#while he pretends to look grumpy about it

[ryoflix]

dinner dynamics in the sukuna household | f. reader, s/h prns., crack 'n fluff, estb. rl ؛ ଓ

the clink of plates, the gurgle of water boiling, and the smell of exactly three different types of sauces signal dinner time in the sukuna household — a highly organized, high-stakes daily operation spearheaded by one (1) very grumpy, very meticulous man.

“nuggets are done,” he calls, reaching over the stove with practiced ease to flick the flame off one burner while tossing pasta with the other hand. “your spaghetti looks like worms today, just how you like it.”

“with the red sauce that’s not spicy!” your daughter squeals from the dining table, legs swinging under her chair.

“what do you think i am, a rookie?” sukuna grunts, opening the oven to pull out mini garlic bread shaped like... stars. they’re supposed to be stars. they look a little like squished octopuses, but the kids cheer anyway. your son's already clambering up onto his booster chair, fork in hand like a knight wielding a sword. “where’s the dinosaur dessert?”

“freezer.”

“can i have three?”

“you can have one. finish your spaghetti and we’ll negotiate the other two.”

you’re at the counter, pretending to scroll through your phone while secretly admiring the way this hulking man — tattoos on show, hair tied back, apron comically small across his chest — is simultaneously plating spaghetti worms, carrot smiley faces, and cheese-stuffed dino nuggets with more concentration than he ever gave battle.

he doesn’t sit, not yet. not until both twins have been served, their drinks topped off, and their demands for “a little bit more of the good cheesy cheese” addressed. not until you have your bowl in hand, complete with the garlic sauce he knows you've been craving recently. not until the second round of napkins has been passed out, because someone always forgets to wipe their face.

he eats last. always.

and if anyone were to see it — this broad-shouldered beast of a man wiping dino-shaped crumbs off his daughter’s chin and refilling the ketchup with clinical speed — they’d say, isn’t this supposed to be the mom’s job?

but in the sukuna household, tradition is just a word. the pillar of the home is not who holds the spatula last, but who makes sure no one sleeps on an empty stomach. and sukuna makes damn sure of it.

by 8:30, the chaos has shifted upstairs.

you hear him stomping up the steps, one twin under each arm like sacks of rice, both squealing and laughing like they aren’t stuffed to the brim with carbs. he deposits them into their beds dramatically, bouncing the mattress until they scream in glee.

“now,” he says, pointing at them sternly, “story time. and if i hear you say the word ‘snack’ again, i’ll turn your pillows into bricks.”

“what if mommy says snack?” the boy pipes up.

“then i’ll turn into a snack,” you say, entering the room with a smirk.

“grooossss!” they both giggle.

you take your seat on the plush reading chair, storybook in hand. “daddy’s gonna go eat his food now,” you say sweetly.

but then your daughter sits up.

“no,” she says, pout forming. “i want daddy to sit too.”

your son nods, echoing, “yeah! daddy eats with us!”

“you’re not eating,” sukuna reminds them, annoyed but not really.

“then sit anyway.”

and it’s not like his knees don’t ache from earlier. or that his back doesn’t threaten mutiny every time he bends a certain way. but the way they look at him — like their bedtime didn’t count unless he was there too — makes something sharp and gooey twist in his chest.

so he exhales, mutters something about dramatic children, and disappears downstairs.

he comes back with his full plate: half-warm garlic pasta, two lonely nuggets (because the others are now gone), and a side salad he clearly doesn’t want but you made him promise to eat.

and when he sits on the floor, back against the bedframe, plate in his lap, and you begin to read aloud about a prince with an itchy crown and a pet alligator, both kids curl up under their blankets with dreamy smiles.

the girl reaches out and tugs at his sweatpants. just once.

he looks down.

she whispers, “you’re the bestest daddy.”

he grumbles something low and unintelligible, shoving a nugget into his mouth to hide the softening of his jawline. but he stays for all three stories. even the one about the unicorn detective he hates.

because in this house, dinner is served in three acts — and the final act is a man surrounded by warmth, chewing slowly, his family pressed close, storybook light washing over the tattoos on his arms like quiet stardust.

[cameronsbabydoll]

hi gorgeous!! i was wondering if u would be interested in writing a little fic with scc!rafe being forced into a tea party with his daughter?? 🥹

i need something sweet with them!! and im so obsessed with scc its so creative!!

tysm!

“daddy,” she calls from the hallway, “can you come here please?”

rafe’s already sitting on the couch, freshly showered and still tired from whatever work he’d dragged himself through that day. he grunts, not really looking up from his phone. “what?”

“just come here!” she chirps again.

and maybe he wouldn’t normally. maybe old rafe wouldn’t even flinch.

but she’s got her mama’s voice — that lilting, sugar-dipped tone — and that’s always been his weakness. so he groans and pushes up with a sigh. mutters something about “this better not be some stupid game again” under his breath.

and he rounds the corner into her room — then stops dead in the doorway.

the tea party setup is extensive.

a fuzzy pink blanket laid out across the carpet. three plastic chairs, mismatched and short. barbies sitting in two of them. a dozen tiny cups and saucers lined up with plastic pastries. and right in the center, his daughter in a tutu and glitter heels, holding a tiara.

“you sit here, daddy,” she says, patting the only chair that could maybe hold him.

“absolutely not,” he says flatly.

but you’re already in the hallway, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, smiling so sweet it makes his jaw tick.

“just for ten minutes,” you say, and your daughter is beaming now.

he mutters “fuckin’—fine.” as he sits down — legs cramped, knees almost to his chest — the chair creaking in protest while his daughter places the tiara gently on his head.

“you’re a princess now,” she says seriously.

“i’m a fuckin’—”

“daddy!” she gasps. “you can’t say bad words at a tea party.”

he shuts his mouth. narrows his eyes at you as you silently laugh behind your hand.

ten minutes turns into twenty.

his daughter pours imaginary tea into his cup with careful hands. tells him he has to try the “cake” (which is just a plastic sponge). and when she leans against his arm and sighs, “i love tea parties with you, daddy,” he doesn’t even groan.

he just hums and puts an arm around her, careful not to knock over the barbie sitting beside him. plastic tiara still crooked on his head. socks half off.

and when you peek in a little later, baby on your hip, you don’t even try to tease him.

because your husband — grumpy, tired, and still very much rafe — is sitting cross-legged in a glittery hell of tea cups and doll shoes, letting his daughter braid his hair with mismatched barrettes while he pretends to sip air from a cup the size of his thumb.

and he doesn’t even look mad about it.

[ageingfangirl2]

Imagine Being Bonten's Receptionist (Bonten x F Reader) - Tokyo Revengers

PART 8: NEW MEMBER OF THE FAMILY

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

You’re back at your desk. Brighter. Still quiet, but not in that hollow way anymore. Your favourite mug is full. You even begin humming again. The guys haven’t said anything about that night, and you haven’t asked. But something has shifted. Kakucho brings your coffee every morning now without saying a word. Ran asks you dumb questions just to hear you laugh. Koko upgraded the building’s security and your door lock. And Sanzu, well, Sanzu's been behaving… suspiciously well.

Then one afternoon, you hear a soft knock on the reception counter. You look up from the computer and blink, there’s a tiny black carrier sitting on the ledge. Inside, a kitten. Fluffy, wide-eyed, silver-grey fur with darker paws, peering out like it already owns the place.

Rindou’s the one standing there. He had his hands in his pockets. Shrugging like this wasn’t a huge deal, ‘It’s a rescue,’ he mumbles, ‘kinda grumpy. Scratched Ran. Already house-trained. Good with plants. They said her last owner bailed.’

You blink at the kitten. The kitten meows, soft and insistent, ‘…What’s her name?’

Ran appears from behind the divider, rubbing a scratched hand, ‘they named her Bonten,’ he smirks, ‘thought it was fate.’

You stare, and then you laugh. A real one — bubbling out of you like it’s been trapped for weeks, ‘Bonten?’ you echo, leaning closer.

The kitten bumps its nose to the mesh.

‘You little monster,’ she whispers, unlocking the crate.

The kitten crawls into her lap immediately. Like it belongs there. And maybe it does.

The rest of the boys pretend they’re too cool to care. Sanzu loudly declares he hates cats, then leaves a toy mouse on her desk the next day. Takeomi says, ‘Animals are a distraction,’ then shows you how to make homemade chicken treats. Mikey says nothing, but pets Bonten the kitten whenever he walks past, gaze softening for just a second.

You don’t cry anymore, you just scratch under the kitten’s chin and say softly, ‘You're gonna be safe here, okay?’

And maybe you're not just talking to the cat. You just couldn’t imagine the chaos this little fluffy bundle of joy was going to bring to the office in the coming days.

It’s a typical morning in the Bonten office: chaos, paperwork, and the hum of the air conditioning.

The tiny ball of fluff has somehow managed to claim Sanzu’s chair as her new territory. She’s sitting there smugly, tail flicking lazily, while Sanzu stands with his arms crossed, clearly at war.

‘That’s my chair,’ Sanzu growls, trying to act like he’s above this.

The kitten stares at him.

He takes a step forward. She blinks, ‘Move, little monster,’ he demands, but the kitten just meows — loud, high-pitched, almost like she’s mocking him.

Sanzu gasps, ‘You’re seriously not gonna—?’

Without warning, she launches herself at his face, claws out. Sanzu stumbles backwards, barely managing to dodge the kitten’s attack.

‘The hell!?’ he shouts

Ran is leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk on his face as he watches Sanzu struggle, ‘Maybe she doesn’t like your attitude.’

Rindou chuckles from behind him, barely holding it together, ‘The poor thing is just trying to claim her spot. Why don’t you let her?’

Sanzu glares at both of them but finds himself unable to stop a reluctant grin. ‘Fine, she wins. But this is my chair.’

He turns to walk off, but the kitten jumps down with a whisk of fur and follows him. The guys watch as she trots after him, a new tiny shadow under his feet.

Mikey doesn’t do soft. Not in the traditional sense. His gaze is always sharp. His presence is commanding. But when it comes to Bonten, the kitten… there’s an entirely different side of him.

The office is eerily quiet. Everyone’s busy with paperwork, but there's one thing they all notice: Mikey has the kitten curled up on his chest, her little head resting peacefully against his neck, purring softly.

Sanzu raises an eyebrow, casually leaning against the desk, ‘What are you doing?’

Mikey looks up, his usual smug grin replaced with something far more relaxed, ‘Nothing. Just letting her nap.’

Ran snickers from the doorway, ‘Since when did you become a cat person?’

Mikey shrugs, but it’s a far too relaxed motion. He scratches under the kitten’s chin, and her tiny paws flex in contentment, ‘She’s just peaceful,’ Mikey murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.

The guys exchange knowing looks, but no one says anything. Mikey wouldn’t appreciate anyone teasing him about his soft spot for the kitten, so they stay quiet.

Koko rolls his eyes from across the room, ‘That damn kitten’s got us all wrapped around her paw.’

And Mikey doesn’t even deny it.

Takeomi, usually the cold, pragmatic one, has a new hobby. And no one can say they’re not surprised when it involves cat treats.

One day, he’s in the office kitchen, the sound of clinking pans filling the air. Koko walks in, eyes narrowing when he sees Takeomi carefully measuring ingredients, ‘What are you doing?’

Takeomi glances up with a smirk, ‘Making something for Bonten.’

‘You mean the cat?’ Koko looks horrified, ‘Are you baking for a cat?’

Takeomi shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a small smile playing on his lips. ‘She’s good for morale. And the kitten likes homemade treats.’

There’s a long silence before Koko cocks his head, ‘You know what? At least it’s not murder. You’ll be a decent dad one day, I think.’

Takeomi glares, ‘Shut up.’

But his little soft spot is out in the open now.

It’s the end of the day. Everyone is wrapping up. And there’s a rare moment of peace in the office. You’re at your desk, Bonten the kitten curled up in your lap, purring happily. The office is emptying. Then Mikey, ever the unpredictable one, stops by.

‘You know, it’s weird,’ Mikey says, looking at the kitten, then you, ‘You’ve got everyone in the palm of your hand, don’t you?’

You look at him with a knowing smile, rubbing the kitten’s ears as you shift the papers on her desk, ‘They all act tough, but they’re soft on the inside.’

‘Hm,’ Mikey smirks, ‘Well, guess that means you’ve got Bonten in the palm of your hand now.’

The kitten looks up at you, gives a single soft meow, and yawns — and that’s enough for you and Mikey to fall silent. The kitten has them all wrapped around her tiny, fuzzy paw. And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sanzu occasionally steals her chair. Takeomi secretly brings her treats every day. Koko sets up a tracking system for her favourite toys. Mikey naps with her on his chest. Ran gives her extra treats when no one’s looking. Rindou spoils her with the best catnip. And Kakucho? Well, he makes sure no one ever gets near her without permission. Bonten’s a family. And this little ball of fur is their newest — and most chaotic — member.

[xi4oyan]

Destined one - Sùchén

“You Don’t Have To Say Anything, I Know.”

No one exactly remembered when he had appeared. It was just that, suddenly, he was there. A new student, with a name tangled in the records like dust on an old leaf: Sùchén. And despite his presence being discreet — almost lazy — he attracted glances like a grumpy magnet.

In that school, where talking tigers argued over physics exams, reformed demons exchanged recipes in the cafeteria, and humans with enchanted skin scribbled runes in their notebooks, Sùchén was a kind of silence that didn’t mix. He never seemed fully present — like a note that echoes even after the music has stopped.

