctor.” You began after a good few minutes, talking to keep yourself distracted from the reality of your situation. Remmick didn’t mind of course, he loved your voice more than life itself. His attention immediately shifted towards the sound like a dog with its ears perked.

“Used to?” He’d asked.

“He died in the war. Momma went soon after, they basically said heartbreak caused her stroke n’ killed her.” Your head shook. “She really loved that man to death. Couldn’t blame her, he was the kindest soul you’d ever meet. Always helpin’ the poor and needy, bringing ‘em into the house to heal ‘em when they couldn’t afford their bills. He’d make me help sometimes, getting fresh water and whatnot. That’s why you ain’t nothin’ special.”

“How sweet of ya.” Remmick teased, his fangs showing with his uneven smile.

You’d ignored him, rubbing the cloth along his collarbones and across the gold chain he wore, clearly beginning to discolor from age. The water in the bowl had long since turned red, your dishrag officially ruined but it was the least of your concerns (and Remmick had gotten you a new one later on).

When you’d deemed him clean enough, you moved to get up and dump the bloody water before his large, cold hand latched onto your wrist, stopping you abruptly. It was like the tension was pulled taught as a bowstring at that moment, some small seedling of doubt in you saying he was about to kill you while he just stared at where your bodies were connected. It was slow and purposeful when Remmick brought your hand up to his mouth and ran his lips along your palm, breathing you in, tasting you with darts of his tongue. You felt the flush crawl up the back of your neck and across your cheeks, watching as he nuzzled into your hand, looking at you with those wide red eyes, every reminder of the last couple months together hanging there. Every shared story, every vulnerability, every song sung together.

“I need ya, sweet thing, shoot- I’ve needed ya since that first day. I’ll treat ya nice and good, I swear it on my dead heart.” Remmick said to you, his words thick, heavy, and gravelly with his desire. “You’ll never want for nothin’, darlin’, I’ll give ya everythin’, I promise. Please, baby, let me prove it to ya-“

He continued to kiss along your arm, so determined to show you the truth behind his words, to make you give in to him with murmured pleas and prayers. He relished in the taste of you, his breaths growing labored from his excitement. You stopped him with your hands on either side of his face to pull him back, his lips parted and shiny with spit, his eyes still glowing red but full of unbridled desire for you. You already knew your answer, had known it the whole time. You were so tired of being alone, so tired of searching for someone, anyone, to love you and understand you. You didn’t care that the only one who did was a monster in the body of a man—there was something about it that made it even sweeter.

So you’d agreed.

There was only a second of pause, like Remmick was processing it, those simple words that tilted his entire world, before he was on you. He kissed you with such ferocity, such possession, his hands roaming all over you, gripping you so tightly you had no choice but to submit to him. He’d swept you up with ease, carrying you into your bedroom where he’d fucked you stupid until the sun rose, pulling more orgasms from you than you thought possible, pinning you beneath his sweat soaked body and filling you again and again, whispering his thanks and devotions the entire time. You’d slept through the whole day after that with Remmick cradling you against his cooled body, encasing you in his arms like he was afraid you’d take it all back if he let go.

That was how you fell into the routine of your relationship. He’d spend the light hours tucked away inside the safety of your house while you went about your day, then he’d leave most nights in search of food before coming back hours later and fucking you senseless, exhilarated from both the hunt and seeing you again. Remmick made you feel more loved and protected than you ever had before, always saying praises and promises into your skin like a prayer you’d hear in church, always giving you everything he had to offer. He’d sometimes even bring you gifts after his hunts, little things he knew you’d like. Fresh berries he stole from a garden or farm, beautiful flowers to go right on the table, a book or two he was able to snag off somebody.

It went on like this for months, and then it became a year, then two, until Remmick couldn’t take it anymore and he decided he needed you in a way that was deeper than what he’d been indulging in. It didn’t mean you getting bit, no, not yet, it meant you got presented with a pretty gold ring that matched his own. He asked you to marry him on a warm summers night, when fireflies were dancing outside and the critters of the moon were singing their songs. You’d said yes without hesitation, flinging your arms around him and kissing him until you both ran out of breath. You’d spent the rest of the moon hours dancing and singing and making love, too full of joy to do much else.

It was the best way for Remmick to have you forever, for every other man to know you belonged to him. He knew that one day he would bite you, he would drain the life from your body, he’d taste the sweet nectar of your blood that he so craved, he’d make you just like him and truly keep you for eternity. But that day wasn’t coming anytime soon.

He refused to be greedy just this once, deciding he wasn’t ready to take away your love of sunny days and the warmth of your skin, the thrum of a pulse in your veins. He wasn’t ready to ruin the simple pleasures of being a human being. But he knew he could never stand to lose you to something as menial as old age, or stand by and let some tragedy befall you. Biting you is like his sick way of protecting you, of showing you his love and devotion, even if you don’t know it yet, even if it takes you time to understand. It’d happen no matter what, he knew, but he’d let you enjoy those bright days in ignorance a little while longer.

Remmick can smell it on you now, the hours you’d spent in the sun earlier today, selling your baked goods at the market. The coldness within his bones seeks out your heat, desperate to bask in it and take it for his own. You give him a pleased hum as he grips your waist, blankets being moved aside to reveal your body to him. You’re pliant in his hold, always eager to give in, always eager to let him take control. It’s nice when you can step outside of yourself and just be, something you’ve only been able to do with him.

You can tell that he’s softer this time, his touch more reverent, something about it full of more longing like he’s memorizing every bit of you. He holds you like a man making love to his wife, not a monster clutching his possession so nobody else takes it. His mouth on yours is sensual, a twin to the hands beneath your nightdress, steadily bunching the material up your body so the air kisses along your flesh and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“Shit, darlin’, yer too perfect.” Remmick mutters, nearly breathless as he looks down at you, your supple curves, the expanse of your breasts and stomach that nearly has him drooling—not from hunger, but from pure want- no, pure need for you. Even after all this time, his attention still makes you squirm, your thighs squeezing together subconsciously. His eyes track the movement like a predator, the burning hue of red steadily consuming his irises once more.

One of his hands moves lower, parting your legs with ease and running his fingers along your clothed cunt. He hums to himself, feeling the way your wetness has dampened your underwear. “Missed me, huh?” He says, his crooked teeth showing in his smirk. He loves that all you can do is nod, a pathetic little noise coming from you. The scent of your arousal hits him like a truck, a guttural groan tearing from his chest as it seems to ignite his blood with desire. You smell so goddamn sweet, like the ripest fruit sitting ready for him to take and sink his teeth into.

Your underwear is moved aside and you jolt at that first contact, his fingers dragging up through your folds and collecting your slick. You whimper as he buries his face in the crook of your neck again, a deep groan coming from him with his inhale. As his thumb rolls your clit, his other hand comes up to knead a breast beneath his palm, the cold metal of his ring nipping at your skin. You can feel the way Remmick’s chest heaves against you, his desperate breaths fanning across your throat between his open-mouthed kisses.

You gasp when two fingers sink into your heat, your hands coming to scrabble at his shoulders. You always take him easily, your body attuned to him alone, like he’s branded into your very essence. It drives him crazy. “Fuck, Remmick-“ You whine, arching into his touch. He responds instantly to you saying his name; a harsher squeeze to your breast, a little show of his teeth against your neck, his hips rutting against you in search of friction. His name coming from you is like touching two wires together, sending sparks through his rotten veins. He’d happily walk into the sun as long as your voice is the last thing he hears.

You writhe under his weight, pleasure running like a wildfire beneath your skin. He devours every moan, whine, and gasp he pulls out of you, his erection painful in his pants from his lust and need. His fingers draw in and out of your cunt in smooth motions, pressing against the spots that have you keening, scissoring you open while your slick coats his palm. His thumb traces quick circles over your clit, listening to the way your body sings for him. He knows you’re close, your noises raising in pitch, your nails digging into his back, your pussy clenching around his fingers. 

“C’mon darlin’, give it to me.” Remmick encourages, lifting just enough to look at your face, your expression twisted with pleasure. Tears edging the corners of your eyes, your pretty mouth dropped open, your cheeks flushed. Your hands rest of either side of his jaw, drawing him in and kissing him deeply as your orgasm crashes over you. He groans appreciatively while you moan into his mouth, shudders wracking your body. He rides you through your orgasm, steadily bringing you down from that high as he practically engulfs you with his muscled form like he needs there to not be a singular inch of space between you. “My sweet girl.” He whispers against your mouth, a string of spit connecting you, his eyes ablaze with his desire.

As your underwear is tossed to some unknown corner, he fumbles with the buckle of his belt, shoving it aside to finally free his aching cock, precum beading at the tip. He runs his slick-covered hand along his length, happily coating himself in your release. He gives a sound halfway between a hum and a moan. “Fuck, darlin’, I need ya…” He practically gasps against your collarbones, his cock slipping between your folds, collecting the remainder of your cum. “Need ya so bad.”

You both moan in tandem when he at last thrusts into you, his hips flush to yours and filling you so completely in the way he’s done countless times before. His hand suddenly finds yours, your fingers intertwining and gripping on to the other so tightly it’s like you’re scared they’ll disappear if you let go. He draws out to the tip only to then slam back in, ecstasy simmering in his veins now that he can take you. He bites your skin between his blunt teeth, teasing that goldmine of ambrosia waiting just beneath, calling to him. He’s dreamt of the day he can finally drink from you, can finally have more than just the few drops that bubble to the surface from a cut or him biting too hard. He pushes those thoughts away now, not daring to tempt his appetite and instead focusing on the way your pussy holds onto him like a vice.

Your free hand comes up to card through his sweat-soaked hair, his short bangs plastered to his forehead. You grip at the strands for purchase as he sets an unrelenting, steady pace, his desperate pleas and vows to you a constant in your ear. You know for a fact no man’s ever loved you the way he does, no man’s ever been this desperate for you, so willing to get on his knees just for you to look at him. You welcomed him in, gave him something to hold on to and call his own, some place to belong—and he’ll spend the rest of his eternity showing you his gratitude.

You moan loud after a particularly harsh thrust, his grip on you tightening as he hits that sweet spot inside of you, the one that knocks the breath from your lungs and has you seeing stars. “So beautiful, sweet girl, y’sound so nice.” Remmick pants, his drool that’s begun to fall smearing along your skin. “Feel so good, so fuckin’ tight fer me.”

You practically chant his name mixed with a slew of curses, voice punctuated by his rutting into you. He has you pinned to the mattress, his muscles flexing against you with his efforts, making sure you stay right where he wants you. He licks up your neck, tasting the saltiness of your sweat, inhaling the drug that is your scent, heightened by your pleasure and mixed with something intoxicating. His groan falls off into a whine, mind overridden by his adoration for you and his lust, chasing the release he can feel building.

He knows it’s the same for you, he can feel your flutters around his cock, that knot within you growing to the point of soon coming undone. His free hand releases your hip to find your clit, rubbing jerky, uneven circles over the sensitive bud while you writhe in an attempt to get away from the overload of pleasure. Remmick never gives you the chance, your body tensing as that second orgasm crashes over you like an angry wave, your noises becoming broken and breathless.

