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kiwisbell · 7 months

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Red Light [landlord!joel miller]

The men you keep bringing home are no good for you. It's up to your landlord Joel to protect you from heartbreak.

my masterlist!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: AU - no outbreak/modern day, obsessive!joel, dark!joel, but also soft!joel, landlord!joel, violence, death, murder, stalking, jealousy, truly creepy behaviour, unprotected sex (lead by example; just not mine), creampie, dubious consent, reader’s serious lack of self-preservation, sexual tension, abuse of power, spanking, spitting, squirting, praise kink, degradation kink, joel is a munch, somnophilia, possessive behaviour, dirty talk, a smidgen of gaslighting, the general filth you should expect from me by now, a spoonful of genuine intimate connection™️, implied age gap, submissive reader, dominant joel, daddy kink, knives, mild torture, light anal play, voyeurism, unreliable narration, inappropriate use of a necklace, panty sniffing, ambiguous(?) ending

word count: ~ 15.8k (uh, oops!)

read on ao3!

hello, all! this fic has been tossing and turning inside the proverbial sheets of my head for a while now. when i tell you it's darker than anything i've written, i mean it, so please, please mind the tags. this story does not depict a healthy relationship; joel is a total creep and both he and reader are heavily delusional. with that said, please enjoy this (super long) one-shot!! xoxo

PREFACE

Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires. — Macbeth, I.IV

THE TENANT

You're beginning to think it’s a built-in bad luck charm. A microchip implanted in your skin or a flaw you have yet to pick out. Every single one of your prospective boyfriends has disappeared off the face of the Earth since you moved into town.

It isn't you. It's not. There is nothing wrong with you. It isn't your fault that either they decide after one date that you aren't worth seeing again, or they stand you up before the date can even begin. Your profile pictures are decent. You followed the rules meticulously: a shot of your face, a group picture to show you have friends, a selfie, a candid. You've examined them time and time again for flaws and find none that a man would care about. You're pretty. Sexy. Confident. They're just intimidated. Fuck, you're turning into your mother.

And yet—

Since moving into this apartment—this beautiful, once-in-a-lifetime deal of an apartment—your luck with dating has abruptly ended.

It's a lovely building. A stout brownstone with wrought-iron stairs and an old, but functional, elevator, it's traditional and charming. Perfect for a single woman.

Six months. This is your first second date in six months. David is just fine. He's handsome in a frat-initiate kind of way, with a nice smile and a good sense of dress. He doesn't ask many questions about you, and he's a little pretentious about films you don't give a shit about, but he likes you. You didn't have a horrible time on the first date: he wasn't afraid to spend his money on you at the nice restaurant. And he has a car.

Raised as an optimist, you learned to see the good parts of a situation. David can work out.

On the way out of the elevator, you spot your landlord Joel speaking to the concierge. You instinctively smooth down your hair and wave at him as you walk by, shrugging your purse onto your shoulder. “Hi, Joel. Hi, Sam.”

Sam the concierge waves back, but Joel puts his back to the conversation and gives you his full attention, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk. Your heart leaps and your head goes fuzzy with nerves. You barely manage to force a giddy giggle back down your throat. Relief coats your bones when Sam excuses himself to take a call.

Joel Miller’s an older guy, his tousled dark hair threaded with silver on his head and in his beard. One look at him and a person could know that he works with his hands for a living; he’s broad-shouldered, strong, with big arms and a capable air about him. He’s proven his mettle a hundred times over already with the miniscule repairs he’s made to the building. He turned it into a good place to live; he even trims the hedges outside and polishes the doorknobs when they get rusty.

He’s wearing a green T-shirt today, which is another member of the typical summertime circulation of blue and grey T-shirts, and a pair of jeans. “Evening,” he says, his rich brown eyes sparkling. Sometimes, you can see him smile when his mouth isn’t showing it. It’s charming. Enthralling. “How’s that new lock workin’ out for you?”

You grin. He remembered. Joel installed a new deadbolt on your door last week, since the chain on the last one broke. “It’s perfect,” you tell him. “Are you in a chocolate or lemon mood this time?”

His gaze flickers down your body, taking in your yellow dress, before meeting yours again. “Lemon,” he says.

You bite the inside of your cheek. Talking to a handsome man feels like tossing your heart in the air and trying to juggle. Flirting with a handsome man is like toeing a tightrope between two mountains and forcing yourself not to look down. Your stomach swoops with the path of his eyes over your body, and you cannot convince yourself that you imagined it. “Lemon squares it is. Thank you again, Joel.”

“Just my job to keep my tenants safe,” he says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. You can see a pair of keys in his pocket along with his cell phone. The mere sight of his belt makes your cheeks hot. Why are you looking at his belt? You’re going on a date with another man, for God’s sake. Relax.

“Helps when I like my tenants so much,” adds Joel, and you forget why you were scolding yourself in the first place.

“Yeah?” You tilt your head to the side. “Maybe you should be baking for them, instead.”

Joel steps away from the desk, working his jaw as he seems to fight down a smile. “It’s for the best this way, believe me. Can’t cook for shit.”

“Big, strong man like you can’t work a stove?” you tease. Don’t look down.

“I only fix ‘em.” There’s a crooked smile on his face now, and your heart beats your ribs to shrapnel. “You look real nice. Goin’ somewhere?”

That simple validation calms your nerves more effectively than a half-hour of repeating affirmations into the mirror before leaving your apartment. You give the skirt of your sundress a little swish. “A date, actually,” you say, feeling sheepish. Your landlord certainly doesn’t need to hear about your track record as of late. “He’s taking me to Sunfest, in the park.”