He often stayed on the rooftop, his hand pressed against the rusted railing, his eyes lost in some point beyond the fence, as if waiting for something no one else could see. The shirt of his uniform was almost always missing the first, sometimes second, button, and his tie remained forever absent — a small detail, but persistent. And there was something about his ears, too subtle to seem human, too distinct to go unnoticed. Maybe there was a beast hidden within. Maybe he was just tired of appearing normal.

You saw him first in the gardening club. It wasn’t a meeting, not yet. Just a scene crossing by chance — him standing between rows of chrysanthemums, touching the stems with his fingertips as if testing if they were real. The light passed through the glass leaves of the ceiling and rested on his face as if it already knew him. He didn’t notice you. Or pretended not to notice. And left without saying a word.

After that, he seemed to always be where you were. Sitting behind you in literature class. At the back of the auditorium when Mei and MK rehearsed some strange Kabuki theater number. In the corner of the court when Wujing gave reinforcement lessons to the noisy freshmen. Sùchén never participated. He just watched.

One day, the sky was too heavy for the late afternoon, and the corridor behind the temple seemed darker than usual. You turned the corner and almost bumped into him. He was there, with his back to you, shoulders too relaxed for someone who supposedly didn’t want to be noticed.

"Do you always take this way?" his voice came without weight, almost as if thinking out loud.

You answered without thinking. Something trivial. But he smiled. Just a corner of his mouth. As if waiting to see if you would run away or not. And you didn’t run.

Time began to shape itself around these small intersections. He started looking at you more closely, as if mapping your routine. His fingers brushed against your arm as he passed, too light to call a touch, too heavy to be ignored. Sometimes, he would lean his shoulder against yours, hidden in the midst of the crowd. Just a gesture. Just warmth.

Pigsy warned you once, with a sidelong glance and the pan still steaming in his hand: "That boy... he has old eyes. Don’t trust smiles that hide a history." But it was too late to not look back.

And Sùchén didn’t need to say he was staying. The way he sat beside you, silent, his eyes closed to the sound of the rain on the roof — that said everything.

Over time, things between you and Sùchén began to change, but in a way you couldn’t fully understand. It was as if the world that once seemed vast and distant had become tight, small, a space where only the two of you could fit. There was no more school, no more familiar faces and the sounds you knew by heart. Now, everything was silent, the only sound was the wind touching the dry leaves around the camp where you had taken refuge.

The campfire burned low, casting soft golden light on your faces. The warmth radiating from the wood was the only warmth there, while the stars above seemed silent, watching. Sùchén was beside you again, in one of those moments where he seemed to simply exist around you. He didn’t speak much, but still, there was no need for words. The way he looked at the fire, his eyes slightly blurred by the soft light, made you feel a warmth spreading across your skin.

You were sitting next to him, the smell of smoke blending with the fresh night air. Your jacket was slightly open, and the cold wind made the hairs on your arms stand up. Without realizing, you leaned a little closer, seeking the warmth of his body. He didn’t pull away. In fact, it seemed like he was waiting for this gesture. His gaze met yours for a moment, one of those looks that, if not taken carefully, could risk understanding too much.

"You’re cold," he murmured, his voice rough in the stillness of the night. Without waiting for a response, he extended a hand toward you, almost like a silent invitation. And that’s when everything seemed to speed up. You found yourself nestled in the crook of his arm, the warmth coming from him making everything around you feel calmer and safer. He wrapped you in his embrace, Sùchén’s fingers slowly tracing over your skin, a gentle, exploratory touch, as if he were trying to understand your presence the same way you did with him.

The silence between you was thick, but in a strange way, comforting. Your hearts beat in sync, the scent of earth and forest mingling with the aroma of something closer, something more intimate. He didn’t pressure you, but his proximity was inescapable. The heat of his body against yours made the air around you both feel denser, as if the night itself was waiting for something to happen.

Your breathing had quickened now, as if simply being so close to him was a silent violation of something you both had been trying to avoid. But when he ran his fingers along your back, the sensation of his touch was a strange comfort, a relief. He pulled you closer, as if he had the right to do so. And maybe he did.

The warmth between you grew almost palpable. Sùchén wasn’t the type to worry about boundaries — in fact, it seemed like he was always testing yours. His hand, which had been gentle until now, moved up your arm with unexpected firmness, as if he knew exactly what he wanted and how he’d make you want it too. His gaze, hotter than the fire, locked onto yours, challenging and teasing. “Are you shivering?” he murmured, his voice rough but full of something more. “Or is it just because of me?”

The question was more of a game than a genuine curiosity, and you knew that. Sùchén never asked questions without purpose. He leaned in a little closer, his lips almost touching your ear as he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “I like seeing the effect I have on you,” he said, a merciless smile dancing on his lips. The tension in the air lingered, even thicker now.

You knew he was waiting for a reaction from you. That the provocation was there, just waiting to be received. And, not really sure what made him act this way, you allowed yourself to take the first step. Your lips brushed against his, hesitant but certain. The touch was brief, almost like both of you were testing the limits, feeling out the contours of what might come before going any deeper.

But Sùchén wasn’t patient. He pulled you closer, his body now pressing against yours with an intensity that was both comforting and electric. Your lips met once more, and this time, he was bolder, leaning into you, his hands now at your neck, his fingers caressing your skin in a way that made your stomach tighten.

The kiss grew, dominant. He wasn’t just teasing anymore; he was definitely in control, and somehow, you were willing to let him be. His caress on your neck was slow, almost possessive, as if he were savoring every moment, testing the limits of both his patience and yours. When he pulled away slightly, both of your breaths were faster, and he looked at you with a nearly challenging smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something else.

“That was just an appetizer,” he said with a crooked smile, still carrying the scent of tobacco and dust on his skin. His tone was immensely confident, like he knew you would never escape this game. “And now... will you let me play?”

Your response didn’t come in words. It was in the way you moved closer again, surrendering to the inevitability of the moment. And Sùchén, with that smile that never seemed to fade, knew that this was just the beginning.

The air between you was filled with a silent, yet palpable tension, and as he pulled you closer, you could no longer tell where your anxiety began and where his ended. Every touch felt carefully orchestrated, as if he knew exactly how to make your heart beat faster and your body feel light, yet at the same time so full of heat.

Sùchén wasn’t in a hurry. He wanted to savor every second, and you could feel that in every movement, as if time was stretching between you, becoming elastic, malleable. Your lips met again, but this time it was deeper, longer, as if the kiss were a silent request, something you both already knew you didn’t need to hide anymore. The kiss was ferocious, but without haste, as if he were marking his territory, but in a subtle way, without actually asking for permission.

You felt his fingers moving across your skin almost mercilessly, trailing over your waist, as if he wanted to etch every curve of your body into memory. Your breath was heavier, bodies closer, and the feeling of heat seemed to grow from within, a fire that didn’t seem like it wanted to burn out. The way he enveloped you was almost possessive, but at the same time, there was something immensely comforting about it, as if he were exactly what you had always needed, without ever asking for it.

“Do you really think you can stay out of my reach?” he asked, his voice husky, the words leaving his mouth with a tone of challenge, but also something more intimate, something that felt like a silent provocation. He was enjoying the way you looked at him, the way your body responded to his gestures.

The answer came without words, just a deeper touch, an embrace that pulled him closer, his hands spreading more across your skin, moving to your shoulders, to your neck, feeling every small detail. You no longer knew if you were playing the same game or if you had surrendered, but what mattered was that you were there, with him, and nothing else seemed to make sense. The fire from the campfire crackled low, but the heat between the two of you seemed to be the only thing that mattered.

The other sounds around you, the wind and the leaves moving in the trees, seemed distant. There was nothing but Sùchén and you. He was no longer just teasing you with his gaze. Now, he was consuming you, but in a way that didn’t make you nervous; on the contrary, it seemed to only intensify the desire for him to do more.

“You want me, don’t you?” he whispered, a mischievous smile forming as he slid his finger along your jawline, down to your neck, applying light pressure. “You don’t have to say anything, I know.”

He stared at you with an intensity that seemed to read your thoughts, but instead of waiting for an answer, he tilted his head and kissed you again, more slowly this time, exploring every sensation with calm, with desire. He was the kind of guy who knew what he wanted, and wasn’t ashamed of it.

[wolves-in-the-world]

if anyone needs a little softness post-werefic please know that:

1) wolfeliot starts out kind of prickly and dignified around the team. spending any time with them in wolf form just hanging out pretending to nap is a vulnerability and a mark of progress; accepting physical affection or accessories takes longer.

the first time, parker doesn't exactly ask. she plonks herself down beside him, doggie bandana in hand, and sophie's going "parker I don't think- that might not be-" and eliot's grumbling a little growl under his breath but, ultimately, not doing a single thing to stop her.

he looks very handsome.

2) so werequinn is incredibly tempting for so many reasons right? it feels wrong to me personally to give just one of them this to deal with, animal hangouts would be peak cuteness, @darkfinch has very much sold me on the benefits and contributed at least half of the details-

and there are, in fact, backstory possibilities that make up for the fact that this is meant to be a Rare Curse and Difficult To Handle.

but for cuteness' sake let me just say that werequinn is a very dumb big cat who he insists on treating as a seperate creature with his own shit going on. he enjoys long walks on the beach long nighttime adventures with his best buddy, biting people as a sign of affection, biting people as a sign of malice, and making a nuisance of himself when eliot's cooking.

and he answers only to Mr Paws.

[mssalo]

dirty work

You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, hotgirl!reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, filthy dirty talk, desperate!Joel, pervy!Joel, pathetic!Joel, age gap, Joel being down bad, obsessive staring, possessiveness, mild power play, teasing, so much cum (like he literally can’t stop), Joel not having sex in decades and it shows, Hot girl reader knowing she's hot, Joel being completely ruined by your pussy, and you loving every second of it

11k. Enjoy!

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The house needed work. And probably a priest.

It wasn’t falling apart, but it also wasn’t move-in ready.

The kitchen faucet screamed whenever you turned it on, wailing like it had unfinished business in this world. The porch stairs were one strong gust away from sending someone straight to the ER- or the grave. 

The back gate swung open on its own, which was either a poltergeist or just bad hinges, but either way, it sent an unsettling creak through the yard at odd hours of the night.

The lights flickered sometimes. The water pressure was unpredictable. The floors creaked loud enough to make you think twice before sneaking around in the dark.

But it was cheap. And it had potential.

And you?

You weren’t a DIY girlie, but you could figure shit out. Probably…. Maybe. 

You did have a certain level of misplaced confidence that made you think you could tackle anything with enough trial and error.

The problem was—so far, it had been mostly errors.

Your first attempt at fixing the faucet resulted in a flood that had you sprinting to turn the water off before your kitchen turned into a slip-and-slide.

Trying to replace a light fixture nearly ended with you electrocuting yourself into another dimension. 

And the less said about the unfortunate caulking incident of last Thursday, the better.

Still, you were determined. A little clueless? Sure. But determined.

You wiped sweat from your brow, standing in front of your latest challenge: the front door. It didn’t latch properly. It wasn’t quite crooked, but something was off. The hinges, maybe? You had no idea. 

You just knew that a strong wind could blow the damn thing off, which wasn’t ideal for your safety or your sanity.

So there you were, kneeling on the porch, staring at a pile of tools you weren’t entirely sure how to use, the manual open beside you like it was about to offer some divine intervention.

You twisted the screwdriver in your hand, frowning at the misaligned screws. “Alright, bitch,” you muttered to the door, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

And that was when a shadow fell over you.

A heavy presence.

You turned, blinking up at the broad figure standing at the foot of your porch.

Joel Miller.

Your neighbor. Big, built, silent as the grave. Old as fuck.

You’d seen him around—on his porch, smoking, reading the newspaper, doing old people things and watching. Always watching.

Never introduced himself. Never waved. Never made an effort. Just sat there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable, watching the world pass him by.

Watching you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination. A trick of the heat, the way his dark eyes always seemed to linger just a little too long before darting away. But then, as the weeks passed, you realized it wasn’t just some coincidence.

Joel Miller was looking. A lot.

From behind the safety of his porch, through his truck window when he pulled into the driveway, stealing glances while pretending to tinker with something outside—he was always looking.

He wasn’t the type to catcall or whistle or let his jaw drop like some dumb, desperate idiot. No, but he did openly watch, with that brooding, set-jaw expression, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fighting the urge to jump.

A man seeing something he wanted—something he knew he couldn’t have.

And, honestly? It was kinda hot.

You love a pathetic man.

Pathetic in the way only a man like him could be- big and strong and old enough to know better, yet still sitting on his porch like some clueless teenager, hopelessly caught in your orbit.

Joel had spent his entire life working.

Calloused hands. Aching back. A routine as grey and dull as the pavement he walked on. He wasn’t a talk-to-women kind of guy. He was a build-shit-and-keep-his-mouth-shut kind of guy.

He had probably spent years without even thinking about sex. Not because he didn’t want it—fuck, of course, he did—but because who the hell would even let him?

The man was a relic.

Pushing sixty. Grumpy. Built like a man who had done nothing but work his whole life—because that’s exactly what he had done.

No wife. No girlfriend. Nothing.

He didn’t flirt. Didn’t go out. Didn’t fucking bother.

Just work, fix, sleep. Get off when he needed to—always alone, always quick, no one to fucking hear him.

That was life.

And then you moved in next door.

And Joel broke.

Because Jesus Christ.

You.

Soft and sweet and fucking perfect—so young, so pretty, so effortlessly sexy.

You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else entirely.

Something cruel.

