#HOT : trial and error | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mssalo · 3 months ago

Text

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)

#Joel Miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fan fic #the last of us #joel smut #joel miller x reader

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kthologue · 2 months ago

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if there was one thing at the tokyo jujutsu tech branch that would send the kyoto branch into a coma, it was the shameless pda. gojo satoru was a man in love — and absolutely nothing could stop him from broadcasting it, no matter how obscene it might seem.

where utahime ran her students with silent, disciplined rigor, gojo thrived in chaos. in fact, the tokyo campus always seemed to hum with the sheer force of his enthusiasm alone.

today was hand-to-hand combat training again. you stood at the sidelines, arms crossed, observing as your second years sparred with the first years — dominating them so well that you hardly needed to step in.

a familiar presence drifted up behind you. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. your husband had an uncanny talent for finding you exactly when he was supposed to be doing anything else.

“new uniform?” he whistled, low and appreciative. even with his blindfold, you could feel his gaze dragging over you. “seriously, it should be illegal for you to look this good during work hours.”

you didn’t answer, trying your best to steer him back to work by simply not engaging. after much trial and error, you’d discovered that ignoring him was the most effective method.

predictably, gojo pouted when you didn’t respond. then, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

“you know,” his voice drops lower, silkier — the kind of tone he thinks is persuasive. “the students are so busy right now. they won’t even notice if we sneak off to my office and have some fun.”

“satoru,” you warn, already bracing yourself.

he grins like a fox. “it’ll just be ten minutes.”

“you say that every time,” you mutter, shooting him a sidelong look. “it is never just ten minutes.”

“boo,” he pouts, blowing a dramatic raspberry before slinging an arm around your waist with zero hesitation. “you’re being so cruel to a man in love.”

“satoru—”

but he’s already nuzzling his face into the side of your neck, his blindfold grazing your jaw as he whines, “just one kiss, then. one kiss and i’ll go right back to doing paperwork.”

you sigh, pretending to resist — but you lean into him all the same.

of course, one kiss turns into two. then three. then gojo is spinning you around, arms wrapped around your waist as he dips you in the middle of the training field.

“don’t make me get a spray bottle,” megumi grumbles, sparking a chorus of laughter from the others.

gojo just beams as he pulls you back up, shameless and unbothered. “sorry, can’t help it! my wife’s too hot for me to act normal.”

you swat his chest, cheeks warm. “you’re the worst.”

“and yet, you still married me,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose.

“only because you tricked me into it.”

he grins, “one of my greatest accomplishments.”

#i wrote this instead of sleeping enjoy #kt.writes.·:*¨༺#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk x reader #gojou x you #gojou x reader

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invisible-sphere · 2 years ago

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Easy Barbecue Sauce Recipe After trying this recipe for homemade barbecue sauce, which combines ketchup and teriyaki sauce, you won't ever buy store-bought again. 3/4 cup brown sugar, 1 teaspoon liquid smoke flavoring, 1 cup ketchup, 1/4 cup hot sauce, 1/4 cup teriyaki sauce, 1 small onion finely chopped

#recipe #hot sauce #sauce #trial #error

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adieutristana · 2 months ago

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painkiller; jinx x fem!reader

kinda nervous to post this one idk if it’s too nasty oops

characters included; jinx

summary; it’s that time of the month, and cramps have you down for the count. jinx is all too eager to help.

tags/warnings; dom!jinx, sub!reader, period sex, tribbing, dirty talk, NASTY, porn with plot (kinda)

men and minors dni.

fizz... BOOM!

another experiment blowing up in jinx's face, figuratively and literally. the girl huffs in light frustration as she lifts her goggles to rest atop her head, using her elbow to wipe gunpowder off her face. another failed experiment.

she's used to it by now, though- these things never go smoothly. it's a process of trial and error rather than one smooth testing sequence, one she's come to embrace. all the girl can do new is pick up the pieces of the last experiment, identify and fix her errors, and try again.

but the sound of you groaning behind her is making it increasingly hard to focus.

you're curled up on your side on jinx's cot, your knees tugged tight to your chest. you've been like this for the past hour or so, softly rocking yourself while you make little grunts in pain. you're on your period- and while your periods usually give you discomfort, this is the worst it's been in a while. bad enough that you didn't go to any of your classes today, and that's something you never do.

you'd already taken pain medicine, already tried a warm compress... nothing is helping. just you and your cramps, and you have to tough it out.

your girlfriend then turns around in her chair with a short huff. her brows are furrowed, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

"alright, what's all this fussing about?" she asks, clearly a bit impatient.