Remmick’s eyes nearly roll back from the way your pussy grips his cock, his forehead falling to your chest as he tries to laugh and fails. “Shit, suckin’ me in. Fuck, sweet thing- I can’t-“ He manages one last thrust before he cums deep inside you, his words breaking off with a wail, your walls painted white with his spend.

You both lay there for a moment, motionless in the aftermath of release, combined sweat covering your bodies and your hands still locked together. You and him shudder when his cock slips out of you, your shared cum beginning to seep from you in his absence.

Remmick is the first to regain himself, as always, his lips leaving gentle kisses on the space between your breasts and up your throat and jaw before reaching your mouth. He kisses you sweetly, then pulling back to bring your hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss on your knuckles, on your wedding ring. “My perfect girl.” He murmurs. “So good to me.”

You smile tiredly, your arms slinging across his shoulders. “Could say the same to you.” You tease. You then sigh contentedly, bringing him in and encouraging him to lay on your chest. “I love you, Remmick, I hope you know that.”

Those three words, so simple and yet so damning, always make him stop. He has to run them over in his mind, like he doesn’t believe they can actually be said to a thing like him. His hold on your hips tightens, his face nuzzling into you as if to hide from that phrase. “‘Course I do. Love you too, darlin’.” He mumbles, the words still foreign on his old tongue. Your smile softens, your fingers running soothingly through his hair. You pull the covers back up around you both, encasing him in the warmth that he lacks.

Outside, you can hear the familiar early morning sounds of the South; the birds chirping, the bugs buzzing in their swarms, and the occasional car sputtering by. The world wakes up beyond your reinforced curtains, basking in the sunlight that Remmick so violently hides away from. He knows that in a few hours you’ll go out and join them, greeting your neighbors and sharing recent news, playing a game of normalcy so nobody asks too many questions about the husband they’ve never seen.

But for right now, he’ll enjoy being able to hold you and feel your body right against his, your steady heartbeat drumming in his ear as sleep pulls you away. He’ll enjoy having you all to himself in the safety of the dark before you step out into the daylight and leave him behind.

[mooningningg]

"ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴘᴀʏ ʀᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ" ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ ᴘʀᴀɴᴋ ᴏɴ ᴊᴊᴋ ᴍᴇɴ

Toji, Gojo, Suguru, Nanami, Sukuna, and Megumi

Genre, fluff. Notes, I love this trend, thank you anon for requesting!!

★ TOJI FUSHIGURO

Toji was crouched in front of the open fridge, shirtless, halfway through eating cold leftovers with a fork when you leaned on the kitchen counter.

You cleared your throat. “Babe… I can’t pay rent this month.”

He froze. Slowly straightened up, container still in hand. Turned to look at you.

Eyebrow raised. Chewing.

Then — a pause. Swallow. Blink.

“The fuck you mean you can’t pay rent?” he asked, pointing the fork at you.

You tried to keep a straight face. “I’ve been falling behind lately. Money’s tight.”

“Yeah?” He slammed the fridge shut with his knee. “That’s crazy. You ever paid rent?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

He walked over, leaned on the counter, tilted his head. “You said that like you’ve ever paid a single peso to live here.”

“I bought sponges,” you argued weakly.

“Oh, great. You’re contributing to the domestic economy.” He snorted, set the container down, and smirked. “You got real bold talkin’ about rent like it was your fuckin’ bill.”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile. “It was a prank.”

Toji smirked wider. “Hope so. 'Cause the only thing you’re payin’ for here is in backrubs and silence during UFC fights.”

★ GOJO SATORU

You found him in the bathroom mirror, halfway through his unnecessarily long skincare routine, humming to himself with a headband holding his hair back.

“Hey, babe?”

He flicked eye cream onto his cheek. “What’s up, sugarplum?”

“I can’t pay rent this month.”

He stopped mid-swipe. Stared at your reflection in the mirror. Lowered his hands.

“Sorry — you can’t what?”

“I said I can’t pay rent,” you repeated, straight-faced.

Gojo turned slowly, headband still on, a full pause as he looked you up and down.

“You don’t… pay rent.”

“I know,” you said innocently. “But if I did… I couldn’t.”

He blinked. “So let me get this straight. You walked into this bathroom — where I’m moisturizing with serums worth more than your entire shoe rack — and said, ‘I can’t pay rent this month,’ like you’ve ever paid for more than iced coffee and lip gloss?”

“I’m manifesting financial stress,” you defended.

He put a hand over his chest, faking a dramatic gasp. “I can’t believe you gaslighted me into budgeting emotions I didn’t need.”

You cracked. “It’s a prank, Satoru!”

He grinned, pulling you into a hug with sticky fingers. “You’re lucky you’re hot. And lucky I’m rich. And lucky I moisturize. You’d be on the street.”

★ GETO SUGURU

You caught him on the couch, glasses on, reading a book with a warm cup of tea in hand.

“Suguru?”

“Mmm?” he hummed, not looking up.

“I can’t pay rent this month.”

The page paused mid-turn. He lowered the book slowly. Looked at you.

“You can’t pay what?”

“Rent,” you said seriously.

He stared, completely still.

“Darling, when have you ever paid rent?” he asked softly, sipping his tea again. “Did you recently get a job I don’t know about?”

You tried to hold your laugh. “Well, no. But I thought I should let you know.”

Suguru set the cup down gently. “I see. Thank you for your transparency. I’ll make sure to let the landlord — who is also me — know that your 0% contribution remains unchanged.”

You burst out laughing. “It’s a prank!”

He sighed dramatically. “Then I suppose the flowers I was about to buy you for being honest about your finances can now be redirected to a nice psychiatric evaluation.”

★ KENTO NANAMI

Nanami was seated at the dining table, neat papers beside his laptop, glasses perched on his nose. The aura of a man trying to make sense of the world through Excel.

You walked up cautiously. “Kento?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t pay rent this month.”

He didn’t look up. Just adjusted his glasses. “…You don’t pay rent.”

“Well, if I did…”

Nanami exhaled slowly. Finally raised his head. “Are you saying this to be funny, or are you testing my patience?”

“Little of both,” you admitted.

Nanami closed his laptop. “Do you recall how much the last electricity bill was?”

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

You smiled sheepishly. “It was a prank.”

He gave you a long, silent look. Then stood up, walked over, kissed your forehead, and murmured, “Prank responsibly. Or you’ll be writing receipts for every spoon you touch.”

★ RYOMEN SUKUNA

He was on the couch shirtless, watching some brutal action movie, half a bowl of chips on his lap.

“Hey, Sukuna?”

He didn’t look at you. “What.”

“I can’t pay rent this month.”

That got his attention. His eyes slowly cut toward you.

“You can’t what?” he repeated, low and dangerous.

“I can’t pay rent,” you said again.

He turned off the TV with the remote. Sat up.

“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “You think you live here rent-free on charity?”

You held up a hand. “Technically, I do—”

“Exactly.” He pointed at you. “You eat my food, steal my hoodies, shed your shampoo all over my tub, and now you’re announcing your broke ass like I was waiting for a payment?”

You snorted. “It’s a prank—!”

He stood up, stalked toward you, cornered you against the wall with a hand beside your head.

“You better start payin’ in blowjobs and loyalty if you’re gonna pull dumb shit like this.”

You were laughing, face burning. “I do!”

He pulled back, grinning darkly. “Good. Rent accepted.”

★ MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

Megumi was folding laundry on the bed when you walked in, pretending to be stressed.

“Gumi… I can’t pay rent this month.”

He paused, shirt in hand.

“…You never pay rent.”

“I know. But I can’t this month either.”

He turned to face you fully, blinking slowly. “You… said that like you contribute more than cuddles and three dirty dishes a day.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s valuable emotional labor.”

He gave you a deadpan stare. “This is why I get gray hair.”

You cracked a smile. “It’s a prank.”

Megumi sighed, finishing the fold. “Okay. But I’m adding ‘rent anxiety’ to the list of reasons why I’m cooking dinner without you tonight.”

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Home sweet home”

No Outbreak!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

Based on this request

Summary: After losing your home, you have no choice but to move in with your college best friend Sarah… and her ridiculously attractive dad, Joel Miller.

He does his best to keep his feelings at bay—until he catches his brother Tommy flirting with you, jealousy ignites something he can’t suppress anymore.

WC: 10k

Warning/Tags: smut, minors DNI, age gap (joel is 40ish, reader is 21), unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), masturbation, dirty talk, creampie, aftercare, jealous joel, touch starved joel.

The message from your landlord came while you were scrubbing toothpaste out of your bathroom sink.

Building is getting sold. You have 30 days.

You stared at the screen, heart dropping. It wasn’t a prank. You called him in a panic, and he confirmed it—just as casually cruel as you remembered him being the day you signed the lease.

“You’ll get the paperwork this week. Nothing personal, sweetheart. Just business.”

It felt personal, even if it wasn’t. You’d worked your ass off to afford that shitty little studio near campus. And now? With finals looming and no savings to speak of, you were out of options.

Until Sarah Miller—your best friend, together in every class—called you ten minutes later with a plan.

“Move in with me and my dad.”

“Wait, what?”

“We’ve got space. You’ve seen the house. You’ll have your own room. Come on. It’s perfect.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Oh, come on, why not?”

“Did you even ask your dad first?”

“He won’t say no. Trust me.”

It was a nice house. You’d gone over for Thanksgiving last year when you couldn’t afford the plane ticket home. Suburban, warm, homey. The kind of place that smelled like cedar and lemon wood polish and fresh cornbread in the oven.

And Joel? Well. You didn’t know him well. But you remembered that deep Southern drawl and how he always seemed kind of quiet, brooding in a way that made it hard to tell if he hated having guests or just didn’t know what to say to twenty-year-old girls. Still, he’d pulled your chair out at the table, handed you a full plate, and insisted you take leftovers home.

He was the typical tough Texan dad with an arsenal of dad jokes, a garage full of tools, and arms like he’d never stopped working construction a day in his life. He’d raised her alone since she was little. He was protective. Gruff. A good man, by all accounts. But also a man. A very attractive, older man. And you didn’t trust yourself not to notice that.

You’d tried not to think about it too much at Thanksgiving—the way his voice dipped when he asked if you were warm enough, the way his hand brushed your lower back when he passed behind you at the sink.

You move in on a rainy Thursday, just after your last final. Your life packed in four boxes, two garbage bags, a battered backpack.

Sarah came bounding out the front door before you even reached the sidewalk.

“You made it! Jesus, you really packed light,” she said, grabbing the smallest box from your arms.

You shrugged. “Didn’t have much left after storage and panic donations. Thanks again for this, seriously.”

“Please. Dad’s thrilled. I mean, he grumbled at first, but he always grumbles. That’s how you know he cares.”

She carries one box up the porch steps, then kicks the door open like she owns the place. “Dad? You home?”

Joel appears in the hallway wearing a fitted Henley and jeans that fit too well for a man pushing fifty. His beard was speckled with gray, and the laugh lines around his eyes only made his scowl somehow more handsome. His sleeves are rolled up, dust on his hands like he’s been fixing something. He wipes them on a rag tucked into his back pocket and gives you a once-over, expression unreadable.

There’s a moment where time slows—not because anything dramatic happens, but because something in your chest clenches, tight and hot, when his eyes meet yours.

His gaze lingered on you for a second—just long enough to make your heart do something entirely inappropriate—and then he nodded.