With your tiny little skirts and tight little tops, walking around like it wasn’t a goddamn crime to be that fucking perfect.

Joel shouldn’t have been looking.

Knew he shouldn’t memorize the way your tits bounced when you jogged past his house.

Shouldn’t have let himself watch the way you stretched on the porch, or walked in those obscene little shorts, or sunbathed out back with your top straps pulled down—looking so fucking soft, like you were made to be touched.

Made to be ruined.

It was sick.

And he didn’t care.

Because at night, when his house was quiet and the only thing in his bed was his own hand, Joel let himself imagine what it would be like to pull you onto his lap or spread you open, bury his face between your thighs and never fucking leave.

To get his mouth on you.

God, he was so hungry for it.

And the worst part?

He was pretty sure you knew.

It was pathetic.

And he fucking knew it.

But he couldn’t stop.

And right now, his gaze was locked on you.

Or, more accurately—your thighs.

You were still kneeling, skin glistening in the summer heat, your tiny skirt barely covering anything. Joel looked like a man who had just seen God.

His throat bobbed.

His fingers flexed.

Then, abruptly—his eyes snapped up.

“Need a hand?” His voice was rough, all gravel and rust.

You tilted your head, dragging your gaze over him.

You smirked.

“I got it,” you said simply.

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

“…No, you don’t.”

And before you could argue, he was stepping forward.

Taking the screwdriver right out of your hand.

And just fucking fixing it.

Like it was nothing.

Like you weren’t even there.

· · ──𖥸

From that day on, Joel… kinda never left.

Not literally. Not in a way that you could call him out on.

But he was always there.

At first, it was little things. Fixing what you couldn’t. Offering a hand when you were clearly struggling. Showing up at the exact right time, tools in hand, that furrow between his brows like you’d personally offended him by even attempting to fix something yourself.

Then, it escalated.

Because you didn’t even have to ask anymore.

He was just there.

On your porch. In your yard. Pretending to check something in his truck but really just looking at you while you stretched in the morning, your tight little tank clinging to every inch of you.

The excuses started getting thinner, too.

At first, it was, “Saw the porch light flickerin’. Just figured I’d fix it before it got worse.”

Then, it became, “Just keepin’ busy.”

Then, no excuse at all.

Just Joel, lingering around your property, finding any reason to be near you, any reason to work himself into a sweat just for the chance to look at you up close.

Because that was his payment.

His reward.

Every little smile, every little laugh. The way your tits moved when you pointed at something needed fixing. The way you stretched just right, your little skirts and shorts riding up, flashing soft, smooth skin that made Joel’s head spin.

He didn’t even need you to talk to him.

Didn’t need you to flirt.

Just existing was enough.

So he worked.

For free.

Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

You made him feel like some pathetic old pervert.

Standing around like a useless extra in the movie that was your perfect fucking life.

A washed-up, near-sixty-year-old loser with a bad back, a lonely house, and a dick that hadn’t worked properly in years.

And now?

Now, he nearly was hard all the time.

No blue pills. No coaxing. No thinking about some old porn magazine he had tucked away for emergencies.

Just your voice, your body, the way you smelled, the way you looked at him when you handed him a lemonade like he was doing something special—when all he was doing was fixing your fucking sink.

And the worst part?

He was leaking.

Like a damn teenager.

Hadn’t been this sensitive in decades.

And yet, here he was—barely keeping it together, feeling the way his cock throbbed and ached, fucking dripped inside his jeans while you leaned in, smiling, teasing—

“Thank you, Joel!”

Fuck.

That voice.

All sweet and grateful and warm, and it was fucking nothing. Just three little words.

And yet, his whole body reacted like you had just whispered something filthy in his ear.

Like you had just gotten on your knees, licked your lips, and told him

Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.

God, he was fucked.

So he mowed your lawn.

Fixed your AC unit.

Made sure the fence was latched, the gate was locked, the pipes weren’t leakin’.

And when he wasn’t fixing shit inside?

He was finding things to do outside.

Hammering shit that didn’t need hammering.

Cleaning tools that weren’t even his.

Anything. Anything.

Just to be there.

· · ──𖥸

Joel looked wrecked.

Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, his broad shoulders sagging as he finally took a seat at the kitchen table he had just fixed for you.

His hands were rough and calloused, veins prominent, fingers flexing against the cool surface as he exhaled, deep and slow. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that clung to a man who had spent the whole day pushing his body to the limit.

And yet, even now, after hours of working himself to the bone, he was still staring.

Not at the food you’d set down in front of him, not at the cold glass of iced tea dripping condensation onto the table, not even at his own aching hands that had spent all damn day making sure every little thing in your house was perfect.

He was staring at your tits.

You noticed it immediately, of course. How could you not? Joel wasn’t exactly subtle.

His dark, hungry gaze stayed fixed on your chest, drinking in the way your tank top clung to you, damp with heat, the fabric just a little too thin, a little too low. His hands twitched every so often, like he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.

He barely responded when you spoke, offering little more than a grunt here and there, a slow nod, an occasional hum of acknowledgment. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because he was completely fucking gone.

And you?

You smirked.

Because this wasn’t new.

Joel Miller had been looking at you like this for weeks now, like a starving man watching a meal just out of reach, a man standing in the desert watching water slip through his fingers.

And he thought he was hiding it.

He wasn’t.

You leaned forward slightly, trailing a finger through the condensation on your glass, watching his Adam’s apple bob when his eyes immediately flicked down again, drawn like a magnet.

You waited. Let it stew. Let the tension stretch thick and heavy between you until you could practically hear the way he was grinding his teeth together, working his jaw, trying to think of something—anything—other than the way your tits were right there.

Then, casually, you spoke.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

Joel didn’t move at first.

Didn’t even seem to register your words right away.

Just blinked, slow and dazed, before finally dragging his gaze back up to your face, blinking again, like he had just been pulled out of something deep.

“…Huh?”

His voice was thick, rough like gravel, his fingers flexing again before clenching into loose fists.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flick down to your own chest, then back up to him, pointedly.

“You like ’em?”

For a moment, Joel just sat there.

Silent.

Completely fucking still.

Then, finally, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was collecting himself, trying to piece together a response that didn’t immediately give him away.

And then, voice lower, rougher, wrecked—

“…What’s there not to like?”

Oh?

That shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.

But it did.

The way he said it, low and warm and dripping with something dark, something dangerous. The way he looked at you when he said it, like he was memorizing every inch of you, like he needed to burn the sight into his brain.

A slow heat unfurled low in your belly, sinking between your thighs, pooling thick and molten as you shifted in your seat, pressing your legs together, suddenly very aware of how wet you were getting.

And Joel knew it.

Because his eyes flicked down for a split second, watching the way you shifted, the way your breath caught ever so slightly, and his fingers clenched tighter against the table.

And then, voice slow, teasing, stretching out the moment—

“Hmmm.”

You tapped a finger against your chin, watching the way his dark eyes tracked your movements, like he couldn’t help it, like he had no control over the way his body responded to you.

And then, soft and syrupy—

“You know, Joel… I feel kinda bad.”

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

You watched the slow, deliberate way he swallowed, the way his whole body seemed to tense under the weight of those words, the muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers curled against the table.

“…Bad?”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“For letting you do all this work without paying you back.”

There was a beat of silence.

Joel’s fingers flexed. His breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. You could see the battle happening in his head—his morals, his age, the voice in his head screaming this is wrong, you’re too old, don’t do this—

And yet.

When he spoke, it was wrecked.

“…Can I just—”

Joel swallowed hard.

His voice dropped lower, raspier, barely even a sound.

“Can I just see you? Look at you?”

The words sent a jolt of something electric through you, made your skin heat, your pulse quicken, made that molten heat in your belly throb.

You smiled. Slow. Sweet.

Cruel.

"You wanna see me, Joel?"

His breath hitched.

His fingers twitched.

He nodded, almost absently, his mouth falling open, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

You dragged your nails lightly up your stomach, over your ribs, the movement subtle, slow, making him watch.

Your hands went to the hem of your tank top, your fingers curling around the fabric, slowly dragging it up.

Joel’s pupils blew wide.

His lips parted.

His breath hitched.

And when you pulled it over your head, letting it drop to the floor, you saw it.

The way his fingers clenched so hard around the edge of the table that his knuckles went white, like he needed to physically hold himself back.

You sat there in just your bra, running your hands up your stomach, over your ribs, tilting your head slightly as you murmured—

“Like this?”

Joel made a noise that was almost a groan, almost a curse, a low, strangled thing that caught in his throat as his eyes devoured you.

He swallowed again, hard, blinking like he was trying to process what was happening.

Then—rough, hoarse, desperate—

“…Please. Everything.”

So you did.

You reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a slow, deliberate flick of your fingers, letting the straps slip down your arms before shrugging it off completely.

And Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had.

His breath hitched—a sharp, audible inhale, like he had just been punched in the gut.

His eyes dropped from your eyes instantly, dragged down like they had no choice, like the second your tits were bare, he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else.

And fuck.

The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now?

Now he was looking at the best fucking meal he’d ever seen.

Because Jesus Christ.

Your tits?

They were perfect.

So fucking full and soft, high and round, plump little handfuls of heaven that he’d been imagining for weeks, and now? Now they were right there.

And your nipples—fuck.

They were already hard, tight little peaks sitting pretty, puckered and aching, begging for something—a touch, a mouth, something wet and warm.

They looked so fucking sweet, like they’d feel so soft, like they’d taste so good on his tongue.

Joel groaned.

A rough, heavy sound, his jaw clenching so fucking hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack, his entire body tensing like it physically hurt him to just sit there and look and not touch.

And then, voice wrecked, strained, barely even a whisper—

“Best goddamn tits I’ve ever seen.”

You smirked, slow and teasing, shifting slightly, making them bounce just a little, the movement so subtle, but his whole body jerked.

“Yeah?”

Joel grunted, a deep, broken noise, his breath stuttering, his fingers flexing.

“Yeah.”

His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

His hips shifted.

And you noticed.

The way his jeans were tight.

The way a wet patch darkened the denim.

The way his entire body looked like it was straining under the weight of his own need.

And then, voice breaking, groaning—

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Your breath caught.

Because that?

That sounded filthy.

Low, wrecked, grateful.

Like just seeing you was some kind of mercy.

His thighs tensed. His hands twitched. His eyes stayed locked on you, burning, devouring, drowning.

You dragged your hands up your own stomach, slow and lazy, brushing your fingers over the soft curves of your breasts, rolling your thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking when you heard his breath hitch.

“You wanna touch ‘em, Joel?” you murmured, soft and syrupy, voice dipped in honey.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, like the question alone was enough to wreck him.

“Fuck yeah.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t fucking think.

His hands were on you before the words even fully left his mouth—grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was starving for it, like he’d been fantasizing about this for so long that the second he finally had them in his palms, he lost every ounce of restraint.

And Jesus fuck, his hands were big.

Rough.

Strong.

Decades of hard labor carved into every thick callus, every flex of his fingers, every hungry, greedy, desperate grab.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost dazed as he kneaded your tits, rolling them in his palms, squeezing like he needed to memorize the way they felt—like he’d never get this chance again.

He groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging in, rough fingertips brushing over your stiff nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath as heat licked through your veins.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he rasped, thumbing over the tight little peaks, watching the way your body reacted to him, your back arching, breath hitching.

Joel felt that.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasped, voice a low, guttural thing, dragging his calloused fingers over your nipples again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, watching your reaction like a starving man watching a meal.

You swallowed hard, a shiver running through you, your thighs pressing together. Fuck.

Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip, arching into his touch, letting him take what he wanted.

Joel groaned again, deep and needy, gripping your tits harder, pushing them together, squeezing, kneading, fucking obsessed.

His thumbs twisted your nipples, slow and deliberate, watching the way they hardened even further, standing up all soft and pink, looking so fucking suckable.

“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Look at these pretty tits.”

His fingers pinched, tugged, twisted just right—just enough to make you gasp, a soft little sound that sent a lightning bolt of pure fucking need straight to his cock.

He grinned.

A dark, hungry thing.

And then, voice gritted, thick with lust—

“Bet they taste even better.”

“Can I-”

Before he could even finish asking, you were already shushing him, already threading your fingers into his graying hair and pulling his face down, guiding him straight to where he belonged.

Joel went willingly.

Mouth first.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Joel yanked you into his lap, gripping you like you might disappear, like this was a dream he’d wake up from if he let go for even a second.

His knees ached against the floor, his back twinged in warning, but he didn’t give a fuck. Not when you were straddling him, warm and soft, tits in his face like some fucking gift from God.

His mouth sealed over your nipple, pulling at it with an obscene, wet suckle, tongue flattening before flicking, rolling, teasing the sensitive bud until it was aching, stiff, raw.

Just a wrecked, filthy groan, muffled against your soft, warm skin as he was sucking deep, sucking hard, sucking wet.

“Fuck yes,” he moaned into your skin, voice ragged, his breath hot and heavy against your breast.

He was loud.

Not in words—because words didn’t matter anymore.

But in the way he suckled, the way his lips sealed tight, how he groaned and slurped and moaned, every single sound of his mouth on you wet and obscene, filling the space around you.

His tongue swiped up, then down, then circled—slow at first, then faster, flicking against the stiff bud before pulling it into his mouth again, sealing his lips tight, sucking deep.

He couldn’t stop.

Didn’t even try.

His hands moved next, big, calloused fingers gripping your waist, dragging you closer, then sliding up to cup both tits in his palms, rough and desperate. 