"i just.. ah," you grumble, trying to uncurl yourself just a bit. but as soon as you do another cramp hits, and you're forced to retreat back into your own embrace. "it's that time of the month. second day."

jinx's expression drops, and her eyes widen just a bit. second day- that's rough.

"oh," she purses her lips. "why didn't ya tell me? i could've been helping you out."

"you're busy. i didn't wanna distract you..."

jinx quickly scrambles to her feet, crouching beside her workbench to begin shuffling through drawers. it's a bit comical how she doesn't keep track of where things are in her own space, but she digs through regardless. first drawer is just a bunch of stray blueprints and paint cans, second is... toys, third is assorted magazines and books, and fourth is where she keeps first-aid supplies. supplies you'd given her after seeing her patch up her leg with a stapler.

"a-ha! got it!"

she scampers over to you, crouching beside you as she unwraps a heat pad and begins pushing up your shirt. you just sigh at the sight, though, and shake your head.

"i already tried a hot water bottle, babe."

"yeah, well that's a water bottle. this is a heating pad. maybe it'll be different."

she sticks the pad to your lower stomach, applying a bit of pressure (earning a few giggles from you) before she tugs your shirt back down. the girl steps back, placing her hands on her hips in that confident way she always does.

"ta-da! it should start working in..." she glances at the back of the box again. "fifteen minutes! then you'll feel all better. no more pesky cramps."

she gives your arm one last firm pat before standing up and making her way back to the workbench. it's seconds before you can hear a blowtorch and metal clinking, sounds you've become all too familiar with. laid on your back now, you can only close your eyes while you wait for the heat pad to start working- that is, if it does work. you've tried everything you can at this point, but it still feels like you're being ripped from the inside out. your stomach hurts, your lower back hurts, you've been feeling nauseous on and off the entire day. thankfully, it's off right now.

waiting is the hard part, but as you feel the heat spread over your lower stomach, it does work. not to the extent you'd like, but you'll take anything at this point. the pain eases over the next few minutes while the sounds of jinx working fade into the background. you're a bit more mobile now, able to sit up (although with a slouch still)- but you can watch jinx, you could put something on the tv if you wanted to.

for now, though, you'll just stay laid on your side with the heat pad working its magic. the girl in front of you wheels herself around swiftly, tweaking blueprints and humming to herself while she works on.. something. she'd told you she was trying to concentrate the hex crystal's energy into other mediums, but nothing was successful yet. though knowing jinx and how smart she is, how resourceful, it's a matter of time before she figures something out.

she then swivels her chair around, facing you with wide eyes before she wheels herself over to you. the girl stops right in front of her cot, placing a hand over the pad on your stomach.

"feeling better?" she hums.

"for the most part," you murmur, giving her a weak smile. "it still hurts a little, but i expected that."

but jinx's face just twists a bit, and she wrinkles her nose in discontentment. "mm... that's no good. the pain should be gone, like- totally gone."

"babe, really, i don't expect this thing to work miracles."

"but toooots, i don't like seeing you hurting!" she nearly whines, and leans forward over her knees in thought. her face twists again, a look you've come to recognize. she's trying to figure something out, ever the problem-solver.

one thing you've come to recognize, and love about jinx is that she's fiercely protective. she can't stand the thought of anyone or anything hurting you, even if it's your own uterus once a month. she cares, she only wants the best for you, she only wants to see you happy. you rocking yourself in her cot to ease the cramps that are wracking your body? no good.

then you hear her gasp, and snap her fingers.

"i got it!"

she then climbs on the cot with you, swinging a leg over to straddle your lower half. jinx is wearing a wide, toothy grin, as if she's just cracked the code.