“Thank you for letting me stay, Mr. Miller. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, I’ll try my best not to disturb your routine.”

Joel, in his Texas attitude: “Ain’t no trouble at all, darlin’. Stay as long as you’d like.”

“It won’t be much, I promise. Just until I can get back on my feet and find a place.”

Joel nods. “No rush, darlin’. Got plenty of room here.” He glances at the boxes in your arms. “That all you got?”

You nod. “Uh-huh.”

“Alright. Sarah, show her the guest room. I’ll heat up some chili.”

You blink. “You don’t have to—”

He’s already walking toward the kitchen. “’Course I do. Can’t have y’all movin’ boxes on an empty stomach.”

Sarah grins at you like told you so and starts up the stairs.

The guest room is bigger than your entire studio apartment. Wood floors, clean sheets, a window seat overlooking the yard. It smells like cedar and laundry detergent and a hint of tobacco smoke that clings to Joel like an afterthought. A stack of neatly folded towels waits at the foot of the bed. It’s not fancy—but it feels intentional. Like someone actually cared about making the space comfortable.

You shower, change into soft cotton shorts and a shirt, and pad downstairs, still a little unsure of your place in all this.

Joel’s in the kitchen, ladling chili into bowls, his flannel sleeves rolled again to the elbows. His forearms are dusted with dark hair, corded with strength, and you swallow hard before looking away.

He moves like he’s always half-ready to lift something heavy, the quiet confidence of a man who’s used to being relied on. You wonder what his hands would feel like—not on you, not like that, just… in your hair. On your back. Tucking a blanket around your shoulders.

He doesn’t say much over dinner. Just listens while Sarah fills the silence, talking about professors and internships and how excited she is that you’re staying. He asks you a few questions, soft and low: how your finals went, if you need help finding work over the summer, whether you prefer coffee or tea in the morning.

Simple things. Domestic things.

But every time he speaks directly to you, your skin gets hot. It’s not what he says—it’s how. That quiet, steady drawl. The way he looks at you when you answer, really looks, like your words matter. Like you matter.

And it still makes something flutter low in your stomach, the way his eyes linger on you just a second too long when you talk.

You wonder if he notices the way you sit a little straighter when he enters the room. If he sees the way you steal glances at him when you think no one’s looking.

What you don’t know is—he does.

You settled in quickly. Joel wasn’t a talker—at least not in the mornings—but he wasn’t cold either. He made good coffee, offered rides if your class schedule lined up, and grunted his approval when you loaded the dishwasher “the right way.”

He moved around the kitchen in a way that was easy to fall into rhythm with. No unnecessary chatter, just the rustle of the newspaper, the soft clink of ceramic mugs, the smell of fresh coffee and toast. It was domestic in a way that caught you off guard—familiar, intimate, comforting.

You’d only been there three weeks, and already it felt like home. Which was dangerous. Because you were starting to look forward to seeing him more than you should.

It started small—the sound of his boots in the hallway, the low hum of him talking to himself as he worked in the garage, the way his T-shirts stretched over broad shoulders that definitely didn’t belong to a man his age. A glance too long. A laugh too soft. The way your stomach fluttered when Joel passed behind you at the kitchen counter and his hand brushed the small of your back—not even meaning to.

You’d feel the warmth of that touch long after it happened, seeping into your skin like heat from the sun. And even though you told yourself not to overthink it, that it didn’t mean anything, your body reacted all the same—tense, aware, expectant.

He was always polite. Courteous. A little gruff, sure, but that just made the softness underneath hit harder. You’d hear him in the mornings, humming low and tuneless while making coffee. You caught him once, reading a paperback novel on the porch, dog-eared and sun-bleached, his thumb absently rubbing the edge of the page. You wanted to sit down next to him. You didn’t.

He looked peaceful like that—legs stretched out, glasses slipping a little down his nose, the kind of man who lived in his own silence like it was armor. You hovered in the doorway too long that day, wondering what would happen if you broke it.

Joel wasn’t nosy.

Not in the way some folks were, at least. He minded his own damn business, kept to himself, didn’t ask questions unless he needed to. But lately—ever since you moved in—it was like the house had changed its shape.

It was the little things.

The way your laughter lilted through the hallways when Sarah showed you some dumb video. The smell of your shampoo curling out from the bathroom door in warm, steamy waves. Your shoes kicked off at the front door—small, scuffed, feminine—and your toothbrush next to his in the cup like it belonged there.

You weren’t doing anything inappropriate. You were polite, helpful, respectful. You always said thank you, always rinsed your dishes before putting them in the washer, always asked him how his day was. Hell, Sarah had brought home other friends before—ones who left dishes in the sink and hair in the drain. He hadn’t batted an eye.

But you?

You looked at him like he was something else entirely.

You didn’t mean to, he could tell. You didn’t flirt. You didn’t push boundaries. But sometimes, when you thought he wasn’t looking, your eyes lingered. Slid over his shoulders when he stretched his arms above his head. Dipped down to his hands when he was working in the yard. Stuck on his mouth when he took a sip of his beer after dinner.

And Joel noticed. God help him, he noticed.

But he didn’t do a damn thing.

Not even when you laughed at something Sarah said and threw your head back, that golden line of your throat catching the light. Not even when you wore those little cotton shorts that barely qualified as sleepwear, and brushed past him like you didn’t know what you were doing. Maybe you didn’t. Maybe you did.

He saw things. Not always directly, but enough to piece together the truth.

Like the way your eyes lingered when he handed you a plate, or how your voice got quieter when he came into the room. He’d catch your gaze in the reflection of the kitchen window, see the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention—not like a girl looking at her best friend’s dad, but like a woman looking at a man.

He tried not to think about it too much. It wasn’t right. Too many years, too many lines he shouldn’t cross. But Joel was still a man. And some things were hard to ignore.

He was older. Wiser. Should’ve been above even thinking about it. He didn’t entertain things that didn’t have roots. And this? This thing that simmered silently between you? It didn’t have roots. It was delicate, new, fleeting. Probably one-sided. Just a girl feeling grateful and safe under a roof that wasn’t falling apart.

Still.

He noticed.

Especially when he went out to hang laundry in the sun one Saturday, and there—damn near dead center of the clothesline—was a little scrap of fabric that stopped him cold.

Pink. Lacy. Your thong.

It swayed gently in the breeze like a whisper, like a secret only he was meant to see. The kind of thing no man in his position should be looking at—but God, it was hard not to. He felt the heat rise behind his ears, that deep, low ache settling behind his ribs like a warning bell.

He swallowed hard and looked away.

But not before he saw the way it fluttered lightly in the breeze, a tiny, taunting flag of temptation in the middle of his goddamn backyard.

He didn’t touch it. Didn’t move it. Just hung his own clean shirt a few pegs down and muttered to himself.

“Not your business, Miller.”

He knew he was in trouble when he couldn’t stop picturing it—you—folding those same little things in the laundry room, humming softly to yourself, maybe biting your lip while you read a text. Oblivious to the way you bent at the waist, the way your hair fell over your face, the way his eyes always found you no matter what room you were in.

He didn’t mean to stare. Didn’t want to.

But goddammit.

You were young. Smart. Kind. The kind of girl who brought home little bags of groceries without being asked, who laughed at his dumb jokes and called him “Mr. Miller” even though he told you not to. The kind of girl who still had the whole world ahead of her.

And Joel?

Joel was just a man trying to keep his eyes to himself.

Trying.

Trying not to picture things he had no right picturing. Not to wonder what you’d do if he ever reached out, just once, and touched your waist again on purpose. Not to imagine the taste of your laugh on his mouth or the feel of your thighs in his hands. But it was getting harder. Every day, it got harder.

One night, Sarah had gone out to the movies with some childhood friends — you decided to stay home. The house had grown still as you padded into the kitchen, wearing a pair of shorts so small they should have been illegal, and an oversized shirt.

He was nursing a beer at the table.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, opening the fridge. “Too quiet.”

He watched you pull out a water bottle, the fridge light glowing against your skin. He tried not to let his eyes drift, but they did—bare legs, the edge of that damn thong visible beneath your waistband, like it was teasing him.

You caught him looking—but only for a second.

Neither of you said a word about it.

But the air felt thick. Too heavy for casual silence.

He cleared his throat. “That shirt’s a little big on you.”

You looked down, smiling faintly. “Didn’t have any clean ones left.”

There was a lull, quieter now. Comfortable, almost. Then he asked, “Sarah… she seein’ anybody?”

You blinked. “Like dating?”

He shrugged. “Just wonderin’. She doesn’t tell me much these days. Figured you’d know.”

You shook your head, setting your water down. “Not seriously, no. Some guy in one of her econ classes was trying to flirt with her, but she said he chewed with his mouth open and that was a dealbreaker.”

Joel snorted. “Good girl.”

You smiled. “Girl knows her worth.”

He nodded, eyes still fixed on the label of his beer bottle, turning it slowly between his fingers. “You got anybody back at school?”

The question landed softer than it should’ve. You watched him carefully, the way his shoulders stayed loose, but his voice had dropped just enough to make your heart beat a little faster.

You shook your head. “No one worth talking about.”

Joel looked up at you. Held your gaze.

“No one good enough?” he asked.

You shrugged. “They’re… I don’t know. Loud. Kind of cocky. They talk a big game and can barely hold a conversation. Or your attention.”

His jaw shifted like he was biting back a thought. “Boys your age are idiots,” he said finally. “They don’t know how to treat a woman right. Not yet.”

You let out a soft laugh. “That sounds like personal experience.”

His eyes flicked back to yours, steady, unreadable. “Somethin’ like that.”

The silence settled again—thicker now. Not awkward. Not quite.

You leaned against the counter, sipping your water, eyes flicking to his, soft and a little unsure.

“I’m not bothering you being here, am I, Mr. Miller?” you asked suddenly.

His brow furrowed. “Joel, please. And no, course not. Why would you think that?”

You shrugged, looking down. “You’ve been kinda… quiet lately.”

He hesitated.

Tell her the truth, or don’t?

That the silence was the only thing keeping him from saying something he shouldn’t. That he didn’t trust the way his voice might sound if he told you how pretty you looked when you were tired. That if he let himself talk too much, he might never stop.

“I’m just tired,” he said instead, and the lie sat heavy in the space between you.

You nodded slowly, but your expression didn’t quite believe him.

Joel watched you disappear back down the hallway, and when he heard your bedroom door click shut, he let out a long, quiet breath.

This was a bad idea.

All of it.

Letting you stay. Letting himself look. Letting himself feel. He’d kept his head down for years—just work, just routine, just doing right by Sarah. But now? Now, every second you were in the house chipped away at his resolve.

But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was pink lace swaying in the sun.

The spare room was cozy in a mismatched, homey way. The walls were painted a soft blue, the bedspread faded but clean, and an old acoustic guitar leaned in the corner like it had stories of its own. You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, while Sarah sprawled out in the doorway with a soda and a bag of chips, already halfway through her second story about her high school boyfriend getting chased off by Joel.

“I swear to God,” she said between crunches, “Dad answered the door holding a wrench. Like, deliberately. Just stood there cleaning it like he was in a mob movie. And Dustin? Gone. Out the driveway, full sprint. Never texted me again.”

You snorted. “Honestly, good for him. Sounds like your dad was just doing the Lord’s work.”