“Oh—fuck, Joel—” your breath hitched, the sharp pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between your thighs.

He groaned—deep, guttural, filthy.

“Goddamn, baby—”

Then, harder.

His fingers squeezed tighter, thumbs brushing over your nipples, pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on, rolling it between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

You felt his breath stutter—like he was about to lose it completely—before he pulled off with a wet, sucking pop, spit connecting his lips to your nipple, slick and shining.

He stared.

Breathing ragged. Eyes dark, starving.

And then he dived right back in.

Latching onto the other like a man possessed, groaning into it like he was trying to drink from you, ruin you, consume you.

His hands never stopped.

He hugged you closer, pulling you right into him, pressing your tits together, mashing them up against his face, smothering himself in them.

“So fuckin’ soft, baby—” he rasped, licking, suckling, tongue dragging slow circles around your nipple before he sealed his lips and sucked deep again.

“So fuckin’ sweet—”

He switched between them like he couldn’t pick a favorite, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop.

His tongue flicked, his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, sending shocks of pleasure straight between your legs.

Your breath hitched.

Your back arched.

Because he wasn’t just playing around.

This wasn’t just teasing.

This wasn’t some guy mouthing at your tits before moving on.

No.

Joel was staying here.

Lingering.

Drowning in it.

Like he could suckle your tits for hours.

And then, voice low, gravelly, wrecked—

“Baby…”

You hummed, already smirking.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers tracing absent circles against your ribs, his voice barely above a whisper—

“Lemme see you.”

Your smirk widened.

“See what, Joel?”

He groaned, head dropping against your shoulder for half a second like he physically needed to collect himself. His nose brushed along your jaw, leaving small kisses, hot breath fanning against your skin, and then—

“Sweetheart, please,” he rasped. “Lemme see that pretty little pussy.”

Your stomach tightened, heat flaring low, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet.

Instead, you stretched, slow and indulgent, arching just slightly, your tits pushing up against his chest. “Hmmm,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against your lip like you were actually considering it. “You worked so hard for me, didn't you, Joel?”

His jaw flexed. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, squeezing.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Don’t tease me like this.”

You tilted your head, tapping your chin, dragging it out just a little longer—watching the way his fingers twitched, watching the way his pupils were blown black with hunger, watching the way his hips barely resisted the urge to rut up against you like he needed something, anything.

Then, finally, you sighed.

“Alright, old man,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, the movement making him groan. “Take me to the couch.”

Joel nearly fucking growled.

His arms came around you instantly, strong, needy, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you. Not struggling, not even hesitating—because fuck if you thought he was too old for this, fuck if you thought he wouldn’t show you exactly what he could do.

He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious, his hands sliding over your body, down your sides, gripping your thighs, spreading you open just enough.

And then—his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.

Not pulling it down.

Just flipping it up.

Joel wasn’t breathing.

At least, it felt that way.

He couldn’t. Not with the way you were spread out in front of him, thighs parted, panties soaked, looking like the filthiest, prettiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

The way you stretched lazily, arching just a little, making your tits push forward. The way your lips curled in that slow, knowing smirk when you caught him staring, like you were indulging him, letting him look, letting him take in every fucking inch of you.

And Joel—Joel was gone.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow, reverent, rough fingertips dragging against soft skin, feeling the heat radiating off you.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, dark, almost reverent.

Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze locked on the damp spot between your legs, so fucking dark, so fucking pretty.

His thumbs traced along the edges of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp patch at the center, groaning when he felt the way it stuck to you.

“So goddamn wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your skin. “Been like this all night, little girl?”

You moaned, shifting slightly, watching the way his jaw clenched at the movement.

“Maybe,” you teased. “Not my fault you’ve been looking at me like that all day.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a low, ragged sound, his grip tightening.

Poor old man.

He was completely fucking gone.

“See something you like?” you teased, voice sweet, syrupy, making his jaw clench.

Joel exhaled through his nose, hands tightening where they rested on your thighs, fingers pressing in deep, like he needed to hold onto something, ground himself before he completely lost control.

“Baby,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice low and rough, thick with something desperate. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”

You laughed, slow and taunting, your nails dragging up the couch, watching the way his entire body tensed, like he was on the verge of snapping, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Am I?” you mused, tilting your head, watching him watch you.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, his grip bruising now, his breath shuddering, his hips twitching like just the words alone were enough to ruin him.

And then—

He leaned in.

Pressed his face against your covered cunt, breathing deep, dragging his nose over the soaked fabric, his entire body shuddering, shaking, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.

And fuck.

He moaned.

You smirked. Moaned.

Because you knew.

Knew exactly what kind of power you had over him. Knew that Joel Miller—this gruff, brooding old man who barely spoke to anyone, who’d spent his life working, fixing, existing—was utterly wrecked over you.

And right now, he was on his knees, rubbing his face against your soaked panties, inhaling like the scent of your cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.

You loved it.

“Mm, you really like it down there, huh?” You moaned dragging your nails through his hair, watching the way his whole body twitched, the way he groaned against you, his nose pressing harder into the damp fabric covering your pussy.

Joel barely lifted his head, just enough to look at you, eyes so dark they were nearly black, lips slick with his own spit. His fingers flexed against your thighs like he was fighting himself—like he wanted to tear those panties off and bury himself in you, but he was holding back.

Barely.

“Like?” he rasped, voice wrecked. His tongue darted out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he was tasting the scent of you in the air.

He groaned.

“Pretty girl, I’m fuckin’ obsessed.”

You moaned. Tilting your hips just slightly, pressing up into his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered like just feeling your heat against his lips was too much.

“Oh yeah?” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. “Then show me.”

Joel didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

He just acted.

His hands shot up, gripping the waistband of your panties, and for a second, you thought he was going to rip them off you. But no—Joel was feeling something nastier.

Instead, he grabbed the soaked fabric, pulled it tight against your cunt, wedging it between your slick folds, pressing the thin material right into your aching clit.

You gasped.

“Ohhh, fuck—”

Joel groaned, a deep, filthy sound from the pit of his chest as he rubbed the fabric against you, slow at first, then harder, pressing it between your lips, letting the damp, sticky material drag over your throbbing clit.

His nose dragged over the outline of your swollen pussy, mouth parted, tongue slipping out to taste the wet spot directly over your entrance, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking put in his mouth.

“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “S’soaked, girl. Look at this fuckin’ mess. You see this?” He rubbed the fabric in deeper, groaning at the way it stuck to your folds, the way your slick smeared against it, making it wetter, stickier.

You moaned, hips rolling, pushing against his mouth, chasing the friction.

“Joel—”

He growled again, gripping your thighs tight, keeping you spread as he bit down gently on the covered part of your clit, tugging with his teeth, rolling it between them through the fabric.

You gasped.

Your back arched, hands flying to the couch, gripping the cushions for some kind of grounding because—holy fuck.

Joel chuckled. Chuckled. A deep, perverse sound.

“Ohh, you like that, hm?”

He pressed his tongue flat against your clit through your panties, sucking at the damp fabric, like he was trying to drink you through it, humming like he could taste you, even with the barrier in the way.

Then—

His teeth latched onto the thin cotton, gripping the wet spot over your entrance, and he pulled.

A sharp, precise tug.

Dragging the panties against your cunt, making them slide against your soaked folds, pressing them deeper, wedging them between your swollen lips, rubbing everything.

You fucking whimpered.

Joel moaned against you, rutting his hips against the couch, pressing his nose right against your slit, inhaling, sucking, rubbing his face all over your cunt like a man starved.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, nuzzling you, his voice dripping with filth. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ warm, baby. So fuckin’ messy. Leakin’ all over these little panties—bet they’re ruined, huh?”

Your thighs shook. Your breath stuttered.

Your fingers curled tight in his hair, tugging, and he moaned again, loud, tongue slipping out to drag slow, wet strokes over the damp fabric, gathering everything before pressing it back against your cunt, making you feel how fucking messy you were.

His hands—those big, rough, work-worn hands—slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open, thumbs pressing into your soft skin as he finally, finally hooked his fingers into your panties and peeled them off.

He groaned when they stuck.

When your slick clung to the fabric.

When he had to drag them down your legs because they were soaked.

And then—

You were bare.

Wet.

Dripping.

All for him.

Joel sat back on his heels, staring.

His fingers flexed, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice deep and wrecked.

Then, dark eyes flicking up to yours, a slow, filthy grin stretching across his face—

“Oh, baby…” He groaned.

“I’m gonna ruin you.”

His voice was a wreck, almost a whisper, full of awe, full of filth, full of something desperate and hungry.

Because you were fucking perfect.

Your pussy was obscene.

Pink and swollen and glistening, folds spread, sticky and slick, so wet you were practically dripping onto the couch. 

Your clit—puffy, throbbing—begging for attention, twitching every time Joel’s hot breath ghosted over you. 

The dim light caught on the shine of your arousal, making everything look impossibly wet, messy, fucking ruined.

And Joel?

Joel was losing his goddamn mind.

His breath hitched, a low, wrecked groan ripping from his chest, his fingers flexing hard against your thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from lunging forward and devouring you whole.

“Fuck me.” His voice came out rough, strangled, barely even a whisper. “Look at that messy little pussy. S’so fuckin’ wet for me, baby.”

You hummed, stretching out against the couch like you had all the time in the world, arching just slightly making your tits look so good, making yourself even softer, even easier, even more of a temptation.

“Yeah?” Your voice was all gasped, all teasing, your hips rolling up just a little, just enough to make the slick between your thighs glisten in the low light. “You like her, Joel?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, eyes blown dark and wide, locked on your cunt like it was hypnotizing him, pulling him under.

He let out a rough, humorless laugh, shaking his head, squeezing your thighs just a little tighter. “Baby, I’ll never let go of her.”

That smirk stretched slow across your lips, your thighs parting just a little more, an open invitation, a silent dare.

Joel groaned—deep, guttural, painful.

And then he snapped.

His big, rough hands grabbed you, dragging you down the couch with no warning, tugging you toward him until your ass was hanging off the edge, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, his face—his mouth—right where he wanted it.

And then—

A long, wet, messy lick.

Tongue flat, broad, dragging over your slit, catching every drop of slick, lapping it up, his nose bumping against your mound, his groan muffled as he tasted you.

And Jesus fuck—he growled.

“Goddamn, baby… this sloppy little pussy.” His voice was hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to catch another drop of arousal, swallowing it down, his thumbs spreading you open even wider. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my face.”

You whined, hips bucking, but Joel’s grip slammed you back down.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again, circling your clit, teasing, groaning loud like he was tasting something sinful, something addictive, something he was never gonna get enough of.

His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking, his nose buried against your mound, his face pressed so deep in your pussy he was fucking drowning.

And he loved it.

You were soaked.

Dripping.

And Joel wanted it.

Wanted every drop.

His tongue licked into you, fucking inside, groaning loud when he felt your walls clench, sucking your juices from his own tongue like he was drinking you, like you were feeding him.

And fuck—

His hips rutted against the couch, grinding, his cock straining against his jeans, so fucking wet, his pre-cum soaking through, his whole body wound tight like he could come just like this, just from eating you, from tasting you, from hearing the little broken whimpers spilling from your lips.

His fingers dug in deeper, pressing into the softness of your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you closer, burying his tongue so deep inside you it made your eyes roll back.

And then—

A rough, growled, wrecked—

“Goddamn, baby. Gonna fuckin’ stay down here.”

Joel was gone.

Buried between your thighs, tongue fucking into you like a starving man, like this was what he was made to do.

And fuck, maybe he was.

Because he was too good at it.

You moaned, dragging a hand through his hair, pulling, loving the way he groaned, the way his hips rutted harder against the couch, the way he needed this.

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted, voice thick with pleasure.

Joel growled.

He actually fucking growled, pulling you closer, spreading you wider, licking into you deeper, his tongue flicking, curling, sucking, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from humping the fucking couch like some desperate, pathetic thing.

And then—

Joel spat on it.

A wet, messy, lewd spit, right over your swollen clit.

And then?

He rubbed his face into it.

Like some depraved old pervert, moaning as he smothered himself with your slick, nuzzling into it, smearing his own spit and your arousal all over his lips, his chin, his nose .. damn nearly up to his forehead. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, breath hot, words slurred against your swollen folds. “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. Taste even fuckin’ better.”

His tongue swiped over your clit, broad and firm, lapping at it like he was fucking thirsty, groaning when he felt you pulse, when he felt your thighs tremble.

He spat on it again.

And smeared it in.

Dragged his tongue through the mess, licking his own spit off your cunt like he was cleaning you up.

And fuck.

It sent a shock of pleasure straight through your body, a sharp, hot jolt that made your back arch, your mouth dropping open in a broken moan.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”

Joel knew.

Knew you were close, knew he had you teetering, knew you were about to fucking snap.

So he latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, filthy and loud, his fingers bruising into your thighs, holding you open, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

And when you came—

Oh, fuck, when you came.

Your body jerked, legs trembling, the orgasm hitting you so hard it stole the breath from your lungs, your vision going white, your whole body clenching around the pleasure, drowning in it.

And Joel?

Joel groaned.

Like he felt it.

Like your orgasm belonged to him.

Like he had just come from tasting you, from making you come, from hearing you cry out his name.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t fucking stop.

Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking devouring, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, dragging out every last aftershock, keeping you on the edge, keeping you throbbing.

And you—

You were shaking.

Body weak, legs useless, cunt aching for something more.

“Joel,” you gasped, breathless, still trembling. “I—I want your cock.”