"i know what'll help your little... dilemma," she chuckles, her fingernails trailing down your stomach towards the waistband of your shorts. her tone is smooth, calculated- the kind that comes right before trouble. the coldness of the metal finger sends a shiver down your spine, but she stops just short of the elastic to look back up at you. "if you'll let me."

but it sends your mind reeling. she can't seriously be suggesting that, can she?

"baby, i'm on my period," you stress.

"yeah, i know that. and?"

"and, it's my second day, and there's a lot of blood, and i," you huff, crossing your arms over your chest with a light frown. you'd be lying if you said that this wasn't enticing. you can feel your heartbeat quickening and the hairs on your arms stand on end, but you can't. it's too messy, probably too risky. "i feel gross..."

but jinx just scoffs, rolling her rosy eyes as if it's nothing to her.

"okay, so we'll put down some towels. no big deal." she pokes your side playfully. "you're anything but gross, toots. come onnn, it'll make you feel good! they say orgasms make cramps better. like... an organic painkiller."

you're still not fully sold, though, and jinx just sighs in mild exasperation. you want this, you do. but it'll be messy, things could go wrong, you feel the furthest thing from sexy right now. she leans down, pressing a gentle kiss against the pulse point of your neck, eliciting a gasp from you.

"baby, i wanna do this," she murmurs, plump lips brushing the skin of your neck. "i'll make you feel real good, promise."

and damn it, she's convincing. she's offering.

"...okay," you whisper, swallowing as you glance down at jinx. "but we put those towels down."

her lips curve into a wide grin, and she just nods, giving a mock-salute while she crawls off you. "you got it!"

she's back in a matter of seconds with a few already paint-stained towels, gesturing for you to lift your hips- which you do, so she can place them down. she's then crawling over you again, one arm on either side of your head while she gazes down. like a predator about to pounce on their prey, she's smiling at you like she's about to devour you. saying she wants to is an understatement.

you don't have more than a split second to think before she surges down, and her lips crash into yours- already heated and quick, her lips moving against yours with fervor. you gasp, trying to match her eager pace, but your efforts seem futile. even with the lingering aches, you're learning rather quickly that jinx doesn't plan on being gentle tonight.

dark lips trail over your jawline, peppering down the expanse of your neck while she feels you already beginning to squirm. as if jinx's ego needs to get any bigger, her gapped teeth nip at your skin a few times, her hands beginning to run up and down your sides. gripping you, digging into the fat on your hips for just a moment before she takes the edge of the heat pad.

"you won't need this," she murmurs against your neck, before slowly pulling it off. the removal stings, adhesive gripping your skin, but it's over in a matter of seconds.

not wasting any time, she resumes kissing down your soft skin. trailing to your collarbones, then right over your heart- fingers toying with the hemline of your top while she continues exploring you with her lips alone. it's intense, it's fast, but throughout all of the rough passion you can tell how much jinx cares. she slowly slips the fabric over your head with you eagerly lifting your arms to assist her.

her bangs brushing over your ribs tickle a bit, but you can only softly gasp while she continues her descent. down your sternum, reaching one of her hands towards your bare breast to pinch your nipple- your back arching the slightest bit into her touch.

"yeah? feel good?" she chuckles, rolling the bud between her thumb and forefinger.

"mhm," you nod, a low whine rumbling in the back of your throat.

"mm... good. you know i love these pretty tits."

she lets out a satisfied hum, giving your nipple one last hard pinch before she drags her tongue down the valley between your breasts.

it's electric, the feeling of her warm tongue on your skin. her skin is cold, but her presence is so warm, so inviting. you wish you could stay wrapped in her embrace forever. that you'd never have to give up jinx's touch, no matter how calloused her fingers may be or how gruff her words.

she leaves one final kiss on your lower stomach, right over your uterus- as if to kiss the soreness away, before hooking her cold fingers into the waistband of your shorts to hastily pull them down. they're discarded quickly, as are your panties. you're already leaking a bit over the towels, but that's what they're there for, aren't they?