“Please. He was so dramatic. He didn’t even like Dustin. Said he looked like a ‘wet Q-tip with a bad attitude.’”

You laughed so hard you nearly choked.

Sarah grinned, then tilted her head, studying you. “I can’t believe you’re actually living here. Like, in my house. This is so weird.”

“Is it?”

“Kinda. You’re like, my person. And now you’re crashing with me and my dad. It’s like a weird sitcom. ‘Two girls, one grumpy Texan dad, chili every night.’”

You grinned, tossing a pair of socks into a drawer. “He’s not that grumpy.”

“Give it a week,” she said. “You haven’t seen him in lawn mode. Or ‘someone parked wrong in the street’ mode.”

“Still,” you said, casually — way too casually — “your dad’s kind of… hot.”

Sarah choked mid-sip and immediately started coughing.

You froze. Then winced. “…Oh my God.”

She held up a hand, wheezing and sputtering. “What. Did you just say?”

You covered your face with both hands. “Forget it. Forget I said anything. I—God, that slipped out. Jesus.”

She stared at you, open-mouthed, like you’d just confessed to a war crime.

“You think my dad is hot?”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “I said kind of!”

“That’s not better!”

You flopped back on the bed, groaning into the comforter. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

“You meant it, though,” she accused, pointing the neck of her soda bottle at you. “That was some ‘I’ve-thought-about-this-in-the-shower’ kind of confession.”

You dragged a pillow over your face. “He’s just… rugged, okay? That whole strong, quiet, Southern thing? It’s a thing.”

“I really didnt want to know that you wanted to bang my dad!”

“I didn’t say I wanted to—”

“You didn’t not say it!”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “I’m just saying. The flannel. The beard. The arms. Your dad’s hot. Objectively.”

She blinked at you. “You cannot say that to me.”

You covered your face with both hands, half-laughing, half-dying inside. “I’m sorry. It just slipped out. Like verbal diarrhea.”

Sarah threw a pillow at you, but she was laughing now, loud and open-mouthed.

“You can’t say things like that while living under his roof!”

“I won’t!” you insisted. “It’s just between us. Totally harmless. I’ll keep it locked away.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You better. One slip and I’m kicking your ass out so fast your socks’ll still be inside.”

Saturdays were for repairs.

Joel had the garage door rolled halfway up, sunlight slanting in dusty golden lines across the concrete, sawdust clinging to the curl of his beard, oil on his jeans, and a socket wrench in his hand. His old Ford truck sat like a patient in surgery, hood propped open, the guts of the engine laid bare.

He didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until—

“Damn, big brother. Thought I’d find you inside, makin’ breakfast for your little college girl.”

Joel grunted and turned just enough to see Tommy leaning against the frame of the garage, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up into that ever-confident smirk.

“Don’t start,” Joel muttered.

“Oh, I’m startin’,” Tommy said, pushing off the frame and strolling in. His boots scuffed the floor like he owned it, like he always did. “Sarah told me. Said you got some cute little roommate now. Friend from school. Needed a place to stay. All innocent and temporary-like.”

Joel wiped his hands on a rag, knuckles scraped raw, jaw tight.

“She’s Sarah’s friend. That’s it.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

Joel shot him a look—sharp enough to cut, the kind that used to end bar fights before they began.

Tommy held up his hands in mock surrender, laughing. “Hey now, I ain’t judgin’.If I were you, I’d be prayin’ to God she accidentally walked in on me in the shower.”

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, tossing the rag aside. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “She’s twenty, Tommy. I’m not prayin’ for anythin’.”

“Bullshit,” Tommy said, circling the truck and leaning close. His voice dropped, grin turning wolfish. “You think I don’t know that look? That tight-shouldered, jaw-clenched, eyes-averted ‘I’m definitely not starin’ at her tits’ look?”

Joel didn’t answer. Just picked up another wrench and bent back under the hood.

“Man, this is perfect. This is like every guy’s fantasy—having a sweet little thing livin’ under your roof.”

“Shut the hell up,” he muttered.

Tommy slapped his back. “C’mon. You’re not dead, man.”

Joel shot him a flat look. Deadpan, dangerous. “I ain’t touchin’ that, alright? She’s a goddamn kid. And a good one.”

“You do you, man. But let me know if Sarah has more college friends lookin’ for a place to stay. Got plenty of empty space in my bed.”

Joel gave him a warning glare that could’ve curdled milk. A low, guttural sound barely restrained in his throat.

Tommy held up both hands, grinning. “Can’t blame a guy for tryin’.”

That night Joel’d waited until he heard your door close. Waited until the house settled again. He stayed up late on purpose—he always did when the thoughts got bad. Tried to wear himself out with TV and whiskey and reruns of shows he wasn’t even watching.

But it didn’t help.

Not tonight.

His bedroom was dim, just moonlight through the blinds striping the bed in pale, prison-bar lines. He lay there in just his boxers, one arm behind his head, the other resting on his stomach.

He hadn’t touched himself in months. Maybe longer. Not seriously. Not like this.

He closed his eyes.

Usually he thought of nothing. Just the feeling. Just friction. Just need.

But tonight…

Tonight, without warning, he pictured you.

You—laughing in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, water dripping off your wrists as you scrubbed a plate. You—bent over the dryer in those little shorts, stretching on your toes to reach the fabric softener. You—curled up on the couch in his flannel, bare thighs and sleepy eyes, so soft and unaware.

Joel’s breath hitched.

No.

He shouldn’t.

He shifted on the mattress, hand dragging lower—slow, hesitant, full of guilt. His palm pressed flat over the growing heat beneath his waistband, and he exhaled like it hurt. Because in some ways, it did.

This wasn’t a fantasy. Not really.

It was memory.

Real moments. Real sounds. The way you said his name when you asked for help reaching the tall shelves. The innocent way you’d smiled that first night when he offered you coffee and your fingers brushed his.

You weren’t trying to tempt him. You weren’t doing anything wrong.

And still—God help him—he was getting hard thinking about you.

He grunted softly, frustrated, but his hand was already slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, fingers curling around his cock with a low, guttural sound he couldn’t bite back. Hard and heavy in his fist, the heat of it made him wince, like it shamed him to want this badly.

Eyes screwed shut, he tried to keep it vague—faceless, nameless. Just friction. Just relief. But his mind betrayed him.

He saw the way your panties peeked above your waistband when you bent over. The damp outline they sometimes left on your shorts. The little, unconscious noise you’d made that day you tripped and he caught you—his hands curling too tight around your waist, the soft give of your body against his. How your breath hitched when you looked up at him, close enough to kiss.

He was already too far gone.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, groaning under his breath as his hand stroked again—long, slow, dragging his palm over the tip where precum slicked his skin. Not rough. Not fast. Just aching. Like he was trying to hold on to something he had no right to want. Like he wanted it to hurt a little.

Goddamn, he could almost hear it—your voice breaking as you moaned his name, breathy and begging. Could feel your thighs squeezing around him, back arching beneath him, nails raking down his shoulders. Your pussy clenching around him so tight he couldn’t breathe.

His fist moved faster now, hips flexing up into it, lost in it, drowning in the image of your face beneath him, mouth open, eyes glazed, whispering please, please, Joel

Don’t do this. Don’t think about her like that.

But he couldn’t stop.

Because when was the last time someone touched him? When was the last time someone looked at him the way you did, like he was more than a tired man with a worn-down heart and calloused hands?

He couldn’t stop thinking about your hand instead of his—smaller, softer, fingers wrapping around him with purpose. Curious, hungry. The way you’d look up at him while you did it, those eyes wide and dark, lips parted, so goddamn pretty.

But then his mind wandered lower, your mouth around him, soft and wet and warm, the plush slide of your lips over the tip. He imagined you licking up the precum first, sweet and teasing, just to watch him squirm. He imagined the sound you’d make when he hit the back of your throat, your fingers digging into his thighs as he groaned for you.

His hips lifted without him meaning to. The sheets bunched under his thighs, breath growing louder, faster, the pressure building.

And then—

From the hallway—a creak.

Joel froze. His pulse slammed in his throat. He held his breath.

Nothing followed. Just the house settling. Just pipes groaning. Just his own heartbeat, pounding loud in his ears.

He let go of himself, panting, hand still slick and shaking.

He hadn’t even finished.

But it felt like a confession anyway.

He rolled onto his side, ashamed and aching, like his skin didn’t quite fit right anymore. Jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

You deserved better than this. Better than a man who couldn’t stop thinking about you in the dark.

But Joel didn’t sleep that night.

Because now he’d let the thought in.

And it wasn’t going anywhere.

The backyard smelled like mesquite smoke and beer. Laughter floated up with the dusk, low and warm, curling into the branches of the old oak tree Joel had been meaning to trim.

The kind of laugh that hummed through the air like music, folding into the rustle of leaves overhead, the slow creak of porch steps under shifting weight. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a smear of gold and lavender in the sky, and the scent of meat on the grill mixed with citronella and cut grass.

It was one of those rare Texas evenings that made you forget the heat ever existed. The kind where neighbors came out of hiding, kids darted between legs, and old men leaned against porch railings, sipping cheap whiskey like it was the good stuff.

Joel had dragged out the grill, lit the citronella candles, and let Sarah handle the music. He wasn’t a party guy—but he’d hosted enough barbecues over the years to make it seem like second nature. Burgers. Beer. Music.

You were sitting near the edge of the porch in one of those fold-up chairs with the mesh cupholders, cradling a drink and laughing at something Sarah said.

The porch light hit your shoulders just right, casting a soft glow over your skin, catching the glint of your earrings as you tipped your head back to laugh. One foot tucked under your knee, the other tapping gently to the beat of the old country song Sarah had queued up.

And you looked good.

Too good. It hit him like a sucker punch every time he let his eyes linger too long. The way your hair was twisted up off your neck, leaving your throat bare. The delicate dip of your collarbone. The curve of your lips wrapped around the rim of your beer bottle, glossy and a little smudged. You didn’t look like you belonged on his porch—you looked like you belonged in a dream.

Joel had noticed the minute you walked out of the house, dress catching the breeze and clinging in the right places. Your legs crossed and bare, that little tilt of your head when you listened too closely.

You wore that white dress like it had been made for you. Thin straps. Tied at the waist. Flowing just enough to look innocent, but short enough to make his thoughts stray. Your skin was sun-kissed from the last weekend trip with Sarah, and Joel’s eyes kept betraying him—dragging down your thighs, your knees, the hem that danced along your mid-thigh every time the wind kicked up.

Then Tommy showed up.

Joel clocked the change immediately. Tommy didn’t even hide it. The way his smile lit up when he saw you, the way he pulled up a chair right next to yours without asking, cracking a fresh beer like he belonged there.

The bastard didn’t even pause. Just waltzed in like he’d been invited to flirt. Elbows out, grin wide, voice pitched just loud enough to draw you in. Joel saw the way you smiled back, polite, curious. The way you angled your body, legs still crossed but turned just enough to make room for Tommy. It lit a fire low in his chest. One he didn’t want to name.

Joel tried to ignore it.

He manned the grill like he was supposed to. Kept his head down. Tended to the burgers and ribs, tongs in hand, beer sweating beside him.

But every time he glanced up—

There was Tommy. Leaning close. Laughing louder. His knee brushing yours, his arm slung casually behind your chair. He was telling a story, waving his hands for emphasis, and you were looking at him like he was interesting. Like he was funny.