And Joel?

He didn’t hear you.

Didn’t process it.

Because he was lost.

Lost in your pussy, lost in the taste, lost in the way you fucking shook for him.

His tongue dragged through the mess, lapping up every drop, swallowing you down like you were something precious, something he couldn’t afford to waste.

So you tried again.

“Joel,” you panted, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention. “I want your—”

And he still didn’t listen.

Just kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept moaning against your cunt like he was starved.

So you had to rip his face away.

Fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him back, making him look up at you—

And fuck.

His face.

Wet. Slick. Lips swollen, chin shining, pupils blown.

And his mouth—

His mouth was fucking open, his tongue still flicking like he was trying to find you, like he was looking for your pussy, like he was about to dive right back in.

He was panting, breath heavy, wrecked, like he had just fucked you, like he was the one who had just come.

And then—

A low, desperate, ruined—

“Baby, please.”

Like he needed it.

Like he needed to go back.

Like he wasn’t done yet.

The smell of you. The taste of you. The way you squirmed and moaned, your fingers sinking into his hair, giving the softest little tugs that made his cock throb.

You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all night, handsome?”

Joel groaned against your thigh, his fingers tightening where they gripped your hips.

“Would if you’d let me,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.

You laughed, breathy and teasing. “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “Maybe I want something else tonight.”

Joel’s head spun.

His stomach clenched, heat coiling low, thick and heavy in his gut.

Because you couldn’t possibly mean—

“Maybe,” you mused, trailing your fingers down his face, smirking. “You should fuck me instead.”

Joel went completely fucking still.

A full-body freeze.

Because, holy shit.

He hadn’t even considered it.

He hadn’t dared to.

Had been so caught up in this—this ritual, this worship, this sick fucking devotion of getting to lose himself between your thighs, mouth greedy and desperate, tongue messy and unrelenting—he hadn’t let himself imagine it going further.

Hadn’t even let himself hope for it.

But now?

Now, you were looking at him with those big, bright eyes, your lips curled in something teasing and wicked, your fingers trailing down his chest, and fuck.

It hit him.

Like a fucking freight train.

He was gonna fuck you.

Joel groaned, his head falling forward against your stomach, breath heavy, body shaking as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing so tight it bordered on bruising.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. Baby.”

You grinned, delighted. “Yeah?”

Joel swallowed, lifting his head, his gaze burning as he looked up at you.

“Yeah.”

His voice was rough, wrecked.

“Then get up here, old man,” you purred, tugging at his shoulders. “Come fuck me.”

And, fuck, he was gonna.

Somehow, he managed to kneel between your legs, looming over you, broad and heavy and burning with something filthy and desperate.

Somehow, he managed to unbuckle his belt, yank his zipper down, pull himself free—

You hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected him to be this thick.

Because, fuck me.

Joel Miller was fucking big.

The way his cock twitched the second the cool air hit it, sending a slow, heavy bead of precome dripping down—hot and sticky, landing right on your stomach.

God.

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they were still spread open for him, aching.

And Joel?

He was just watching.

Watching that glistening drop smear against your skin, dragging his fist slow along his length, squeezing at the base, like he was trying to calm himself down.

Not that it was working.

Because he was dripping.

Leaking all over you, precum slick and thick, dribbling down the fat head of his cock, smearing over the tip as he worked himself, his jaw clenched tight, breathing heavy.

His cock was—fuck.

Thick. So fucking thick.

Broad, heavy in his palm, his shaft veined and throbbing, dark with need, his swollen head gleaming wet under the dim light.

A thick trail of silver and black hair led down from his stomach, curling around the base—graying just like the rest of him, salt-and-pepper in a way that made your stomach tighten.

And his balls.

Heavy and full, hanging low, tight and aching with neglect, pulled up just slightly, like his body was already fighting to hold off the inevitable.

And Joel—Joel was losing his fucking mind.

Because fuck.

Your soft, pretty body sprawled out beneath him, tits still sticky from his mouth, your stomach slick with the mess he was dripping all over you, your thighs spread open, that sweet, soaked pussy waiting for him—his cock.

He groaned, low and ruined, watching another thick bead of precum slip from the head, drooling down his shaft, slicking up his fingers.

He couldn’t stop leaking.

Couldn’t stop fucking twitching, pulsing in his own grip, so hard it was almost painful.

His body was betraying him.

Decades of needing, decades of nothing, and now?

Now he was about to lose it over just this.

Just you, looking up at him like that.

Smiling sweetly like you fucking knew.

Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

Joel groaned, watching your expression shift, watching your eyes flick down to where he was gripping himself, your lips parting just slightly, breath hitching.

And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

He smirked. Just a little.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Ain’t gettin’ shy on me now, are ya?”

You dragged your gaze back up to his, grinning lazily, voice smooth and teasing. “Nah, just thinking.”

Joel raised a brow, cocking his head. “Yeah? ’Bout what?”

Your lips curled.

“How the hell this thing’s gonna fit inside me.”

Joel growled.

A deep, guttural, feral fucking sound, his grip tightening around his cock, his other hand gripping your thigh, yanking you closer.

You giggled, delighted, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down, his body pressing heavy against yours, his cock resting hot and thick against your belly, pulsing.

He was panting.

You could feel it, the heat of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremble in his arms, the pure need radiating off him.

“You’ll take it,” he murmured, voice rough and low, dangerous in a way that made your stomach clench. “You’ll take all of it, baby. Ain’t no way I’m not givin’ you every goddamn inch.”

Fuck.

You whimpered.

And Joel—he fucking felt it.

Felt the way you clenched around nothing, the way your thighs trembled, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.

Felt the way your body was begging for it.

“Joel…” Your voice was thinner now, breathless.

He smirked.

“What, baby?” He pressed against your entrance, just barely, the thick head of his cock stretching you the tiniest bit before he pulled away again, teasing, watching the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched. “You were talkin’ so much before. What happened?”

You whined.

Louder this time.

And Joel groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ spoiled, baby.”

Then—

Joel pressed forward.

Slow.

Heavy.

Thick.

The swollen head of his cock pushed against your slick entrance, parting your folds, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch. Your body clenched around him instinctively, the burn sweet and deep, making you gasp, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders.

“Fuck—” Joel groaned, long and drawn out, his forehead dropping against yours as he fought to hold himself back, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be bruises come morning. “Goddamn, baby… s’fuckin’ tight—”

You moaned at the stretch, the way your cunt swallowed him up, the way he felt inside you—thick and throbbing, pulsing against your walls, filling you more than you ever thought possible.

And fuck, he wasn’t even all the way in yet.

Joel was shaking.

Every muscle in his body drawn tight, his cock twitching as he struggled to keep himself together, to not just slam in all at once and lose himself in the hot, wet grip of you.

He was too old for this shit.

Too fucking old to be trembling like some desperate goddamn virgin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his breath coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to go slow.

But Jesus Christ—

You were so small.

So fucking tiny compared to him, your cunt squeezing around his cock like it was trying to keep him out, like you weren’t built to take something this fucking big.

But you would.

You had to.

Joel wasn’t stopping.

“Take it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice wrecked, low and strained. “You’ll fuckin’ take all of it, little girl. Gonna stretch you out real nice, make you mine.”

You whimpered, legs trembling as you tried to relax, tried to take him deeper.

“Good job, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, voice rough, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing his weight against you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You clenched around him at that, and Joel felt it—felt the way your body squeezed him, the way your breath hitched, the way your back arched just slightly, like your body was instinctively trying to get more.

And fuck, that just about broke him.

His hips twitched, and suddenly, he was sinking deeper, forcing more of his cock inside your tight little cunt, and you gasped, nails raking down his arms as he stretched you even further, the feeling almost too much, too full—

But fuck, it felt so good.

“Joel—”

He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips, dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he panted against your mouth.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice dripping with heat.

You couldn’t even form words. Couldn’t think past the way he felt inside you, past the way he was holding you open, filling you up, stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before.

“More,” you whispered, breath hitching, thighs trembling. “Please.”

Joel growled.

Deep and low, something primal and wrecked, and before you could process it—

He thrust forward.

Burying himself to the fucking hilt.

You choked on a gasp, your whole body jerking at the sheer force of it, the sudden fullness, the way he bottomed out inside you, his cock nestled so deep it felt like he was fucking splitting you in half.

Joel snapped.

The last thread of his restraint fucking gone.

“Fuck—” He groaned, hips jerking, grinding himself deeper, reveling in the way you squirmed, the way you moaned, the way your body clenched around him like you never wanted to let go.

“Goddamn, sweetheart—” His voice was all rough edges, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel that? How deep I am?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function beyond the overwhelming stretch of him inside you, the way he filled every inch of you, every nerve ending fucking screaming in pleasure.

Joel didn’t wait for an answer.

Didn’t need one.

Because he knew.

Knew you felt it.

Knew you loved it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his lips dragging over your throat, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t you? You were askin' for this, huh? Teasin' me all these weeks?”

You moaned.

Loud and wrecked, your head tilting back, exposing more of your throat, and Joel fucking ate it up.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he rasped, voice strained, his hips pulling back just slightly before pressing forward again, grinding against that soft, spongy spot inside you. “Like this little pussy don’t wanna let me go.”

You whimpered.

Because it didn’t.

Didn’t want him to go.

Didn’t want anything except more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he was stretching you open, fucking ruining you for anyone else.

And Joel knew it.

Could feel it.

Could see it in the way your body arched, in the way your nails dug into his skin, in the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

And fuck—

That did something to him.

Something dark.

Something needy.

Something possessive.

His hips snapped forward, harder this time, and you cried out, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, and fuck, he loved that sound.

“Oh, god—i - you feel so good,” you cry, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rolling over you in hot, heavy waves.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice full of filthy heat. “That what you want? Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy with my cock? Want me to ruin you?”

You gasped, back arching, nails dragging down his back.

“Yes—”

And that was all he needed.

All he needed to let go, to give in, to let the raw, aching need consume him.

Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, and then—Joel growled.

A deep, wrecked, guttural thing that ripped through his chest, and suddenly—he was moving.

Thrusting.

Fucking you.

“Oh—oh god—” Your back arched, breath hitching, body jolting with each sharp thrust, each desperate snap of his hips.

Joel fucking grinned.

“That what it takes, huh?” he rasped, voice dripping with filthy satisfaction. “A big cock to shut you up, baby? Hm?”

You moaned, head lolling back against the cushions, unable to form words, pleasure slamming into you so hard your mind went blank.

And Joel? He ate it up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he gritted out, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down onto him, forcing you to take every inch. “Too busy takin’ my cock to be a smug little brat now, huh?”

You whimpered.

And Joel groaned, eyes rolling back slightly as his pace faltered, his cock twitching inside you.

Fuck—he wasn’t gonna last.

Not with this.

Not with the way you were tightening around him, squeezing him like you wanted him to cum, like you wanted him to break apart inside you, wanted to milk every drop from his aching cock.

His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering, muscles tensing, and—

“Oh, baby—shit, I—I won’t—”

His voice broke.

He gritted his teeth, fighting it, holding on as long as he could, but you were so fucking tight, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect—

And then—

You clenched around him again, dragging him deeper, pressing your lips to his ear, voice all soft and sweet—

“Cum for me, Joel.”

And that was it.

Joel snapped.

His body locked up, cock throbbing as a strangled groan tore from his throat, his hips pressing flush against you as he spilled deep inside you, pumping you full, burying himself as deep as he could while pleasure crashed over him in heavy, burning waves.

His breath stuttered, his whole body trembling, nails digging into your skin.

Your body was still trembling, sweat slicking your skin, the heat between your legs thick and wet with the mess Joel had already left inside you. Your mind was still spinning, your breath uneven, but Joel wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He held you close, his big body still caging you in, his thick arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there, to pin you down, to claim you.

His lips moved against your damp skin, pressing soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, up your throat, nuzzling against the sensitive skin behind your ear as he let out a deep, satisfied groan.

But then—

Another pulse.

Another deep, warm spurt of cum filling you up, coating your walls even though you swore he had already given you everything he had.

Your breath hitched, your body twitching slightly as you felt it—felt him still throbbing, still leaking, still making sure every single drop stayed buried inside you.

“Joel,” you gasped, tilting your head back against the couch, your fingers curling weakly into his sweaty back. “You’re still cumming?”

Joel grunted against your neck, his hips giving a slow, almost involuntary push forward, like he was trying to press himself even deeper, to make sure it stuck. His lips dragged up to your jaw, warm and slightly open, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked when he finally muttered,

“Still got more for you, baby.”

Fuck.

Your stomach tightened, another wave of heat rolling through you at the sheer desperation in his tone, the filth in his words. You felt his mouth on you again, felt the rough scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, and then—

Joel groaned, his lips finally finding yours, capturing them in a slow, wet kiss. The second you moaned into it—

Another slow pulse inside you.

Another spurt.

Hot, deep, filling you up all over again.

Joel shuddered against you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, swallowing your soft whimpers as he rocked into you, his cock still buried deep, still throbbing, still giving you everything.

You broke the kiss first, tilting your head back against the couch, a dazed, smug little smile curling on your lips. “You really are an old pervert,” you murmured, voice teasing, breathless.

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy with lust, filled with something possessive and raw as his fingers flexed slightly, keeping you in place.

“And you,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous, “are a fuckin’ menace.”

His hips rocked again, and you let out a choked little gasp as you felt just how deep he was still buried inside you, still stretching you, still keeping you full. He groaned at the sound, dipping his head to bite softly at your bottom lip before licking over it, tasting you, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, lazy tease.