"so pretty... you're shakin' already. i haven't even touched ya, trinket!"

"i- i can't help it," you breathe out, but jinx just chuckles.

the anticipation builds, and builds, but to your surprise, jinx leans back to sit on her knees and begin undressing herself. her cropped top is the first to go, revealing those perky tits you love so much. your throat goes dry at the sight, but she quickly unbuckles her belt and slips off her pants, leaving her in just a pair of black panties as she crawls back over you.

she then giggles to herself, before slowly removing the final garment, leaving her bare. she's enjoying this, observing your confused expression. and then- she slots herself between your legs, and your eyes widen.

"jinx, you're-"

but she cuts you off with a soft 'shh' as she scoots another inkling close to you, cores not quite touching yet.

"just let me do my thing, baby," she drawls, a lazy smile on her face.

"but you'll get all messy," you argue. it's a weak protest and you know it, but you don't want to cause more trouble than necessary.

"you're adorable," she huffs, rolling her eyes. "all worried about making a mess. that's half the fun, toots!"

and then her heat presses to yours, and you gasp. she starts moving-slowly, tentatively, as if to test the waters. your hands hastily find the dip of her waist, gripping on for stability while she grinds against yours. you feel a brush of your clits, then another- and with your heightened hormones, it sends you spiraling.

"baby, i- haah.."

"yeeeeeah," she drawls out, looking down between both of your legs. it's downright vulgar, how your needy pussies are pressed right against each other, grinding and sliding together with wet squelches as blood distributes between the two of you. "you hear that? how wet you are? she's tellin' me how bad she wants this- mmph.."

your hips move in tandem with hers. the more you go on, the less you're able to hold back, it's everything you didn't know you needed.

the pace becomes more and more frenzied with each passing moment, jinx grabbing at your tits, fingernails digging into your asscheeks, licking stripes up your neck while your hands move to her peach of an ass to push her further against you. your head falls back if only for a second, lewd moans and whines escaping you. you can feel it- there's a filthy mess between the two of you, spread across both of your inner thighs and a bit of jinx's lower stomach. but neither of you can be bothered to care.

she's panting, lips parted while your eyes nearly glaze over with the feeling. the sweat alone is causing your mascara to run, but it only serves to make the girl more desperate. seeing you so utterly wrecked, it does something to her.

"gonna fuck you real good- ngh, make ya forget allll about those cramps," she breathes out, nails leaving little 'c' shapes in the flesh of your hips. "don't stop, don't you fucking dare stop!"

"gods, please," you whimper, your head falling forward onto her shoulder.

your soaking cunt ruts against hers with the urgency of a needy mutt, chasing ecstasy like your life depends on it. your comfort does, at least. a broken medley of 'pleasepleaseplease's leave you, although you're too far gone at this point to tell exactly what you're begging for. for her to keep going? for your release? and you just hear high-pitched whines right in your ear, breathy and shrill. the rasp of your girlfriend's voice never fails to make you squirm.

"please, it's so good, so good-"

"i know, baby, fuck-" she grunts, another sharp brush of your clits making her hips stutter. her gapped teeth sink into her lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood. "uuhh, you feel so fucking good! shit, baby! you've- ah, got no idea how good this pussy is!"

you're near the edge, the contracting in your lower stomach replaced by a familiar coiling. the towels below you are a painting of crimson, your bodies both covered in a thin sheen of sweat while your needy pussies meet again and again. the knot gets tighter and tighter with each movement, threatening to break at any second-

"uungh, jinx, i'm gonna- gonna!"

she then lunges forward to crash her lips against yours, immediately shoving her hot tongue past your lips like she wants to consume you. it's a whirlwind of teeth and tongue, clashing together like a thunderstorm while your tongue swirls with hers, explores her mouth, lips moving with a speed you can't track down- drool dripping down your chin. and still, the movements don't stop.

you can tell she's close too, by the way her toned abs clench with each grind. but she's trying to get you there first, ever dedicated to helping you.

you pull back with a high cry of her name, feeling the thread finally snap- and your vision goes white for a second. it's as if the rest of the world is completely gone, reduced only to you and the girl pressed against your body.