You were in that white dress with the tie at the waist—pretty, light, a little too short. Your hair was up. You were holding a beer bottle like you didn’t know what to do with it.

And Tommy was eating it up.

Soaking in your laugh like sunlight, leaning in every time you shifted, letting his knee stay pressed to yours like it was nothing. Like he could.

Joel’s jaw was grinding so tight he could feel it in his molars. He wasn’t your boyfriend. You were Sarah’s friend. A guest in his home. A girl in her twenties.

He had no claim on you.

But watching Tommy try to take his place? Watching his younger brother flash that same damn smile he used in high school to steal Joel’s crushes?

He stabbed the burger too hard, juice hissing into the flames. The smoke rose too fast, stinging his eyes. Or maybe that was the heat building behind them. Either way, he didn’t look up again until he heard you laugh. That sound again. Soft and sharp all at once. Right into Tommy’s chest.

“Easy there, cowboy,” Bill, his neighbor, muttered from beside him, nursing a beer. “Grill didn’t cheat on you.”

Joel didn’t respond.

Didn’t trust himself to speak. Could feel the words backing up in his throat like fire behind a dam. He swallowed them with a long pull of beer, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

He couldn’t stop watching Tommy.

The way he smiled like it cost him nothing. Like there wasn’t a line between charm and audacity. Joel had always drawn that line. Tommy had never cared where it was.

His younger, easier, unmarried brother. Tan from too much sun. Smiling like he didn’t know the weight of anything. Carefree in a way Joel had never been—not even when he was Tommy’s age. Throwing out compliments like they cost him nothing, like you weren’t standing in Joel’s backyard with Joel’s beer in your hand, wearing that dress that already had his goddamn head spinning.

“You ever model before?” Tommy asked you, loud enough that Joel caught it even over the sizzle of meat on the grill. “Swear I’ve seen you in a magazine or somethin’.”

You laughed, ducked your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

That sound—your laugh—it landed like a punch to Joel’s ribs. Not because it was loud. Because it was real. Because it wasn’t the laugh you gave Joel when he muttered something dry and self-deprecating.

Joel didn’t realize how hard he was gripping the tongs until Bill nudged him again.

“Jesus, Joel. You’re gonna bend steel.”

He eased his fingers off the metal with effort, joints tight, jaw tighter. Didn’t like the way Tommy was looking at you. Didn’t like the way you were looking back.

And what scared him most—what twisted sharp in his gut—was how much he wanted to interrupt.

To go over there and say something. Anything. Put a hand on your hip. Call you sweetheart. Wrap an arm around you just to remind his brother that this wasn’t some neighborhood barbecue with a bunch of single girls. This was his house. And you were—

He didn’t even let the thought finish.

“…So I told the guy,” Tommy was saying, beer in hand, leaning one forearm on the porch post like he was settling in for the long haul, “if you’re gonna lie about catchin’ the fish, at least make it sound like you were in the same state. Ain’t nobody pulling a hundred-pound catfish outta Lake Travis.”

You laughed again—and Joel felt that one down to his goddamn bones.

“You’re full of it,” you said, grinning like Tommy was the funniest man you’d ever met.

“Nah,” Tommy shot back, flashing that boyish smile, the one Joel used to see melt girls in high school. “I’m full of charm. You’re just not used to Texas boys with real stories.”

“I don’t think you qualify as a boy anymore.”

“Oh?” His brows lifted. “But I qualify for something, right?”

Joel’s grip on the tongs tightened again. He wasn’t even looking at the grill anymore. Just standing there, motionless, trying not to glare at the way Tommy had turned a little more toward you—his body angled in that cocky stance, like he thought he was already winning you over. Like Joel wasn’t three feet away, feeling like his whole body was coiled with something ugly and hot.

He cleared his throat. Loudly.

Tommy glanced his way, casual as hell. “You good over there, big brother? Smoke ain’t gettin’ to your eyes, is it?”

Joel muttered, “Fine,” and flipped a burger that wasn’t ready.

You turned to Joel with a soft smile. “Smells amazing, by the way.”

He nodded, short. “Thanks.”

Just that. Two syllables. Because anything more and he was gonna say something he shouldn’t.

But Tommy didn’t let up.

“So, you ever go dancin’?” he asked, voice lower now, the kind of tone meant for secrets and flirtation. “You strike me as the kind that likes to lead.”

You raised a brow. “That a bad thing?”

“Oh, not at all,” Tommy said, leaning in like the rest of the world didn’t exist. “I like a girl who knows what she wants.”

Joel snapped the grill lid shut with enough force to rattle the tongs, then turned, voice sharp:

“Burgers’re done.”

Tommy didn’t flinch. Just grinned and tossed a wink your way. “See? The man’s got timin’.”

You took a step toward the food table, brushing past Joel with a polite “thank you,” your fingers grazing his—just a blink of contact, but it seared straight through him like a live wire.

Tommy stayed glued to your side as you both stepped away from the grill.

“So,” he said, tilting his beer toward you, “you been livin’ with my big brother long?”

Joel pretended not to listen. But his ears were trained on every word.

“A couple months,” you said, lifting your burger. “Sarah let me crash at her place when my lease got pulled.”

Tommy let out a low whistle. “Damn. Brave girl. Didn’t think Joel was good company for anyone under fifty.”

Joel turned slowly, voice dry. “Still right here.”

Tommy smirked, undeterred. “Relax, brother. I’m just saying—she deserves a little fun. I mean, you lettin’ her go out? See the town? Or you keepin’ her locked up like a princess in a tower?”

You laughed. And Joel could practically feel the heat climbing his neck.

“I go out,” you said, eyes bright, lips curved. “I just haven’t had a tour around the city yet.”

Tommy stepped in closer. “Well, lucky you. I’m available.”

Joel’s hand tightened around his beer bottle until the glass creaked. He took a long, slow sip, hoping the cold would cool the fire behind his ribs.

“Tommy,” he said at last, voice low and controlled, “you ever think of not flirtin’ with every woman who makes eye contact?”

You flushed—not embarrassed. Flattered. And Joel saw it. In the curve of your smile. The flicker of lashes. The little spark you didn’t even try to hide.

He was going to lose it.

Tommy leaned in one last time, voice dropping to a low hum, like a fucking dare:

“If you ever get tired of hangin’ around grumpy old men, sweetheart, you let me know. I’ll take real good care of you.”

Joel didn’t let you answer.

“Tommy,” he barked, “go grab more ice. Cooler’s low.”

Tommy blinked, then looked at Joel—and just for a second, the cocky routine slipped. That grin turned sharp. Knowing. Like he’d seen right through him.

He clapped Joel on the shoulder. “Sure thing, big brother.”

Joel watched him walk off, shoulders tense, pulse drumming, until he heard your voice beside him.

“You alright?” you asked, soft.

Joel exhaled through his nose. No. Not even a little.

But all he said was, “You hungry or what?”

You lifted your plate. “Starving.”

He nodded once, his eyes flicking down to the hem of your dress, the curve of your hip. Your hand resting there like it belonged. Like it wouldn’t kill him to touch it.

“Eat up,” he muttered. “Party’s just getting started.”

But in his head, Joel was already ending it. Because if he had to hear Tommy call you sweetheart one more time, he was gonna do something real stupid.

He found Tommy in the kitchen, dumping ice from the freezer into the cooler.

“The hell are you doin’?” Joel asked, voice already rough.

Tommy laughed. “Jesus, Joel. You’re wound tighter than barbed wire. You scared I’m gonna take her off your hands?”

Joel stepped in, slow. Controlled. Dangerous.

“I’m tellin’ you,” he said quietly, “cut it out.”

Tommy raised both hands. “Why? She’s grown. If she’s not interested, she can tell me herself.”

“That ain’t the point.”

Tommy leaned on the counter, smirking. “Jesus, Joel. She ain’t yours.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t say she was.”

“But you sure act like it.”

Silence. Long. Heavy. Joel looked past him, to the dark yard, like he could find calm in the quiet.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’. She ain’t—”

“Ain’t what? Old enough? Legal?” Tommy scoffed. “She’s grown, Joel. More than capable of flirtin’ back, far as I can tell.”

“She ain’t some girl for you to mess around with.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “But she’s okay for you, right? That what this is?”

Joel’s fists were clenched so tight now it hurt. Shoulders drawn up. Holding back everything.

“You’re losin’ your goddamn mind,” Tommy said softly. “And for what? You ain’t gonna touch her. You’d never let yourself. So why’re you actin’ like she’s yours?”

Joel turned away, dragging a hand down his face.

“She don’t want you.”

Tommy smirked. “Yeah? And what makes you so sure?”

Joel looked up, dead cold. “’Cause if she did, you wouldn’t be standin’ here right now.”

Tommy’s brows lifted. But his voice was calmer now.

“Look, I was just talkin’. She’s sweet. Pretty. Grown. Not seein’ anyone. What’s the harm?”

“The harm,” Joel hissed, “is that she’s Sarah’s friend. She’s stayin’ under my roof. And you’re out there talkin’ to her like she’s some bar girl you’re tryin’ to take home for the night.”

Tommy tilted his head. “She didn’t seem to mind.”

Joel’s hands curled into fists again. And that’s when Tommy saw it. Saw the heat under the surface. The tension. The want.

“…Shit,” he said slowly. “You like her.”

Joel didn’t answer.

Tommy laughed, low and stunned. “Damn. Joel.”

“Don’t start,” Joel warned, voice gravel.

“She’s young.”

“I know.”

“She’s Sarah’s age.”

“I know.”

“And she’s livin’ with you—”

“I ain’t doin’ anything.”

Tommy’s voice dropped. “But you want to.”

That silence was louder than anything.

Tommy let out a soft whistle. “Jesus Christ.”

Joel’s hands were shaking.

“It ain’t like that,” he said, but even he didn’t believe it.

“You sure?” Tommy asked. “’Cause the way you were lookin’ tonight? If I’d put a hand on her leg, I think you would’ve taken my head off.”

Joel’s jaw worked.

“Don’t.”

Tommy held up a hand. “Alright. I get it. You got your reasons. But if you don’t want anyone sniffin’ around her, Joel, you better figure out what the hell you’re doin’. ‘Cause she’s not gonna sit in your house forever waitin’ for you to stop starin’ and say somethin’.”

Joel said nothing. Just stood there, heart hammering, blood pounding behind his ribs.

Tommy’s voice softened as he turned toward the door.

“…She looked at you, too, you know.”

Joel’s head snapped up.

Tommy shrugged. “When she thought you weren’t lookin’. Girl’s not blind. And you sure as hell aren’t either.”

He walked out, whistling again, low and tuneless.

Joel stayed in the kitchen, fists still clenched, the sound of your laugh still echoing in his ears.

And he knew then—if he didn’t act soon, someone else would.

The last guest had left an hour ago.

The grill was cold, the lights on the back porch dimmed. The backyard—once buzzing with laughter and clinking bottles—was quiet now, save for the low chirp of cicadas and the hum of a box fan in the window.

Sarah had fallen asleep hours ago, tucked under her comforter with one of those tween magazines half-open on her chest.

But sleep didn’t come easy for you—not after the way the night had unraveled.