You melted into it, humming softly as you curled your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.

Joel growled.

His breath was heavy against your lips, warm and ragged, his body shuddering slightly as the last waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his lips soft and warm and so different from the way he’d just fucked you—filthy and desperate and rough.

Now, he was gentle.

Now, he was melting against you.

His weight pressing you down, his hands smoothing over your hips, his fingers curling possessively around the softness of your thighs. Keeping you close. Keeping you his.

You sighed, shifting just slightly, feeling the thick heat of him settle inside you, the stretch easing, leaving behind a deep, satisfied ache. You were so full.

So stuffed with him.

And god, you could feel it—the way he was still throbbing deep inside, the way the sticky warmth of his spend was already beginning to leak out, thick and hot, slicking your thighs where you were still stretched wide around him.

You smirked.

“Hm,” you mused, tilting your head back against the couch, letting your fingers drag lazily down his back. “I really got forty-year-old cum inside me right now, huh?”

Joel groaned, shifting slightly, dragging his lips down the curve of your throat, nipping softly. “Baby, don’t—”

“What?” You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips slightly, making him hiss. “Just stating facts.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing where they gripped your waist, holding you still. “Not forty,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumbled thing against your skin.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? My bad. Forty-something-year-old cum.”

Joel groaned again, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “And yet,” you purred, voice sweet and teasing, “you still came so deep inside me.”

His hips flexed, pushing deeper, and you gasped, arching slightly beneath him. Joel lifted his head then, dark eyes meeting yours, something warm and hungry and satisfied settling there.

“Damn right, I did.”

You shivered.

His lips curled slightly, his hand dragging down to rest against your lower belly, pressing there—right over the place where you were still stuffed full of him.

“Know how long I been thinkin’ about that?” he murmured, fingers flexing slightly. “Fillin’ you up like this?”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he rolled his hips again, slow, lazy, letting you feel every inch of him inside you. “Joel…”

His lips found yours again, slow and deep and lingering, his tongue sliding against yours in a soft, lazy tease. You melted into it, letting him kiss you slow, letting him take his time, letting him savor the taste of you, the feel of you, the warmth of you still wrapped around him.

When he finally pulled back, he looked at you for a long moment, his hand smoothing up your side, curling around your ribs, tracing absentminded circles into your skin.

“You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice softer now, rough around the edges but warm.

You exhaled, stretching slightly, feeling the way his body fit against yours, warm and solid and safe. You felt good.

Better than good.

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. “More than okay.”

Joel grunted, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before finally shifting, pulling out slowly, carefully, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he felt just how soaked you were.

He sat back, dark eyes dragging over the sight of you—legs spread, pussy messy and glistening, his cum already beginning to leak out onto the couch. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and push it back inside.

Your smirk deepened. “Like what you see?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You stretched your arms over your head, arching slightly, your grin widening. “Well,” you mused, voice lazy and satisfied, “if you die, at least you’ll die a very happy pervert.”

Joel rolled his eyes, reaching for you, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close.

You sighed, melting into him, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers dragging up the back of his neck.

Joel exhaled, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers flexing slightly where they gripped your hips.

Then, voice low, murmured against your mouth—

“Yeah, baby. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

...Hey y'all im back. Opinions and comments are greatly appreciated please PLEASE (please)

[dc-gotham-instincts-wild]

Headcanon that Jason just kidnaps his siblings instead of asking them to hang out sometimes.

Sometimes he does the normal abduction thing and other times he has his methods.

Dick: Jason sneaks into Dick’s apartment in Blüdhaven at 3 AM, throws him over his shoulder, and drags him to his motorcycle. Dick wakes up mid-ride, half-conscious, groggily mumbling, "Jay, what the hell—?"

- Jason just shushes him and tosses a burger into his lap. "Shut up and eat, Goldie. We're bonding." (Jason, allowing his big brother to ruffle his hair? Nooooo, absolutely not...)

Tim: Jason straight-up drugs him asleep him when Tim refuses to take a break. He wakes up in Jason’s apartment with a cup of coffee and a sandwich waiting for him, while Jason sits on the couch reading a book.

- “You looked dead on your feet, Replacement. Either you napped willingly or I made you. Guess which one you picked.” (Jason totally doesn't rake a hand over his lil bro's hair during this time)

Steph: Jason knows Steph is a wild card when it comes to hanging out, so he has to be a little sneakier with her. He'd show up at her place unannounced, pretending to just be casually passing by, and in one smooth motion, he'd grab her and yank his little sister into his car or bike before she even realizes what's happening. (He totally doesn't do this in time with hard school, noooo)

Damian: Jason scoops him up mid-battle and just walks away with him. Damian kicks, bites, and yells, "UNHAND ME, TODD!" but Jason holds him like an angry kitten.

- They end up at a rooftop picnic with Alfred’s homemade food. Damian eventually eats while grumbling about Jason's “barbaric methods” but secretly enjoys the attention. (Jason maaayybe ruffles his hair a lot.)

Cass: She just lets it happen. Jason shows up, gestures toward his bike, and Cass just hops on without a word. They go on long road trips in comfortable silence, getting ice cream at 2 AM and scaring off criminals for fun. (Jason totally doesn't take the time to help her with her speech-)

Duke: Duke gets fake-napped. Jason tells him, "Be outside in five minutes," and when Duke says no, Jason still shows up, grabs him, and hauls him into a car.

- Duke just sighs and texts Bruce: "Jason's 'kidnapping' me again. Back later." (Jason totally doesn't get the names of school bullies from him and uses them, noooooooo)

Bruce knows this happens. He just sighs and lets it happen because, honestly? It’s Jason’s way of showing love. And at least the kids are getting along.

Jason kidnaps his siblings because it's his way of saying, "You're important to me, and I'm gonna drag you into ridiculous situations whether you like it or not."

He also, however, does it to Bruce.

In fact, it might be one of his favorite things to do, just because Bruce is always so serious and “responsible.”

Jason thinks it’s hilarious to force Bruce to take a break. He just shows up at the Batcave, probably with some kind of overly complicated plan to "kidnap" Bruce without him realizing.

Step 1: Jason would distract Alfred with a "Oh, just a quick check-in, you know, 'cause it’s been a while.’"

Step 2: He would wait for Bruce to get fully immersed in some case files and then sneak up behind him, tap him on the shoulder, and when Bruce turns around, Jason’s already got him in a headlock, pulling him out of the chair like, "Get up, old man. We're going to a diner. No arguments."

Bruce would protest, of course. He'd probably try to get out of it with his usual grumpy “I’m too busy” routine. Jason might fake-sigh and act like he's just trying to help Bruce loosen up, reminding him, "I know you think you’re invincible, but you still need to eat, Batman."

And if Bruce insists on not going, Jason would just drag him anyway. He might even grab the Batmobile for a joyride (he's always wanted to), making Bruce sit shotgun while Jason drives like an absolute maniac (Jokes on both because Bruce taught him to drive-)

Bruce would probably be scowling the whole time, but Jason would know his dad is secretly enjoying it, even if he won't admit it.

Eventually, Bruce would probably give in and get his grumpy little “dad” lecture—“You’re so reckless, Jason—” but Jason would just smile and be like, "Whatever. You’re welcome.”

Jason totally doesn't like it when his dad just ruffles his hair at some point.

[dollishmehrayan]

WEIRD QUIRKS BATBOYS HAVE IN A RELATIONSHIP ── .✦

A/n: I can’t stop thinking about batboys who have gen z humor in relationships like please💔 RELEASE ME. Like imagine these fighting crime then laughing while watching TikTok on a random Sunday?? (Tags: batboys x fem!reader weird quirks)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Emotional Support Golden Retriever BF: Dick will send you a random “I love you” text with 15 heart emojis and the rainbow hearts in one line (ugh DISGUSTING 🤢) followed by “I miss you” five minutes later… even if you’re in the same room. (STUPID MILLENNIAL.)

Chaotic Selfies: He’s the type to send you selfies with the dumbest captions like, “Why am I kinda hot tho?” or “Babe, if you leave me, you’re blind.”

Random Dance Breaks: Dick will randomly break out in TikTok dances in the middle of your conversations. You’ll be arguing about what to have for dinner, and he’ll just hit this (here) saying, “Can’t be mad at this, babe.”

His Comedy Bit: Anytime you trip or stumble, Dick’s like, “Are you falling for me again?” Cue your eyeroll as he grins like he just invented comedy.

JASON TODD ── .✦

The "I Hate Everyone but You" BF: Jason sends you TikToks that scream “us” energy. Think of the “grumpy bf, sunshine gf” trope in meme form.

Trash-Talking Together: He doesn’t even pretend to like people. “He looks like wind whistles through his head,” he’ll whisper to you about someone in a coffee shop, and you’ll lose it laughing.

Petty King: He sends screenshots of your arguments back to you like, “Tell me I wasn’t right tho.” But he’ll also say, “We’re not fighting, I just think I’m funnier.”

Affection, Jason Style: If you’re cold, Jason’s like, “You should’ve brought a jacket,” then gives you his. But only after making a snarky comment like, “This makes me look good, doesn’t it?”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The “I Can’t Sleep” BF: Tim sends you memes at 3 a.m. with “this is us” captions. Then he sends another an hour later saying, “No fr, we need to sleep.”

Weird Intellectual Tangents: Tim will randomly look up from his laptop and ask, “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or 100 duck-sized horses?” You’re too used to it at this point.

Social Media Detective: He likes your posts so fast it’s suspicious and always is the first comment with “❤️” . “How did you see that in two seconds?” you ask. He shrugs. “I have notifications on.”

Soft Nerd Energy: He makes playlists with names like “thinking about you in the Batcave” or “late-night snack runs with you.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Blunt Affection: Damian’s the type to say, “You look ridiculous,” but if anyone else says it, he’ll glare and be like, “She’s perfect.”

Random Acts of Service: He’s not into grand gestures, but suddenly your favorite snack is waiting on your desk, and he’ll just mutter, “Don’t make it a big deal.”

Reluctant Meme User: He pretends he’s too sophisticated for memes, but you’ll catch him smirking at one you sent. “It’s not that funny,” he’ll insist, but you know better.

Sass King: If you call him cute, he’ll say, “I know.” But if you ignore him for too long, he’ll sulk like, “I don’t require your attention. But also, why haven’t you looked at me in 10 minutes?”

[lazysoulwriter]

grumpy!joel miller. - hc.

part of this au! 1 | 2 | moodboard.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡ grumpy!Joel that tells you to shut the hell up while you’re humming on patrol, but keeps walking slower so you’ll stay close.

♡ grumpy!Joel that complains every time you pick wildflowers on the road, then tucks one behind your ear when you’re not looking.

♡ grumpy!Joel that huffs every time you call him “cowboy,” but positions himself between you and danger without a second thought.

♡ grumpy!Joel that pretends he doesn’t care when you get a scratch, but won’t sleep until he’s checked it twenty times and kissed your forehead after.

♡ grumpy!Joel that says “you’re gonna get us both killed” when you smile at strangers, but still lets you do all the talking.

♡ grumpy!Joel that rolls his eyes when you sneak into his sleeping bag at night, but pulls you tight against his chest like you’re the only safe thing left.

♡ grumpy!Joel that tells you to quit being annoying while handing you the last piece of jerky without blinking.

♡ grumpy!Joel that acts like your teasing means nothing, but almost shoots a guy just for looking at you too long.

♡ grumpy!Joel that keeps his gun in one hand and yours in the other, grumbling about “being careful,” but never letting go.

♡ grumpy!Joel that finally calls you “baby” during a firefight, like it slipped out in panic—but won’t stop saying it after.

♡ grumpy!Joel that mutters “you drive me insane” when you laugh after almost dying, but kisses your temple like you’re the only reason he’s still fighting.

♡ grumpy!Joel that hates how soft he is with you, especially when you patch him up and call him a “big baby.”

♡ grumpy!Joel that kisses you like it’s the last time, every time, because in this world—it might be.

♡ grumpy!Joel that pushes you against a crumbling wall, panting and bloodied, just to groan, “you’re mine,” before kissing you breathless.

♡ grumpy!Joel that makes love to you in abandoned houses like you’re the only thing that survived the end of the world.

♡ grumpy!Joel that swears under his breath when you giggle during sex, only to say “keep smilin’, baby. I live for it.”

♡ grumpy!Joel that holds your face like it’s something sacred and whispers “I love you” like it might destroy him.

♡ grumpy!Joel that fucks you slow after every close call, just to feel you alive and breathing under him.

♡ grumpy!Joel that lets the whole world burn as long as you’re safe in his arms.

[screampied]

“tch, what are you doing.”

“hugging you.”

“i’m not stupid. why are you hugging me,”

sukuna grouses, his entire vast frame growing stiff. it was always like this with you. every few seconds, you’d be talking to him about literally anything and out of nowhere, your human arms just wrap around his waist. the demon stands still with the most repulsed poker-face, yet he doesn’t attempt to pry you off. for whatever reason, your warmth was surprisingly .. comfortable. you’ve got the cutest smile contorting against your features. burying your face into the center of his chest, the demon sighs, flicking your forehead. “oi brat, i asked you a question.”

playfully wincing at his gesture — you have a tiny pout. “you looked like you could use one,” and your arms briefly tighten around his slim torso. “also, usually when someone’s hugging you, you’re required to hug the other person b-”

“don’t tell me what to do,” and you gasp, feeling strong arms pull you in close. with an oof, you land right into his soft padded chest. your cheek tenderly rubs against the various ancient markings that paint and decorate his skin. the ‘hug’ only lasts for about three seconds before he pulls away, pretending to feel ill. a mere drama king. “disgusting. got me participating in such a revolting, humanly act. think ‘m gonna be sick.”