"jinx- aaah! shit, shit! cumming, cumming-"

and you feel her follow right after, her breath trembling and hips stuttering as she feels her orgasm wash over her.

"gah, fuuuuck! that's it- that's, ohh!"

your synchronized moans sound like something out of a dirty movie, low and needy and pathetic, but so fucking delicious. her bangs stuck to her forehead, spittle dripping down your chin, blood and cum mixed between your cunts and inner thighs- and it's perfect.

a moment of silence follows, both of you panting out. neither of you move, just letting the moment linger. the mess between you ever-present. your mind is too hazy to make out exactly what just happened, flushed and sweaty- but the cramps are gone. completely gone.

"...feel better?" jinx breathes out, voice gravelly.

"yeah," you nod, slowly. "a lot better."

#jinx x reader #jinx smut #arcane x reader #arcane x you #jinx x female reader #reader insert #sapphic #lesbian

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dailynnt · 27 days ago

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TWENTY MINUTES TO FREEDOM

𖠣 Summary: In a city where the law is only an illusion and the real game is played by those who are not afraid to get their hands dirty, Jungkook is a shadow king. The murder of a deputy in broad daylight is not a mistake, but a demonstration of power. A quick trial. Solitary confinement. Two weeks of silence. But he knows you will come. His fearless, loyal to the point of madness woman. When you releases him, you and Jungkook hide in the security room, waiting for the car. But Jungkook doesn't wait - he can't. He really wants to show his girlfriend how much he missed you.

𖠣 Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook x Y/N

𖠣 Age restrictions: 18+

𖠣 Size: one shot (2,7+ k words)

𖠣 Tags: established relationship, criminal au, Jungkook!prisoner, actions, angst, description of violent scenes, murder, weapons, foul language, smut, sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, blowjob, throat strangulation, refusal to orgasm

𖠣 From author: Okay guys this is crazy 🤭 I was just talking to my Love yesterday and she throws me a gif of Jungkook where he is wearing an orange jacket and writes "criminal au, prisoner!jungkook hahaha" and imagine in front of my eyes, literally in a second this short story appears 😆 I wrote it quickly and therefore already public for you. The story is not long, but I think it's intense 🤪 So if you like dangerous and a little crazy Jungkook in the form of a prisoner, please enjoy 😘 I really hope you like it 🥺🙏🏻

𖠣 Dedication: @curse-of-art this story is for you, because without you it would not have happened🤭 adore you Love of my life 🧡

𖠣 Permanent tag list: @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooklovee, @kookiesncreamri, @kooko009, @someoneelse0109, @bhonbhon, @smokinghotstargirl, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle, @bhonbhon, @indigomoonchild09, @goldenboysmuse, @hisdecalcomania17, @ggingerismm, @tranquilreign

𖠣 Warning: This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences. It contains explicit content, violence, and themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised. Please note: English is not my first language, so some sentences might be oddly constructed or contain grammatical errors. Thank you for your understanding 🙂‍↕️

Cell 09. Isolated sector. 9:57 PM.

The air was thick—heavy with sweat, dust, and stale oxygen. The gray concrete ceiling pressed down like a coffin lid. A single bulb flickered above, as if mocking him.

He was lying on a narrow bed. Ankles crossed, hands tucked beneath his head.

The orange prison uniform — t-shirt and pants — clung to him like irony. A king in chains.

Jeon Jungkook.

He was waiting. For you. For his girl who always did what she said. He knew — tonight was the night.

The message had come suddenly, but precisely. While he was taking a piss. One of the guards, without a word, slipped him a tiny note:

"10 PM. Big boy."

In that moment, he closed his eyes in satisfaction, a soft moan escaping as if from exhaustion. Finally. Finally you were getting him out of this rotten hole.

Jungkook wasn’t a hired gun. He was the one who hired.

Half the city worked for him. The other half prayed he never remembered their existence. The shadow king. Merciless. Cold. Unforgiving. A human life weighed no more to him than a cigarette burning between his fingers.

He remembered how he ended up behind bars.