Not after the way Joel had watched you all evening like you were something he couldn’t touch—but wanted to. Badly.

You padded downstairs barefoot, drawn by the low glow seeping from the lounge and the sound of the TV murmuring softly. The wooden floor creaked under your feet as you turned the corner.

Joel was there.

Sitting on the couch, one arm slung along the backrest, half a beer still in his hand. The light from the TV flickered across his face, painting his features in silver and shadow. He looked tired—but not in a way that meant sleep. More like he was carrying the kind of weight sleep couldn’t shake loose.

He noticed you right away, his eyes flicking toward you and holding there.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You shook your head. “Too much in my head.”

He nodded, slow, like he understood exactly what you meant.

Joel reached down to the small cooler next to the couch, cracked it open, and pulled out another beer. He held it up to you.

You hesitated.

Then crossed the room and took it from his hand.

“Thanks,” you said, sinking into the opposite end of the couch. The beer was cold against your palm. “You okay?”

Joel’s jaw flexed. “Fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

He finally looked at you—and it hit him like a punch to the chest, how close you were. How pretty you looked in that damn dress. How warm your eyes were when they looked only at him.

“I’m just tired,” he said. But it came out too clipped, too tight.

His voice came quiet, a little rough. “Tommy’s just a flirt. He don’t mean half of what he says.”

You raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of your beer. “Huh. That sounded an awful lot like jealousy.”

Joel gave a short breath of a laugh—no humor in it. “Ain’t jealous.”

“You sure?” you teased. “’Cause you looked like you wanted to put him through the grill when he offered to show me his motorcycle.”

Joel’s gaze snapped to yours. “That bike’s a piece of shit.”

You smirked. “You didn’t say that earlier.”

“Didn’t feel like gettin’ into it.”

You tilted your head. “But you were mad?”

“No,” Joel muttered, voice low. “Not mad.”

You hesitated. “At me?”

His eyes met yours—dark, unreadable, like storm clouds heavy with something about to break.

“No,” he said. “Not at you.”

But the way he said it—low, rough, like gravel under bare feet—made your heart stutter.

You stepped closer.

“You didn’t like Tommy flirting with me.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours. He didn’t answer.

You didn’t push, not really—but you stood your ground. “You could’ve said something.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t have a right to.”

Your voice was quiet. “Do you want one?”

The silence stretched.

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

And you could feel the way the air between you changed—thickened, weighted, humming. Like the moment you speak too loud in a chapel. Like the moment before lightning splits the sky.

Then—

“You shouldn’t let Tommy flirt with you.”

That surprised you. “Why not?”

He looked at you now, really looked. Eyes dark and steady. “…Because he doesn’t know what to do with someone like you.”

The air stilled.

You couldn’t breathe for a second.

You licked your lips, your voice barely above a whisper. “And you do?”

Joel looked away. Tense. Like he was angry with himself for even letting that slip.

“It’s late,” he muttered. “You should get some sleep.”

“No.” You said firmly. “You don’t get to end the conversation like this.”

You asked again, voice softer now. “Do you know what to do with someone like me, Joel?”

His eyes were heavy on your face. Searching. Dark. And something burned behind them that he could barely hold back anymore.

“…Yeah. I do.”

Your breath caught.

“And what would you do?”

“I’d treat you so nice, darlin’,” he said, his voice like molasses, thick and warm and dangerous. “Like nobody had treated you before. A guy like Tommy likes easy, likes girls who want a good time. He’d just… touch you like he didn’t know what he was holdin’. That ain’t right.”

Joel stepped closer—just an inch. You felt the heat from him.

“But I shouldn’t,” he added, voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t want to. You’re young. You’re Sarah’s friend. You deserve someone who’s—who’s not me.”

You looked up at him, heart pounding. “I don’t want someone else.”

Joel exhaled hard. Like the words hit him in the chest.

“You’re not gonna be able to take it back if we cross this line,” he murmured. “You understand that?”

You nodded. “I’m not trying to take anything back.”

“I’m tryin’ to be a good man here,” he said, voice strained. “I’ve been real patient with you, baby. Real careful. And you—you keep lookin’ at me like that, sayin’ shit like that—and you don’t know what that’s doin’ to me.”

You leaned in just enough that your knee brushed his. “Then tell me,” you murmured. “Or better yet—show me.”

That was it.

The last thread snapped.

Joel grunted low in his throat—frustration, need, pure hunger—and then he had you.

His mouth crashed onto yours, rough and desperate and messy, like a man who’d been dreaming about this with his hand wrapped around himself for too damn long.

His kiss was all heat and punishment, his hands gripping your hips like he didn’t trust his own restraint.

He kissed like he wanted to crawl inside you, drink you down, fix something that had been broken for years.

You gasped into him. His hand tangled in your hair, another at your hip, gripping too tight, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You could feel how hard he was already, how badly he wanted this, how long he’d been holding it back. All that restraint—gone.

He broke the kiss with a growl, pressed his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“This is so fuckin’ wrong,” he panted.

“Feels right to me.”

Joel stared at you.

Then he kissed you again—harder. Dirtier. Tongue sliding into your mouth, hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold tight.

This time, there was no hesitation. No pause. Just want. All of it.

The kiss slowed. His mouth dragging along your jaw, your neck, breathing you in, reverent and desperate all at once.

“I’ve been so fuckin’ lonely,” he muttered. “You don’t know what it’s like—wakin’ up and you’re here, walkin’ around in those little shorts, your panties hangin’ on the line like it ain’t nothin’—and I can’t touch you. Can’t even look at you the way I want to.”

You gasped as he pressed closer. His lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Joel growled again. Low. Possessive.

“Christ.”

And just like that, he scooped you up—thick arms banded tight around you like steel, lifting you like you weighed nothing—and carried you to his room.

The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp. Your body stretched out on his sheets—bare legs parted slightly, skin flushed and begging, eyes glassy and wide like you were already half-drunk on him. You looked like a dream. A wet dream. Like a fantasy he’d kept locked in his chest for too long.

Joel stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, just drinking you in.

“You have no idea,” he muttered, voice cracked, “how many fuckin’ nights I’ve pictured this.”

You smiled, soft and knowing. “Then stop picturing.”

His jaw clenched. That crooked smirk flickered across his face—but there was hunger underneath it. Hunger and something darker.

His hands went to his shirt, yanking it off in one swift movement.

Your breath hitched.

Joel wasn’t perfect—he was raw, rough-edged, built like he was carved from something older than the room you lay in. Wide chest, solid arms, scars that caught the light. Real. Male. Fucking beautiful.

His eyes dragged down your body like they couldn’t help themselves. Lingering on every inch. Your breasts. The curve of your thighs. He looked like he wanted to crawl inside you.

He was on you in a second.

Mouth hot and greedy against your throat. His stubble scraped and burned in the best way—trailing fire over your collarbone, down your chest, each kiss wetter than the last, lips dragging like he needed your taste to survive.

His hand slid up your thigh—slow, reverent, rough palm against soft skin—and when his fingers caught the hem of your dress, he froze.

“I ever tell you how fuckin’ beautiful you are?” he murmured.

You shook your head, breath shaky.

He smiled—just barely. A tiny curve, crooked, a little sad, like he couldn’t believe he got to say it out loud.

“You are,” he said, brushing his nose along your cheek. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

He kissed you soft this time. Gentle. Like he didn’t want to rush a single second of this.

And then he wasn’t soft anymore.

He groaned low in his throat, that deep, broken sound like he was barely holding it together, hands dragging down the neckline of your dress until the fabric gave, slipping under his rough palms.

Then your tits bounced free—and he froze, like he’d just been knocked clean out of his body.

His eyes locked on them, dark and hungry, jaw slack with awe.

“Jesus,” he murmured, reverent and wrecked all at once. Like the sight of you was something holy and obscene.

He reached out, cupped your breast in one big, calloused hand, and you gasped at the heat of it. His thumb brushed over your nipple—slow, deliberate, circling until it peaked, hard and aching—and he groaned again, this time deeper, rougher, like he felt it in his spine.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he rasped, voice thick. “How the hell are you even real?”

Then his mouth was on you—hot, open, wet. He sucked your nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over it, slow and filthy, while his other hand kneaded your other breast, squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp.

He sucked deep, then pulled off with a wet pop. Your nipple glistened, swollen from his mouth, and he just stared for a second—watching it twitch in the air like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to suck it again or bite.

“You don’t know what you do to me, baby,” he murmured, dragging his mouth down to the soft underside of your breast. “These fuckin’ tits—made for me. Gonna fuckin’ live here.”

Then he pressed them together, tongue darting between them, mouthing at your skin like he was claiming you with every lick.

His hand slipped under your dress—and when he felt how wet you were, he groaned deep in his chest.

“Baby…” he rasped. “You’re soaked.”

He slid his fingers through your slit—just barely—and when he felt how slick you were, his whole body jerked.

You bit your lip, hips shifting toward his touch.

“Joel,” you whined. “Please.”

He looked up at you. Smirked.

“So damn impatient,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your jaw, “these kids nowadays, always in a rush. Don’t know how to slow down and savor it.” His voice dropped, thick and dark with heat. “But you—you want it so bad you’re practically shakin’, huh, baby? Can’t wait to be full, can you?”

You nodded, breath catching.

Joel swore again—his voice cracked when he did it, like he just couldn’t believe it.

“You don’t fuckin’ know what that does to me.”

His fingers found your clit, rubbing slow but firm, just enough to make you arch and gasp, your thighs twitching as your eyes closed in pleasure.

“Uh-uh. Look at me,” he growled, low and commanding, fingers tightening just enough to keep your eyes on his. “Wanna see every damn second of you comin’ apart for me.”

You met his eyes—and the look he gave you nearly ruined you. Like he was drowning in you. Like he’d waited years to feel this, touch this, taste this.

His voice was thick and raw. “That’s right. You’re mine tonight, baby. Gonna fuckin’ show you what it means.”

You gasped as his fingers stroked slow and filthy over your clit, teasing, circling, just enough to make you arch up into his hand.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmured. “Wanna make you feel good, darlin’. You deserve that.”

Then he slid down the bed—hands firm on your hips, tugging your dress up. Eyes locked to the flash of your panties. His hand skimmed the waistband, thumb dragging across the soft cotton.

“These the ones I saw hangin’ outside?” he rasped.

Your lips curled. “Maybe.”

Joel exhaled hard. His eyes darkened, jaw flexed.

He pulled them down, dragged them off your legs like he was unwrapping something precious—

And when he saw you—saw you—he just stopped.

Stared.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “You’re perfect. You—you can’t be real.”

You tried to close your legs—suddenly shy—but his hands kept them open.

“No, baby,” Joel said. “You let me see.”

Then he leaned in and licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your cunt. His tongue was broad, hot, dragging through your folds like he wanted to taste every inch of you. And when it hit your clit, he groaned like it knocked the wind out of him.

He groaned like it knocked the wind out of him.

You cried out—hips jerking—but he held you firm.

“Sweetest fuckin’ pussy,” he breathed. He pressed his mouth there again, tongue flicking slow and filthy. “You taste like sin.”

And then he devoured you.

Sloppy, greedy, wet—sucking your clit like he meant to pull the soul out of you.