“oh, don’t be dramatic,” you tease, leaning into his touch. you’re met with a crimson-red glare but you could spot the vague pout forming against his lips if you squinted. out of all the pesky humans he’s encountered, no one was ever tolerable or worthy for his attention.

no one except . . . you.

a simple gesture as hugging makes him feel mushy ‘n soft inside and he hates it. loathes it, that dumb carefree grin that cheeses against your lips, the cute glimmer sparkling in your eyes. so irritating, so . . adorable.

as you rest your chin against his chest, you let off a tiny huff. “do demons not hug each other?”

“not in this way,” he murmurs, feeling an awkward lump brew in his throat. sukuna’s eyes suddenly avoid yours and you grow curious. not only that, but his body language changes. your softness was making him nervous.

he swears a plethora of inaudible curses under his breath, remaining rigidly stiff and refuses to move his beefy arms another itch. your arms wrap around him again and a huffing sigh makes his tense shoulder lower. with a grumpy grunt, his eye twitches and a single fang bares below his top lip, a sign of cute stubborn annoyance. “ack, you’re squishing me, human. release me at once.”

your chin swiftly rubs against the soft fabric that made up his personalized kimono before deadpanning. “not until you hug me back.”

“i am hugging you back.”

“no you’re not,” you giggle, burying your face inside between the opening slit of his clothing piece. his body heat tepidly radiates against you and you’re engulfed with his loud natural scent. the demon’s almost always naturally warm, your personal heating pad. he shoots you a vexing glare, nostrils flaring up in exasperation before his arms awkwardly pull you closer. “hey, not s- so tight, ‘kuna.”

“now you wanna complain? you’re gonna take this hug,” and you giggle, feeling him gingerly shove you into his broad chest, squeezing you tight.

sukuna sassily rolls his eyes at the audacity,

he’s never been one to participate in such ludicrous, but if it was with you, maybe it wasn’t that bad. sukuna stares down at you, a weird soft feeling pooling its way into his heart — after a while, he unwraps his arms from your body, ruffling your hair. “stupid.”

with a cheeky grin, you wrap your arms right back around his torso, nuzzling against his chest like you were a kitten. with a gruff groan, his arms suddenly mirror you, slinging around your waist, pulling you close tightly. how annoying, he’s starting to enjoy this little thing called ‘hugging.’

sukuna slowly adapts to the warmth of your body against him, a faint smile creeping on his face at your next adoring words. “love you ‘kuna.”

“you’re gonna experience a deadly cough in five days, brat.”

“huh?”

“hmph. i said . . i love you too.”

[writeriguess]

hello!! im new on ur account and ive been loving all the things u write! can i request reader being drunk from girls night and shes soooo clingy with katsuki while hes removing her makeup and making sure she’s comfortable 🥹 i can js imagine katsuki saying “mhm, miss you too babe now tell me how to remove your stupid waterproof mascara.”

Clingy Drunk Babe

Katsuki barely had time to catch you as you stumbled into the apartment, your arms instantly wrapping around his waist. You buried your face into his chest, sighing dramatically.

“Missed you soooo much,” you mumbled, voice muffled against his hoodie.

“Tch. You were gone for, what, four hours?” Katsuki grumbled, but his arms still found their way around you, steadying you before you could fall over.

“Too long,” you whined, looking up at him with glassy, adoring eyes. “Did you miss me?”

“No,” he said immediately.

You gasped, scandalized, then squished his cheeks between your hands. “Liar.”

Katsuki clicked his tongue but let you pull him down into a sloppy forehead kiss. He sighed, then scooped you up bridal style, carrying you straight to the bathroom. “C’mon, let’s get all this crap off your face so you don’t complain about it in the morning.”

You giggled, kicking your feet playfully. “You’re sooooo strong, ‘Suki.”

He snorted. “Yeah, yeah, keep sweet-talkin’ me, drunkie.”

Setting you down gently on the bathroom counter, he grabbed your makeup remover, reading the label with a frown. “The hell is ‘micellar water’? This just fancy water?”

You giggled again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “You’re so cute when you’re confused.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, ears going pink as he grabbed a cotton pad and started wiping at your foundation.

He worked in silence for a while, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he cleaned your face. But when he got to your eyes, he paused, scowling at your mascara. “How the hell do I get this stupid waterproof shit off?”

You giggled, nuzzling into his neck. “Mmm, miss you.”

“Mhm, miss you too, babe, now tell me how to remove your stupid waterproof mascara.”

“Oil cleanser,” you hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. “Top shelf.”

Katsuki grumbled under his breath but grabbed it, diligently working until your face was clean. Once he was done, he pulled back, inspecting you with a satisfied nod. “There. Now let’s get your ass to bed before you pass out on the damn floor.”

You grinned sleepily, reaching for him again. “Only if you cuddle me.”

He rolled his eyes but easily lifted you into his arms again. “Yeah, yeah. Like I’d leave your needy ass alone right now.”

You giggled, curling into his warmth as he carried you to bed. “Best boyfriend ever.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, tucking you in and sliding in beside you.

And even though he pretended to be grumpy about it, Katsuki held you extra close that night.

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Just random random headcannons about my wife <3

She makes lots of noises; grunts, sighs, groans. It’s basically a language that only you can understand at this point.

“Hmph,” she grunted with her usual grumpy expression. “You want cuddles?” She nods her head in response.

Snores but denies it. It’s like when you’re sharing a hotel room with your family and your dad’s snoring keeps you awake; staring at the ceiling. You’ve told her multiple times but she just doesn’t believe it.

“You kept me awake all night,” you said in disbelief as your utterly exhausted eyes met hers. “Uh-huh, how? Do NOT say because I was snoring.””You were snoring.”

But in all seriousness, she started sleeping on her side—the snoring was due to her sleeping on her back.

Doesn’t care for public affection, not that she won’t slip her arm around your waist or have her hand on your thigh once in a while—but it isn’t often.

(Saw someone else say this)—absolutely loves dad jokes. She won’t laugh at anything else but dad jokes.

“Hey babe,” you slid next to her on the couch. “Hm?””What days are the strongest?“ you asked. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Saturday and Sunday,” you started to smile. “Why?” She was slightly curious. “‘Cause the rest are weekdays,” she couldn’t even hold it before she burst out laughing.

Takes her mechanical arm off before she goes to bed because she doesn’t wanna hurt you.

Tough with everyone else but you, Jinx and Isha (they’re alive and well).

Isha made a cheerful noise as she raised her tea cup. Sevika sat across from her, hunched over the small table, teacup in hand. She pretended to drink from it, “Mm, nice.”

Perfers actions over words—for example, her version of an apology is by doing more of what she should’ve done in the past. If she wasn’t spending much time with you before, she’d immediately take it upon herself to fix her schedule.

VERY protective, especially when you’re at The Last Drop, nothing escapes her vision.

Once, this guy attempted to flirt with you but before he could get a word out, he was immediately met with a deadly glare from her. She pulled you closer towards her with a raised eyebrow, “You got something to say?” That sent him babbling in fear, “Uh-no, no, of course not!—“”Get out of my sight.”

Claims she’s not an animal person but will come home with a kitten she found on the street.

“It wouldn’t stop following me,” she said while avoiding eye contact with you. You knew she was lying.

Sometimes when she comes back from work she’ll just collapse on the couch. She’s a busy woman, alright?

Jinx cut her hair then made fun of her afterwards.

Jinx cackled after she looked at the final product, “Sweetcheeks ain’t gonna love you now, are they?” The older woman simply grumbled under breath, “You’re the one who cut it.””Yeah and I made it ugly on purpose.”

You ended up loving her hair anyway.

Secretly likes when you lay on top of her; loves seeing how comfortable you are

She’s always warm; your personal heater

Somehow gives the best hugs—bear hugs, but is so awkward with it

Takes the longest showers known to mankind; once she gets in, be prepared to wait about an hour. Meanwhile, half the time it’s just her staring at the wall.

Will let Isha climb her on rare occasions; sometimes the girl gets insanely hyper and is moving all over the place.

Says she’s “not fond of kids” but has a soft spot for them.

A little boy with blue-dyed hair walked up to her while she was outside one day. “H-hi, can you please sign this?” He asked in a soft-spoken manner, showing a drawing, offered with a crayon. She didn’t respond but took the paper and signed her name on the back. Internally, she was in disbelief that this boy looked up to her in some way. “Thank you!” He gave a big smile before running back to his group of friends, happily showing them the signature. A twitch edged at the end of her mouth.

[rafesangelita]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ rafe and kook!sweetheart!reader scrapbooking together

warnings: grumpy x sunshine lol, fluff, suggestive language (?), suggestive ending

as much as rafe pretended to hate ‘scrapbook saturday’ he was always the one choosing which pictures of you guys to print out, and even going as far as buying extra supplies without you having to ask him. “oh my god, this is so cute!” you’d be shuffling through the plastic bag from the craft store while rafe shrugged nonchalantly. “yeah, i just grabbed whatever.” he’d lie, as if he didn’t handpick everything with your theme and color pattern in mind.

once you two had everything laid out on the table, rafe would have you in his lap while he was on hot glue gun duty since he refused to let you touch it. “m’not gonna have you burnin’ yourself.” he grumbled while gluing on ribbons and flowers. “yes, sir.” you replied, making him stare at you for a second. a smile made it’s way to your lips as he shook his head. “you know what you’re doing.” he swallowed thickly at the name. you only called him that when you wanted to rile him up.

“really? i don’t think so..” you acted clueless before grabbing a bag of rhinestones. “oooh, what should we do with these?” by the end of the evening, you two would be flipping through your masterpiece, each page painfully obvious as to who’s was whose. while your pages were lined with lace and ribbon with neat picture placement, stickers and other accessories overlapping eachother into an organized mess, rafe’s looked like he just threw everything together and called it a day.

“it’s gorgeous!” you squealed, your display of happiness always making rafe’s heart melt. that’s what all of this was about for him. he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin in the crook of your neck as you ran your fingers over the soft material. “thank you.” you whispered. you knew rafe could easily be one of those boyfriends who lets you do things by yourself, but to no avail, he never left you hanging. “can i suggest something now?” his breath fanned against your skin as you hummed.

rafe’s suggestions always ended up with you either underneath him, or kneeled between his thighs..

[yoyomomiko]

☆ : They're jealous ×

characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace

cw: jealousy (is that supposed to be a warning??), probably ooc, cringe, not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

(a/n): This is like, my first time writing for one piece characters specifically😀 I'm barely in Alabasta but I cannot wait until I finish one piece so that I can write for it😔 ACE IS A NEED UGH -> m.list

★requests are open!!

LUFFY

Luffy doesn't understand jealousy at first and will simply blurt out "Why are you talking to him so much?" without realizing it sounds possessive.

Believe it or not, he can get VERY possessive. You're pretty much just as valuable as his hat, you're his treasure.

That's right, his treasure.

So then, why are you talking to that donkey faced man? He's so ugly, why would you even bother wasting your breath speaking to him?

He'll cling to you like glue, throwing an arm around your shoulders or holding your hand tightly while pouting.

When Luffy's jealous he starts getting loud, making exaggerated jokes or showing off just to grab your attention.

Complains to the rest of the crew (probably Usopp or Nami), asking things like "Why does she want to talk to him when I'm right here?"

He completely interrupts your conversation with the other person by inserting himself, I just kinda feel like he'd do that.

WILL demand you sit next to him at meals and get grumpy if you sit by someone else.

He can't stay mad for long, the SECOND you give him attention, he lights up again as if nothing happened.

If the other person makes you laugh, he'll immediately try to one up them by doing something goofy, trust me, I know

He will casually lean on you or put his hat on your head as a possessive gesture (LUFFY THE MAN YOU ARE)

He's so childish

ZORO

Zoro acts nonchalant but is secretly FUMING inside when someone gets too close to you.

Glares daggers at the other person, making them incredibly uncomfortable without saying a word, he's just like that

Crosses his arms and stands near you as if silently asserting dominance (ugh I need him)

He gets extra grumpy with Sanji or anyone else he sees as competition, throwing insults their way.

He physically can't hide his annoyance and mutters things under his breath like "Tch, what's so interesting about him?"

If you laugh at someone else's joke he's gonna be like "It wasn't that funny."

I feel like he gets jealous if someone compliments you, but instead of complimenting you himself, he'll grumble like "You don't need to hear that from him."

WILL position himself between you and the other person, silently blocking them from getting closer.

I think he lowkey gets clingy after cooling down his jealousy, sticking close to you but pretending it's no big deal.

When you reassure him, he'll pretend it didn’t bother him, saying stuff like "Whatever, it's not like I cared." But deep down, he's RELIEVED.

SANJI

Lord have mercy

Sanji gets visibly jealous and is UNABLE to hide it with his dramatic reactions

He definitely calls the other person out immediately, saying things like "Why are you bothering her, huh?"

He tries to pull your attention back to him by showering you with compliments and affection.

He starts offering to cook your favorite dishes after that, just to make himself seem more worthy than moss head over there

If the other person is flirting, Sanji will step in and sweet talk to you SO passionately it makes the other person back off (simp power??)

He dramatically smokes while muttering "How could she look at someone else when I'm right here..."