Another life, taken by his hand, had brought him to this cell.

He could still smell the smoke and scorched velvet. The nightclub ceiling was still hazy after the blast. Screams echoed through the hall. People were coughing, choking in the haze.

Blood — hot and thick — trailed behind him as he walked through the semi-darkness, pistol in hand.

The bodies of guards lay at his feet.

The face of their boss — an influential lawmaker — no longer existed. It had exploded across the VIP table in the most expensive part of the club.

Jungkook stepped outside. The cops were already waiting. Red and blue lights painted his silhouette. His gun was still warm in his hand. He didn’t lower it. Just looked at them — calm, indifferent, almost bored.

One of the officers flinched, but pulled the trigger anyway. A shot into the air. Then the order:

"Arrest him."

Jungkook didn’t resist. He simply let them cuff him. That night, he didn’t just break the law — he broke the system. The trial was quick. No options.

He’d killed the ‘untouchable.’ In front of witnesses. You were waiting for him after the verdict. Amid the crowd of reporters, guards, prosecutors — you came forward. Wrapped your hands around his face. Kissed him. Your lips parted from his, and you whispered:

"I’ll get you out. Faster than you’ll before you can miss me, Big boy."

They put him in solitary. Maximum security.

No visits. No calls.

Pure silence — for two weeks.

Two weeks without you.

The only thing that kept his mind from unraveling — was you. Your fingers. Your voice. Your skin. Your scent.

Damn, he missed you.

Jungkook lay there, occasionally glancing at the clock.

9:57 p.m.

He couldn’t help but smile. Yeah. He missed you like crazy. Tonight would be the night of his return. And for the city — that would soon remember who truly ran it.

A dull sound echoed in the hallway. A red siren blinked—just for a second. Jungkook sat up on the bed, eyes fixed on the corridor through the bars. The lock on his cell clicked… and slowly opened.

"Fuck…" he muttered, rising to his feet.

And then—your silhouette.

That tight, deadly black suit clung to your curves like sin. A gun strapped to your thigh. Hair cascading down your shoulders. A damn goddess of chaos.

"Hi, baby," you smiled. Your eyes sparkled with untamed fire. "Missed me?"

His smile spread slow and wicked.

"I knew you’d come, my crazy girl," he said, stepping closer.

You didn’t blink, didn’t move, just watched him.

"Of course I came. Barely survived two weeks without my Big boy," you teased, brow arched. "So I didn't get an answer to my question," you insisted playfully.

He was close now. Hands on your waist, pulling you in. His palms slid to your firm ass, gripping hard enough to feel you — truly feel you.

Fuck. This moment felt like heaven.

"I missed my baby like hell," he growled near your lips, then crushed them with his. No mercy. No gentleness.

A kiss hot enough to crack the ground.Your body arched into him. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Time to go," you whispered against his lips, "We’ve got a short window. Night guard changes in twenty minutes. SWAT’s on their way. Car will be out back soon."

"Let’s move, tiny," he rasped.

The corridors of the prison. 22:06.

You walked ahead, paving the way. On the way to the guard room, where you were going.

You gave Jungkook your gun because he was a better shot than you. He killed several guards he met on the way, taking their guns. He put one in his pants waistband and gave the other to you.

After a few minutes, you got to the security room, where Jungkook shot several more guards. He pushed their body out of the room and closed the door.

You stood leaning over a table with monitors and a camera control panel. You pressed a button and all the prison cells opened. You laughed.

"Let the boys join our party." You laughed louder, and then your fingers were pounding on the keyboard, entering some cheats to hack the cameras in exactly 10 minutes so that the police couldn't follow your car and which way you were going. "A little bit of rebellion keeps the destination squad at bay, and we quickly slip by."

Jungkook was standing behind you. He was catching his breath after throwing the two dead bodies into the corridor. His eyes fell on your ass, as it seductively beckoned him to come closer.

His cock stiffened. Damn it, he missed you so much, and he doesn't seem to be able to hold back until you get home.

Jungkook came up behind you, listening to your laugh, which was better than any melody for him. And even better than your laughter were your moans when he was inside you, your screams when he was fucking you mercilessly.