He moaned into your pussy like he was drunk on it — messy, loud, absolutely gone for the taste of you. He licked like a man possessed, mouth wet and greedy, groaning like he couldn’t get deep enough. His beard scratched your thighs raw, his tongue dragging through your slick like he’d been starved for days and finally got fed. He spit on you just to lap it back up, filthy and shameless, fucking you open with his tongue until your hips jerked and your thighs shook.

And when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking hard and slow, it was obscene — the sound, the pressure, the way he palmed his aching cock through his pants, he needed it just as bad. He didn’t care how sloppy it got. Didn’t care how ruined he looked. He was addicted, obsessed, devouring you like your pussy was the only thing that ever made him feel alive.

“Sweet little pussy,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Mine now, yeah?”

You nodded, head rolling back, eyes fluttering.

“All yours,” you moaned. “Please, Joel, more—”

He shoved his face between your legs like he was gonna drown there and be grateful for it. His tongue pushed deep inside you, slow and filthy, fucking you with slick, deliberate strokes that made your whole body twitch. He groaned like he could taste every second of how wet you were, how wrecked you were getting just for him.

His thumb pressed tight to your clit, rubbing hard, tight little circles that made your back arch off the bed. And when your hips tried to jerk away, overstimulated and desperate, his other hand gripped your thigh like a vice — fingers bruising, holding you right there, locked in place so he could keep devouring you, mess and all, like you were his favorite sin and he had no intention of stopping.

“You gonna cum for me, darlin’?” he murmured. “Gonna cum on my tongue like a good girl?”

You sobbed out a yes—high, desperate, helpless—and he didn’t stop ‘til you fell apart.

You shattered—back arching, legs locking around his head, hips rolling up into his mouth like your body wasn’t yours anymore.

You came hard—too hard—crying his name, grinding into his face as his tongue worked you through it, lapping up everything you gave him, humming like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

When he finally crawled back up over you, his lips were wet, beard sticky with your slick, eyes dark, wild, feral.

“You’re killin’ me,” he said, kissing your cheek. “Never wanted anyone like I want you.”

You reached for him. Pulled at his waistband. “Please.”

Joel hesitated.

“You sure?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded. “Please. Joel.”

“You’re not… you ain’t a…” he rasped, breath shaky, eyes searching yours.

“A virgin?” you finished for him, a low, breathless laugh slipping past your lips. “God, no.”

“I, uh…” he swallowed hard. “I don’t have any condoms. You on the pill?”

“Yes,” you said simply, dragging your mouth along his jaw. Then you pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, your voice dropping. “It’s okay, Joel. I want to feel all of you.”

And that did it.

He shoved his pants down in a hurry, and his cock sprang free—thick, hard, flushed dark with need, glistening at the tip with precum. Your breath caught in your throat, mouth parting as your eyes dragged down over him.

“Fuck,” you whispered, pulse thudding in your ears. “You’re…”

Joel looked down at you, cheeks tinged pink, a crooked little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he rasped. “I know.”

Your gaze stayed locked on his cock, hunger written all over your face. “Huge,” you breathed, awe and arousal tangled in your voice.

Joel’s brow lifted, just a little smug. “You think you can take it?”

You nodded eagerly. He stroked himself once, twice, guiding the head against your entrance.

“You ready, baby?” he asked, voice soft now. “I’ll go slow. I swear. Wanna feel all of you.”

You nodded, legs parting wider, arms around his shoulders.

He pushed in slow—thick cock stretching you inch by inch, dragging a long, guttural moan from both your throats—and his head dropped to your shoulder, jaw clenched like he was in pain.

“Oh my god,” he rasped. “You feel like heaven, baby. How the fuck—how do you feel this good?”

You gasped, eyes flying wide as he pushed in—slow but relentless—stretching you open inch by inch. Your nails dug into his back, clutching at the thick muscle there, searching for something to hold onto as your body struggled to adjust around the sheer size of him.

He stopped. Gave you time. Pressed kisses to your throat.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, breathless. “Move.”

And he did.

He rocked into you slow, deep—every inch dragging against your walls, stretching you again and again—like he was trying to memorize the shape of you from the inside out. His breath came out in soft, filthy huffs as he dropped his mouth to your ear, kissed the shell of it, then began whispering the filthiest things he’d never dared say until tonight:

“How long you been wantin’ this?”

“You think about me when you’re alone, baby? Think about my hands?”

“Don’t hold back now. Wanna hear you.”

“God, you’re tight. So fuckin’ tight around me—feels like heaven.”

He pulled out almost all the way—just the head still inside, glistening, stretching you open—then slammed back in, slow but deep, right into that spot that made your breath stutter.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “You feel too good, baby. Can’t believe I waited this long…”

Your nails curled into the sheets, head thrown back. You were panting now, sweating, legs trembling from the effort of holding yourself open for him.

“Joel—please—”

That did something to him. The way you begged. His name, all soft and wrecked on your lips.

He gritted his teeth.

Then he grabbed you by the backs of your thighs and pushed your legs up, folding you open for him, pressing your knees back toward your chest.

“Hold ’em up,” he ordered, voice ragged and dark with need. “Yeah—that’s it. Just like that. Wanna see how deep I can get.”

And then he started to fuck you for real.

Deeper. Harder. Filthy. Relentless—each thrust punching a gasping moan from your throat. The angle had him hitting places that made your vision blur. The slap of his balls against your ass was wet and obscene, the bed groaning loud under the force of him, the headboard rattling against the wall.

He groaned low in his throat, watching the way your tits bounced with every thrust, the way your eyes glazed over as you took it, dripping around his cock, clenching so tight he could barely breathe.

“Been so long, baby.” he growled, “So goddamn long.”

You moaned under him, dizzy with it all—his voice, his body, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, the way his cock hit so deep now you swore he could feel your heartbeat.

“And now I got you,” he grunted, snapping his hips into you. “Can’t believe I’m inside you,” he panted. “So goddamn pretty, so young, and I get to fuck you? You’re gonna ruin me.”

Your legs were shaking, arms weak, and Joel took over, gripping your thighs himself, holding them up so he could go deeper, grind into you harder, angle just right to wreck you from the inside out.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lips dragging over your jaw, your mouth, your ear. “Pussy so good, baby—swear to God, I’ll never want anyone else again. This is it. This is fuckin’ it.”

You were already close again—the pressure building fast, his name tumbling out of your mouth over and over.

He felt it — the way your walls fluttered around him, the way your breath hitched, that telltale tremble in your thighs. He growled low, deep in his chest, pressing in deeper, grinding his hips just right.

“Come on, baby. Wanna feel you cum on my cock. You can do it for me, yeah?”

And the way he said it, the weight in his voice, the thick pressure of him inside you, the heat rolling off his body, it unraveled you completely. You came so hard it shook you—cried out, clung to him, and he cursed, hips stuttering, fucking you through it, chasing his own release now.

His thrusts turned messy, erratic, like he was losing control—because he was. You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders as he picked up the pace again, sweat slicking both of you as your bodies collided over and over.

“Where do you want it?” he panted. “Tell me, darlin’—can I cum inside you?”

“Please—please, yes—”

“Yeah? Gonna let me give you every drop?” His pace stuttered, breath catching. “Fuck—I’m gonna—shit—I’m—”

He slammed in deep—one final thrust, all the way to the hilt, hips grinding into yours, body shaking

And he came.

Hard.

Hot, thick spurts of cum filling you, spilling inside, leaking out around his cock as he groaned into your neck like it gutted him.

You were still trembling underneath him—boneless, ruined, thoroughly fucked, every nerve singing. Your body was flushed and filled and glowing, warmth blooming in your limbs, still pulsing in your core where he remained, thick and hot and buried deep. Joel hadn’t moved much. He was still inside you, still hovering above you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

And then, so gently it made your throat ache, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. Another to your cheek. Then your mouth—slow, soft, lingering, like a man drinking in salvation.

“Y’alright, baby?” he murmured, voice rough with gravel and sweetened with something like awe.

You nodded, your lashes fluttering as your eyes found his. “More than alright.”

Joel let out a quiet laugh, low and breathless. His shoulders finally softened, tension bleeding from his frame. He leaned down again and pressed a kiss to your collarbone—reverent, like worship, like the delicate skin there meant everything.

Then he pulled out—slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving your face. You both gasped at the loss, a shared shiver rippling through you. He moved quickly after that, tugging the comforter up and over you, tucking you in like something breakable, his hand smoothing over your hip, then your belly, then back again—like he didn’t know how to stop touching you now that he’d started.

“Didn’t mean to go so hard,” he said quietly, his voice rasping. “Just… it’s been a long time. Felt so good. You felt so good.”

You turned your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “Joel, I wanted it. Wanted you.”

Something in his eyes shifted—like a storm easing, like guilt loosening its grip. He believed you. But still, he moved like a man trying to earn that belief, trying to prove he deserved the gift of you.

“Stay right there, darlin’,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I’ll get a towel.”

You watched him go—bare, flushed, a little unsteady, walking into the bathroom with that wide, solid back and those scarred shoulders that you ached to trace again. A little older, a little weathered. But real. Solid. Yours.

Not like college boys. Not like the ones who never stayed, who’d fuck you and leave you sore and cold and wondering what you did wrong. Joel didn’t disappear. He didn’t roll over or reach for his phone or toss your underwear at you like a hint.

He took care of you.

He came back with a warm, damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water on the other. He cleaned you up with careful, practiced hands—gentle in a way that undid you, so quiet and focused it made your throat burn.

You parted your legs instinctively, and he didn’t stare, didn’t leer—just pressed a kiss to your knee as he carefully cleaned between your thighs, murmuring soft apologies when you flinched from the sensitivity.

“Sorry, baby. I know. Just a little more…”

He wiped you gently, reverently, then set the cloth aside and helped you sit up to drink.

“There we go,” he said softly, holding the glass to your lips. “Slow, now. Don’t gulp.”

When you finished, he set the glass down and climbed back into bed behind you, pulling you into his chest like he couldn’t wait another second.

“C’mere sweet girl,” he breathed, pulling you in tight.

You curled into him, soft and spent, your leg thrown over his hip, face tucked under his chin. His hands were slow, moving in lazy circles along your spine, sometimes dipping to cup your ass, then coming back up to your shoulder blades—like he was mapping you, remembering you with touch alone. When you sighed, he smiled against your hair.

“What about Sarah?”

“I’ll wake you up in the morning before she gets up,” He said. “You need anythin’? More water? A bath?”

You shook your head. “I’m good.”

Silence settled like fog—thick, warm, peaceful. His hand never stopped moving. He kept you close, kept touching you like a man afraid you’d disappear. Like a man who’d gone without softness for far too long.

“You always like this after?” you asked quietly, teasing.

“Like what?”

“So…gentle.”

He chuckled, rough and low in your ear. “Only with someone who deserves it.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “Glad you’re not twenty and selfish.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice full of amusement and something fonder. “Glad I’m not, too.”

He didn’t fall asleep. You felt it—the way his chest stayed tense under your cheek, the way his breathing was deep but too controlled. His mind was running, somewhere distant, somewhere dark.

But still, he stayed holding you. Arms tight. Body wrapped around yours like armor.

And then, when he thought you were asleep, you heard him whisper it:

“Mine now. God help me.”

You smiled into his skin.

Because you were.

So completely his.