Tries to outdo the other person in everything, just to show he's better

WILL ask you "Do you think he's better than me?" with puppy dog eyes

100% gets extremely competitive with Zoro (if it's him you're giving attention to) insulting him while trying to impress you

When reassured, he's back to his usual lovestruck self and saying "I knew you couldn't resist me, my angel!"

Sanji just wants to feel like he's your number one, and your affection always melts his jealousy away.

ACE

MY MAN UGHH

HE'S THE REASON I STARTED ONE PIECE IN THE FIRST PLACE

Anywayss

Ace tries to play it cool, but his temper makes his jealousy pretty obvious.

If someone flirts with you, he'll casually throw an arm around your shoulders and say "She's taken, by the way."

Speaking of throwing, he definitely picks you up and completely THROWS you over his shoulder. It doesn't matter how tall you are or how much you weigh, he ALWAYS manhandles you.

His freckles make it easy to spot when he's blushing out of jealousy or frustration (UGH😫)

He gets restless and starts fidgeting, for example bouncing his leg while watching you talk to someone else (is that my seat right there?)

Stares at the person with a smirk that doesn't quite hide his irritation, daring them to push their luck (you know that one scene in Alabasta where that giant scorpion was in front of him and Ace was like "I wouldn't if I were you" or something like that? Yeah, that's right🤭)

If someone compliments you, he'll immediately agree and add "Yeah, but I noticed that first."

UGH KICKING MY FEET😣

Can get surprisingly moody, muttering things like "What's so special about him, anyway?"

Might act a little childish, poking fun at the other person

WILL casually flex his strength or abilities if he feels the need to, like lighting a flame in his hand and saying "Bet he can't do this huh?"

If you reassure him or show him affection, he'll relax immediately, grinning and saying something like "Yeah, I knew you couldn't resist me."

And he's smirking at you with that stupid handsome face (I need him🚨)

★yoyomiko ★miko

[satoruxx]

pairing: toji fushiguro x reader | 1.6k words summary: boyfriend!toji headcanons, fluff, soft!toji, grumpy x sunshine, he’s a simp but he’ll never admit it !! rheya's note: grumpy man being soft for the person he really loves? i’m here for it. mamaguro is literal proof that he can and will love !!

bf!toji who is silent with his care for you. he's not one to be open or dramatic about his feelings, but you bet he'll show them in actions. small, mundane things that could only be picked out under critical eyes—like quietly placing an extra mug of coffee next to you as you work, or being the one to walk closest to the street, fingers firmly clasped around your palm. if you point it out he'll just grunt, shaking his head with a quiet "keep walking" all while pretending to ignore your silly little grin.

bf!toji who isn't really the type to be big on words of affirmation, but huge on physical touch. you tell him you did well on a project at school or work and he just hums, giving you a little nod. he doesn't say anything else—doesn't really have to because the soft lingering pat on your head is enough to tell you that he's proud.

bf!toji who is an aggressive yet affectionate lover. if you're doing something and he's not receiving your attention he will come up behind you and put you in a headlock. he thinks it's an appropriate response considering how much he craves your attention and company—why on earth are you focused on something that isn't him anyway? so be prepared to have his heavy bicep playfully curling around your throat or slinging you over his shoulders at random times—it's his way of telling you he misses you. and if anything, he'll do it to hear you whine and attempt to shove him off.

bf!toji who will absolutely take your phone and change your lockscreen to pictures of him. every so often, you'll turn your phone on and see an entirely different picture—sometimes a picture of him at the gym, other times a picture of him blocking out his face—but it's always him.

bf!toji whose own lockscreen is always something that's related to you. he's sneaky with it, always stealing pictures of you when you're not looking. he's got a separate album with them—probably hidden behind a password because it's something only he should be allowed to see. but whether it's a snapshot of his hand intertwined with yours or a blurry image of you fast asleep in his bed, it's always you. because of course you’re the first thing he should be able to see when he turns his phone on.

bf!toji who, as cliché as it sounds, is exactly the type to go feral if someone's made you upset. and he's freakishly observant, noticing even a slight pinch of your nose or wobble in your lips—he's caught them all. whether you're just down or outright sobbing, he's there, standing in front of you with pure anger weighing heavy on his brows. and yet for all his rage he's nothing but gentle as he firmly takes your face in his calloused hands, muttering a strained "what the fuck happened?" as he forces you to make eye contact with him. his own eyes will dart over your features, searching for discomfort or any other emotion as you explain, barely holding back his own emotions because there's no reason on the fucking planet that you should be upset at all.

bf!toji who rarely says the words "i love you" not because he doesn't but because the words themselves don't hold all that much meaning to him. no he'd rather spend his time proving it to you than just saying it for the sake of saying it. but, sometimes if you pretend to be asleep long enough, you'll catch him quietly whisper the words into your hair, almost like he doesn't want anyone to hear it. don't even bother trying to call him out for it—he'll deny deny deny.

bf!toji whose eyes flutter when he lets you trace over his scars. not just the one cutting over his lips but the ones that litter his back and torso—battle remnants that he doesn't remember much of. he's always hated the look of them, indifferent to old memories of a much more chaotic time in his life. but when your gentle fingers graze over the raised skin he'll sigh, oddly quiet but yet so comfortable.

bf!toji who will drop everything if you need him. don't ever hesitate to ask him for things because you're scared of being a burden—he will yell at you (affectionately). you drank too much with your friends and can't get a ride? call him and he'll pick you up even if it's 4 am. you're feeling nervous about walking home from the convenience store even though it's only ten minutes away from home? stay put and he'll come get you so that you can walk back together. shut up about all that "it's an inconvenience for you" bullshit—he'll do it and that's that.

bf!toji who asks if you've eaten today, and when you answer with a sheepish smile he'll click his tongue, crossing his bulky arms over his chest and giving you a pointed glare. then he'll say "get your ass to the kitchen. c'mon, up." while hoisting you to your feet—most of the time he'll just pick you up and plop you on the counter himself.

bf!toji who wordlessly makes you something to eat, whether it's a quick snack put together with leftovers or an actual full meal. then he'll stand in front of you with the plate and demand you eat. even a slight word of protest and he's scowling, already holding up a spoonful while grumbling a low "don't wanna hear it. open up, kid."

bf!toji who hates when you fall asleep on the couch waiting for him to get home. his job doesn't allow for the comfort of a strict schedule, and he's told you this many times. but you're nothing if not stubborn, and he can only sigh heavily as he sees you dozing against the armrest when he pushes the door open late at night. he'll click his tongue quietly, hooking both arms under your back and knees to cradle you against his chest before walking to the bedroom. though some part of him is pleased, knowing that you seem to care about him enough to make sure he's coming home every night.

bf!toji who glares at anyone who even breathes in your direction the wrong way. some guy eyeing you while you're walking on the street? toji looks like he's ready to rip his head off. some "friend" of yours asking too many questions about why you're dating a man like him? well…if looks could kill.

bf!toji who pulls you into his lap when he kisses you, because he likes the way you fit into his space so perfectly. he won't ever admit how it makes him swoon when you giggle against his lips, instead choosing to tighten his grip on your hips and pull you closer to his chest.

bf!toji who enjoys watching you sit on the kitchen counter and swing your legs back and forth—finding it so unbelievably endearing that he ends up just standing in between your legs and burying his face into your neck. his lips will map chaste kisses across your skin, and he'll hide a wry smile as your quiet giggles wash over him.

bf!toji who will notice when you eye something at a store, whether it's a pretty piece of jewelry or a new sweater or whatever—he keeps note. and then weeks later, once you've forgotten all about it, he'll come home and drop a bag into your lap before shoving his hands into his pockets. when you open it and start gushing about how much you wanted it and how pleased you are, he'll huff and turn away, muttering a low "whatever, kid. 's not a big deal."

bf!toji who sees you upset about something, and loops his bicep around your neck and tucks you under his chin. to an outsider it doesn't look like the most comforting form of a hug, but it's toji, and he's secure and he's safe and he's all the comfort you need—a tight squeeze that grounds you in a way that you can't quite describe.

bf!toji who will never admit how interested he is in your gossip. his ideal way to destress after he comes home is to sit on the couch with you in his lap, your arms looped around his waist as you press yourself against his torso and tuck your head under his chin. and even though his eyes are trained on the tv, he has no clue what's going on—he's more focused on the drama you're spilling or whoever you're ranting about. and he makes it known too, occasionally asking "then what happened, baby?" and adding in a few sounds of disbelief. by the end of your rant, he'll be saying something along the lines of "what a fucking bitch," or "honestly he deserved that," and then asks for updates on the situation over the next few days.

bf!toji who silently watches you trace your fingers over the lines on his palms. you're blabbering about something, tucked against his chest as his other arm remains wrapped around you securely, but he's just focused on your hands. it scares him a little bit—the difference between you and him. his palms are calloused, rough with battle and death, while yours are soft, clean of the horrors he's determined to keep away from you. and a small part of him tells him he shouldn't taint you with all his faults, that you deserve someone more capable of loving than he is. but then he feels you brush your lips over his scarred fingers and he sucks in a breath, tightening his grip imperceptibly. even as he hides a half smile against your brow, he knows he isn't going anywhere.

[spideyjimin]

✨ my all time favourites BTS fics ✨

⟶ soo i've been really wanting to do this for a while already but i didn't really have the time to do it… soo here you have all the fics that I deeply loved & that i sometimes still read again 🫶🏼those fics are really amazing & thanks a lot to the writers for those masterpieces! 💞

sweet | ksj @oddinary4bts

⤷ Drabble of idol Jin coming back from the military and trying to sort out his situationship with the girl he left behind when he went into the military

idol!au, a bit of angst, fluff and smut

meraki | jjk @taegularities

⤷ Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut

motherfuckin' train wreck | jjk @lovieku

⤷ when renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.

fwb au

new guy | knj @kithtaehyung

⤷ all you want to do is have a successful meeting after experiencing dwindling attendance, but the new guy is completing disrupting things... or is he?

smut ; university au ; enemies to lovers?

into it | pjm @xpeachesncream

⤷ helping your bestfriend out with his research project happens to come with more than what you bargained for. 

grad school au, idiots to lovers au, strangers to lovers au, angst, smut

bands | jjk @xpeachesncream

⤷ jeon jungkook has it all: the looks, the fame, the money, the women. being considered the sexiest man in the industry, he finds no complaints about the way his life is going nor does he find any reason to apologize for the way he approaches it. he is a force to be reckoned with - until he meets you. 

strip club/nightlife au, post grad au, fluff, angst, smut

lowkey | jjk @xpeachesncream

⤷ in order to pass organic chemistry and pay off your car damages from an accident, all you have to do is help the nerd, jeon jungkook, with a few things: pretend to be his girlfriend and teach him the ways of dating.

college au, fake dating au, friends to lovers au | fluff, angst, smut

saudade | kth @chateautae

⤷ a demanding idol lifestyle was something taehyung and yourself were all too familiar with. it wasn’t so hard when considering your unconditional love for one another, but lately, taehyung wasn’t the same anymore; and you decide it’s time to find out why.

angst, smut, fluff (the holy trinity), idol!au, established relationship!au

100 km/hour | pjm @chateautae

⤷ what exactly happens when you and your friends have to pile into one car for the ride home after an insane halloween party, and you find yourself sitting in park jimin’s lap? especially when he’s dressed as an angel, and you’re in the sluttiest devil costume ever?

college!au, smut, pwp

fine line | jjk @soobibabe

⤷ Y/N, a 28-year-old dreamer whose plans for marriage and motherhood crumbled when her fiancé, Jae-on, decided to "see other people," leaving her adrift in a sea of unfulfilled expectations. Just as she’s about to face the cringe of attending his baby shower with his new girlfriend, her best friend Jungkook swoops in with a wild idea; why not embark on a platonic co-parenting adventure together?

romance

hazy hours | myg @borathae

⤷ part of the kinkoctober 2024

new relationship!AU, Idol!Yoongi

fxck a fxckboy | myg @yoongifis

⤷ where you sort of hooked up with one of the school’s biggest fuckboys but end up leaving him hanging and never contacting him because…well…why not? somehow the universe brought you two together and now you’re left with dealing with him because he apparently caught feelings for you.

smut, pwp

before we shatter | jjk @caramelkoo

⤷ dating an idol is fun, they said. having a family with one is fun, they said. Until you're falling face forward because of your reality. A reality where Jungkook dreams of a future and a reality where your own future is collapsed.

established relationship, idol!jungkook

warm nighs & clear lines | jjk @awrkive

⤷ there haven't been a lot of people who have come into your life that became important to you – and you didn’t expect jeon jungkook to be one if it – not at all. but what started as a casual relationship turned into more than that, and now you find yourself deeply in love with him – and happily so.

or; your first "i love you" comes out completely wrong.

SMUT, fluff

all your fault | jhs @minisugakoobies

⤷ It’s all Hobi’s fault!

smut, drabble, PWP, established relationship, non-Idol!AU

muscle memory | knj @taegularities

⤷ the weather outside might be trying to chill you to your bones, but watching Namjoon's seething hot presence work out is enough to melt every little piece of you - and he sees the longing in your eyes all too soon.

establish relationship; some fluff, mostly smut

magic stick | jjk @badbtssmut

⤷ Jungkook is kinda sad because he has never been with a girl who could take him balls deep because of his size, reader doesn't believe him and she wants to see, but he tells her that he can't atm bc he's not hard. She is wearing this kinda halter top style with no bra so she looses the top and shows her tits to him and let's him touch them. After he's hard he shows her his dick and she says she's willing to try to take it all and she rides him into the sunset