"The car will be here in 12 minutes," you said, not realizing he was right behind you, "We'll make it."

His hands touched your hips. Squeezing tightly and pulling you closer to his side. Jungkook slowly pressed your ass against him and you felt his hard, heavy cock already erect.

You straightened your back, leaning against his chest and putting your hands on top of his. Jungkook's lips touched your ear, and when you turned your head toward him, he pressed his lips to your cheek.

"Oh yes, we'll make it," Jungkook whispered.

"Kook..." you called him softly.

"I missed you like hell. And every time I masturbated here in this fucking cell... I imagined your tight, sweet pussy," he confessed. "I fucking want to fuck you right here on this table."

The moisture between your legs became more abundant with those words. Fuck. He wants to fuck you right here, in the middle of the guard room in the prison you released him from. You didn't mind. On the contrary. Plus one interesting place where you had sex.

You sighed, pressing your ass against his hard cock.

"Don't hold back, honey. I missed you too."

He moaned softly as if he wasn't patient and slipped his hand into your pants, quickly finding your folds. He pushed them apart and immediately slipped a finger into your passage wanting to feel your tightness.

His finger moved rhythmically inside you, the other one touched your clit, making you moan. The breathlessness, the red light of the flashing lamps, the siren that was blaring in the distance-everything disappeared. Only the two of you existed in this moment.

"You're so wet, baby," he whispered, kissing your neck. "Tell me... who did you miss?"

"You..." you almost choked on your excitement. "Your body... the way you touch me..."

Jungkook slid his free hand from your waist down your stomach, lingered for a second on your chest, brought his hand to your throat, and put his hand on it.

"No, say it right," he squeezed your neck, gently but firmly. "For who?"

You turned your head as far as you could to face him. He saw sparkle in your eyes.

"For my Big boy..."

"That's a good girl," he accelerated his movements on your clit and at the same time kissed you, filling your mouth with his tongue. A kiss, wild, hungry, bordering on madness. You moaned right into his mouth, which made Jungkook harden more and more.

In a few movements, his fingers and you came on his fingers. Jungkook let go of you, you breathed heavily feeling the pleasure spreading over your upper thighs.

Jungkook turned you around to face him. Your face was relaxed, satisfied that you had come. You smiled, and he didn't even think about doing so. He was overcome with lust and desire, wanting to penetrate every hole in your body.

Jungkook pulled you to him, kissed your lips, and when he pulled back a few centimeters, he purred right in front of them.

"I want a blowjob. So come on baby, please your Big Boy with your skillful tongue," your eyes met and it was like an explosion. Your eyes hungry for his offer filled with lust, his eyes sly full of anticipation from your ability to give the perfect blowjob.

He took a step back and pulled down his pants. His big, aroused cock bounced as he pulled it out of his boxers. You stared at its length and realized that you really missed your big boy terribly.

You knelt down in front of him, feeling your knees touch the cold floor, but you didn't care. Your fingers confidently wrapped around the base of his cock, hot, hard, and throbbing in your hand. This one touch made him shudder, letting out a low growl.

"You're always so submissive when you kneel for me..." his voice was hoarse, full of rage and passion. "Such a good girl. My..."

You licked your lips, keeping your eyes on him. And then you leaned down and gently ran your tongue from the base to the tip, enjoying the way he shuddered and held his breath. His hand was immediately on the back of your head, his finger circling your ear, forcing you to get even deeper into the role.

"Yes... fuck... I've missed your mouth..." he groaned as you took him deeper, allowing yourself to stretch your lips along its length. He was huge, and you knew how much he liked it when you took every last inch of him.

You moved rhythmically, pulling him deeper and deeper, and played with his balls with your palm. Tears slowly appeared in the corners of your eyes from the depths, but you didn't stop. You could hear him moaning, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily, him trembling in your hands.

"Yeah, that's right... You're so good when you suck, baby..." he hissed, leaning down to see you working your lips and tongue greedily.

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling, your mouth full of his cock, and your saliva running down your chin. Jungkook grinded his teeth as he gripped your hair tighter.