A/N: Thank you so much for this request!! I loved the idea and I hope you liked the ending result🩷🫶🏻

Thank you as well to everyone reading this for your constant support to my fics, your kind words mean the world to me. You’re the best!!

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The Reader gets jealous/upset because Sukuna gets Concubines, with a happy ending though. pleaseeeee

Wish I didn’t care

Tags: true form!Sukuna x fem!Reader, king!Sukuna, royal au (?), angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending i promise

An: Ooo, this was such a good idea. Thank you for requesting it from me!! I hope it’s everything you wanted!!

Sukuna never felt the need to give you a title for being in his life. To him, titles were superficial… There wasn’t a title in the world that could explain or encompass the complexities of his relationship with you.

However, you, coming from the mortal realm, wanted a title. It’s not that you wanted the power that was associated with being the betrothed of the King of Curses. You just wanted to feel.. irreplaceable to him.

So, to make you happy, you were his wife.

Kings rarely ever are allowed the luxury of marrying for love. Most kings marry daughters of other powerful kings to create allies between nations. However, Sukuna didn’t need allies. He didn’t need to marry for power when he had more power than he knew what to even do with.

Everything was simply child’s play for him. He even stopped trying to conquer the mortal realm because it was just too damn easy for him. The “sorcerers” could barely even put up a fight. It was embarrassing.

Life was truly becoming boring for him.

That was, until a female curse was delivered straight to his chamber. He was confused and honestly pissed that Uraume would simply guide this harlot into his chambers without his permission. Only you were granted such luxuries.

He was leisurely splayed in his bed with no cloth to cover himself. He truly appreciated the concept of being completely in his own skin at all times, and he often encouraged you to do the same. Though, he also learned to appreciate your more modest approach. You didn’t have to show any skin to get Sukuna riled up.

“State your purpose.” His voice was low and menacing as he spoke to the woman. He slipped his robes on over his shoulders, tying it in the front so he was no longer exposing himself.

“My father sends his regards. Says that a newly wedded king deserves a ‘fresh’ concubine.” The girl spoke with no humility towards him.

Sukuna’s face twisted in disgust that her dad would even suggest such a thing. He was even more put off that she described herself as ‘fresh’ as if she were a type of vegetable in the garden.

“Your father can kindly go fuck himself. I’m not interested.” He responds coldly, and his large palm grabs onto her shoulder with the intention of throwing her out of his chambers. He knew that if you saw her here, you’d probably be devastated.

“My lord-“

“I am not your anything. You address me as Lord or King, but make no mistake. I am not your lord.” He rudely cuts her off, not letting her think she has any sort of claim to him.

“Okay, Lord Sukuna, when’s the last time she’s fulfilled her wifely duties? I can see she’s not in here tending to you now, right? She’d probably feel grateful that you’re being satisfied around the clock.” The concubine’s voice was like a purr, and she looked up at him with eyes that’d rival a siren’s.

And for a split second, Sukuna almost considers her offer.

“You’ll never believe it, Kuna!” Your happy voice fills the air, and the door swings open to reveal you holding a small flower in your hand. “I got a jasmine to bl-“ Your eyes fall upon to scene in front of you.

Sukuna’s towering over an unfamiliar woman. His hand is touching her neck and shoulder area, while she has her hand leisurely pressed against his bicep.

“Who’s.. this?” You quietly ask, and immediately, Sukuna can feel a strange feeling pour into him. It feels like… guilt? He regrets even momentarily entertaining the idea about this harlot occupying his bed.

“Nobody-“

“Oh my lady, it’s nice to meet you. I apologize. Lord Sukuna and I were just getting aquatinted with each other since we’ll be seeing each other a lot from now on.” The serpent of a female cuts him off, and he immediately realizes just what this is. Whichever king decided to send her is hoping to ruin his marriage. She’s quite literally a snake in his garden, trying to ward his wife away from him.

“I don’t… understand.” The way your voice sounds so small. The small pout upon your lips. The way the flower you were once carrying with such confidence is now sagging in your hand. Fuck. Sukuna felt like a complete imbecile.

“Oh, come on now. You know he has needs that are beyond your abilities. I’ll lay with him when you’re too-“

“Enough.” Sukuna’s voice snaps. His teeth grit together as he practically drags the woman out of his chambers. “Go fuck off for a while. I’ll deal with you later.” The door immediately slams in her face.

After a moment of trying to comprehend what just happened and how it all happened so quickly, Sukuna slowly turns to you. It feels like a gut punch once he sees the tears brimming in your eyes.

“That wasn’t…”

“You took up a concubine?” You ask in a sniffle. Your hands are barely even holding the jasmine that’s you were once so excited to show him. Flowers rarely ever bloom in Sukuna’s desolate kingdom, but with hard work and determination, you had gotten a jasmine to bloom in his kingdom.

“No, she was sent to me. I didn’t seek her out.” He tries to dispel the claims while he slowly approaches you. His chest aches as he watches you take a step back away from him. “Do not cower from me, woman.”

“Was I not good enough? Was I not doing enough for you..? I thought… I thought it was good, b-but I can try harder.” Your voice is so shaky, and you won’t even look him in the eye. What has he done?

“Silence. You will not speak of yourself like that to me.” Sukuna orders, and he takes another step forward. You take another step back with another sniffle. Your tears are streaming down your cheeks.

“Please…” The word sounds foreign on his tongue. He’s never ever pleaded for anything in his life. He could simply take what he wants, but he doesn’t want to hurt his delicate flower. He wants her to seek out comfort in him. “Please don’t cower. It was not like that. She showed up at my door, spoke of lies and filth, and I was trying to throw her out when you walked in.”

“So you didn’t even con..consider taking her on as a concubine?” You ask while you rub the tears away with the back of your hands. Hopefully, this was all just a poorly timed miscommunication.

Sukuna takes a moment before responding. He has two options. He could tell you a white lie that would instantly comfort you, but it would be a lie. Or he could tell you the truth and face the consequences of his actions.

“It was one moment of weakness.” He replies carefully.

He instantly wishes he just lied from the way your face immediately twisted in disappointment and pure hurt. The jasmine falls from your hands, and your footsteps trail away from his chambers, leaving him dumbfounded.

Sukuna is immediately on your trail, unable to let you be. He needs to fix this. His dear wife is upset, and it’s all his fault.

A pair of hands slither up his arm as he walks. He already knows who’s touching him based off the nasty feeling from their contact. “My lord, let her be. She needs to-“

“Dismantle.” The concubine’s body drops to the floor in two, split directly at her waist. He had warned her already about referring to him as her lord. She didn’t deserve to speak of you so carelessly, and she didn’t deserve to live after causing this rift in his marriage.

Sukuna continues on his hunt for you without another hitch, leaving the harlot’s body right where she once stood for one of the servants to clean up.

He searches for you in all your usual spots: the gardens, the kitchen, the library, the rooftop. You’re no where to be found. You don’t want to be found. He starts to wonder around his perimeter. The longer he goes without finding you; the more his heart starts to race.

Did you leave him? Did he lose you for good?

The thought of not having his delicate flower by his side makes his body feel ill. You must’ve placed some sort of binding curse on him, but he didn’t necessarily mind.

He’s close to waging war when he finally sees your small human body tucked underneath a weeping willow on a bed of grass. His body moves on it’s own: running to you. When’s the last time he’s ran like this?

Crouching over you, he can see no visible injuries on your body, but he knows he’s wounded your heart with his foolish actions. How could he ever have a wandering eye when you were the real prize?

His four arms carefully scoop you up and cradle your body as he takes a seat underneath the willow. Your poor cheeks are flushed and tear stained. Your eyes and lips are so puffy. You must’ve tired yourself out from crying.

“I’m sorry, flower.” He whispers softly, even if your eyes are still resting. He pulls your body closer to his chest, and he contemplates when he started becoming so soft for you.

A part of him hates it. That small unconscious voice of his telling him that he shouldn’t concern himself with the feelings of a mere mortal, but the bigger part of him knows that he can’t just ignore you. He cares far too much for you.

“Kuna..?” You murmur as your hands rub your eyes. You’re immediately met with remembering just why you had fallen asleep. “I do not wish to see you right now.”

Sukuna chuckles quietly from your defiant little comment. It reminds him of when you first arrived to his estate. “Then close your eyes.” He simply states as one of his hands start to comb through your hair. “Woman, tell me what to do to fix this.”

You shift your gaze away from him with a small huff. If he wasn’t so much bigger than you, you’d try to wiggle away from him. However, you know it is of no use. “I don’t know, Kuna.” Your words are sharp and still so full of emotion. “Imagine how you’d feel if I told you I contemplated sleeping with someone else… in a moment of weakness.”

The sheer thought of it has Sukuna’s anger burning up like an inferno. You’re his delicate flower. No one would even know how to take care of you like he can. His arms subtly tighten around your frame. “I’d kill every man you gaze at.”

“Well, men can rest easy because I only have eyes for you.” You mutter while rolling your eyes. “I love you so much that the thought of being with someone else repulses me, and it… just really hurts that you don’t feel the same.”

“Flower, I took you for granted. It was a brief moment of contemplation, but I instantly decided against it. I did not desire her in the slightest.” Sukuna tries to explain, and his hand gently brushes against your soft cheek.

“You still don’t deny that you don’t feel the same for me.” You respond quietly, still not giving him the satisfaction of you looking at him.

“You are everything to me. I will not lose sight of what’s important again.”

“Kuna.” You finally look up at him, and you frown slightly. Sukuna secretly adores the little nicknames you have adorned him with, but he’d never admit it.

“What is it, woman?” He asks, titling his head to the side a bit to get a better look at your face. You’re so pretty in his lap like this.

“Do you love me?” You quietly ask, even if you can already hear his voice telling you ‘do not ask questions you don’t want answers to’… because even if he’s the incarnate of evil, Sukuna will not lie. Liars are weak cowards who can’t get jobs done by being upfront. Sukuna isn’t afraid of what the truth is.

Your husband contemplates your question for a moment. He thinks about how disgusting that wannabe concubine was. He thinks about how you preoccupy his mind majority of the time. He thinks about the weird mix of feelings he has felt today in your absence.

“What I feel for you… is probably the closest to love that I’ll ever get.” Sukuna responds, carefully choosing his words. “You, my flower, are the only thing that keeps me grounded to the mortal plains.”

You give him the best smile you can muster despite the disappointment that you feel since he won’t tell you that he loves you. You suppose you have no one to blame other than yourself. Sukuna told you when he married you not to get your hopes up for love, but you still can’t help but crave that sort of affection from him.

“I don’t like seeing you upset, flower.” He speaks tenderly as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “If I could, I’d snap my fingers and assure you that I love you whole heartedly. It just not in my genetic code.”

“I know… I’m grateful for your effort at least.” You murmur as you wrap your arms around his neck.

His arms wrap around you, cradling you to his chest. He inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent that he enjoys so much. “Am I forgiven, woman?”

“Mmm, no.” You smile cheekily in his embrace, and Sukuna chuckles heartily.

“Oh? Is someone going to use this blunder to her advantage?” When you nod in his shoulder, Sukuna lays back against the soft pillowy grass. “That’s my girl. Go on. Make me work for your forgiveness.”

On a completely unrelated note, Sukuna had that harlot’s body mailed back to her father as a ‘thank you’ for sending a whore to his kingdom.