"Just a little more, sweetie. A little more..."

And when he almost reached the edge, you suddenly pulled away, licking your lips and smiling. His eyes flashed with fury.

"You... you little fucking temptress..." his voice is low and shaky. He grabs you by the waist and literally lifts you into the air, tilting you onto the monitor table, which almost cracks beneath you. In one motion, he pulls off your pants and panties, carelessly lowering them to your knees, not even letting you recover, and then he enters you sharply, deeply, as if you simply cannot stand it.

"Fuck... yes..." you gasp, your head falls to your hands on the keyboard. He takes you wildly, hard, furiously. His movements are ruthless, his hands hold your hips so that you don't run away, so that you don't move without his permission, so that you are his - here and now.

"Tell me whose you are..." his voice is right in your ear, each thrust making you gasp for breath. "Whose fucking are you?"

"Yours... yours, Big Boy..." you scream, bursting with pleasure. "I'm all yours..."

His hand comes down on your throat again, that dominant, arousing ferocity that makes you go crazy. He lifts you up, holding you to his chest, not stopping to fuck you.

He lifts your turtleneck, exposing your breasts. They fall out and he immediately grabs them with both hands. They are the perfect size for his big palms. When he squeezes them, they only slightly bulge out of his palms. They are so soft, so full. Jungkook pinches your nipples, and you scream out. He laughs stupidly in your ear.

"Come on, girl. Come again... I want to feel you squeezing me from the inside..."

He bends you over again. You put your hands on the table. He sped up his movements. You were shuddering so much as Jungkook fucked you furiously.

And you couldn't take it anymore. Your whole being explodes, a wave of pleasure rolls over you so hard, you whimper loudly.

A second later, he comes inside you, trembling, squeezing your thighs as if the world had disappeared and it was just him and you, in this bloody, dark prison where your love merges with danger.

Jungkook doesn't let go of you right away. He holds you close, his breathing heavy, his heart beating in unison with yours. You rise up tiredly, and he turns your face around and kisses you gratefully.

Jungkook gets out of you and doesn't immediately put on his boxers. He takes a step back and breathes heavily, trying to calm his frantic breathing.

Unlike him, you immediately pull on a thong and pants, feeling his sperm leaking out of you. You look at the monitors with eyes blurred by orgasm and speak with interrupted breathing.

"The guys arrived five minutes early. We finished on time," you turned to him and your eyes immediately fell on his naked cock, which was soft. You looked away and saw his more than satisfied smile.

"Fuck, that was incredible. I'm going to fuck you again when we get home."

You smiled, glancing briefly at his cock.

"You sound promising."

Jungkook reached down and pulled up his boxer shorts. In a moment, he was standing there clothed and only your heavy breaths and the smell of sex gave away what had really happened in this room.

"Hold on baby, I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your name. I have to catch up every day I missed without you that I spent in this fucking cell," he pulled you close and kissed you, intertwining your tongues in a dance of love, passion, and madness.

You laughed when he parted your lips.

"I hope so. Because I'm going to collect all debts every take of debt you owe me, too, Jeon Jungkook..."

The corridors were dark and the alarm siren was blaring. But that was exactly what you had anticipated - and that was your advantage.

"This way!" you pointed to a black door with a combination lock. You'd broken it yesterday, when you first entered the building as a lawyer.

Jungkook pressed his back against the wall as you stepped out into the technical corridor. Through a ventilation shaft, a narrow passage, an old iron staircase, and finally a hatch to the maintenance tunnel. You dove down and found yourself in the sewer branch that you had included in your escape plan.

A few minutes later, a dark black jeep with tinted windows was driving out of the industrial zone. Jimin was driving, impeccable as always. Behind him were two more. People you trusted.

Jungkook held you close as he put you in the car, keeping his eyes on you.

"Welcome home, buddy," Jimin said. Jungkook clapped his friend on the shoulder, so happy to see him.

"Oh yeah, we're going to have a big party now, aren't we?" he hinted that the police would be looking for him even harder now. After all, he is now a fugitive.

This is the same gif that led to this story 😝

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