A minute twitch of his brow is the only reaction he gives to the news. “That so?” he says. “Lucky man.”

“More like lucky me,” you say with a small laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear. Stop talking, you plead to yourself. Too much information. Shut up, kindly excuse yourself, and leave.

Joel shakes his head, and now is the first time you notice that his eyes haven’t once left you. It warms your body. “He’s the lucky one. Trust me.”

“Okay. I concede.” You chew on your lip for a moment and, sure enough, his gaze hones in on your mouth. The air in the lobby crackles white-hot. You clear your throat, turning your head to find David’s car parked on the street outside. “I should go. But I promise I’ll get started on those lemon squares soon.”

It’s a possibility that you only imagine Joel’s eyes flitting from the car outside back to you when you turn your head back to face him. “Do me a favour?” he says, a scrape to his deep drawl.

“Anything, Joel.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Be safe,” he says. “You have my number if anything goes wrong.”

You give him a grateful smile. “I’ll be safe, Joel. And if I’m not, you’re the first person I’ll call.”

“Good. That’s…” He trails off, still watching you, his eyes trained in their path across your face. “You’re good. Smart, beautiful, good. You deserve to have somethin’ real.”

The simple, small praises melt your bone marrow and recast it in the shape of him. The old chandelier hanging from the ceiling casts him in a soft light, stark against the hard muscles and profound depths in his eyes. He's breathtaking. You've always known it, but…

He sees something in you, too.

David honks his horn and makes you jump out of your stupor. You walk backwards out of the lobby just to keep looking at Joel for as long as you can. “For the record,” you say, “you’re a good man, Joel.”

“Don’t be so sure, honey,” he replies, his tone playful.

You laugh, hurrying out to David’s car as the door closes behind you.

“This place is beautiful,” you said to Sam, the concierge working the front desk of your prospective apartment. The appropriate paperwork was in your arms, your eyes scanning every inch of the old building. Of all the places you'd seen in and around the neighbourhood, this was the most promising. You hoped to get a glimpse at a unit before you signed, though. Assuming the landlord even wanted you to live here.

Sam smiled at you. “Lots of people just see the cracks.”

“There's so much character,” you replied, admiring the crystal chandelier. The walls were a calming, aged white, the floors genuine hardwood. The lobby was decorated with plush chairs upholstered with burnt orange fabric, the corners filled with real potted plants.

The door opened behind you, and you turned to see a handsome stranger, dressed in a pair of dirty jeans and mud-caked shirt, wiping his forehead with his forearm. Behind you, Sam said, “This is Joel Miller. The landlord.”

“Oh!” You were flustered, floundering to stretch out your hand to shake as you introduced yourself. “I’m sorry to catch you at a bad time. This building is gorgeous. You've done a great job with it, Mr. Miller.”

The landlord did not once look at Sam, his eyes fixed solely on you as he wiped a hand on the cloth slung over his shoulder and shook your hand. His hand engulfed yours, warm and rough. The touch jolted you like an electric shock. Your hands must have been clammy and shaking with nerves, but the contact steeled you.

The intensity of his gaze, however, made you shift on your feet. He didn't waver, didn't stray, like a man set on a mission. Nothing about him was shy. He drank in the sight of you, indulging without shame, his eyes travelling to the next destination once they'd had their fill. It made you feel stripped to the bone.

“It's nice to meet you,” he said. “Sorry for the dirt. Just finished weeding.”

You shook your head in dismissal. “You really take care of this place.”

“It's good work,” he said plainly. “Serves me well. I like gettin’ my hands dirty, fixin’ things.”

“Where were you when my sink broke every week at my old place?”

“Fixing the sinks in this one.”

You laughed. “Well, for what it's worth, the outside is beautiful, too. Not a weed in sight.”

“Pleased to hear it,” said Joel, his dark eyes glittering under the chandelier.

“You're from Texas!” you said suddenly. Oh, God, kill me now. I sound like a stalker.

But Joel smiled, a raspy laugh leaving his mouth. You wondered if he laughed often. He looked like a serious man. “You familiar?”

“I was born there,” you supplied. “Left when I was young, but my dad lived there all his life.”

“Lookin’ good on you already,” he said. “It’ll be nice havin’ another one of us around.”

“Does that mean you're considering me?” you couldn't help but ask. Fuck, you wanted this apartment.

“I've already considered,” said Joel, his eyes sweeping your body. “You're the only applicant.”

Your hands were trembling and your heart thrummed with excitement. “Oh, God, thank you!” you gasped. “Joel, thank you.”

You could swear his chest swelled a bit at your graciousness. “I can show you the unit, if you’d like. It needs some TLC, but I’m happy to help with the process as best I can. Unless you have someone to…”

You realised what he was hinting at and shook your head. “Oh, no, it’s just me. I’d love to take a look.”

You noted the slight drop of his shoulders and followed him into the elevator. A part of you was surprised to see there was no gate that closed you in; they were plain, somewhat modern elevator doors. “Fixed it last month,” Joel said, looking sideways at you. “Just in time, apparently.”

You grinned at him, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Nice to see there's no creepy operator in here.”

“Just me.” He punched the button for the third floor and rode with you to the top.

This was the start of your new life.

You shut the passenger’s side door and situate yourself inside David’s Lincoln. He’s dressed in a pair of black shorts and a clean Henley. “Hey, beautiful,” he says, leaning in to kiss you across the console.

You hum, smiling against his mouth. “You clean up nice, too.”

He places a hand on your thigh and pulls away from the curb. He's a touchy person, which is perfectly fine considering how long your latest dry spell has lasted, but at least he isn't inching his way up your dress to cop a feel while he drives.

The festival is bustling with people, tented stands, and the smell of fried dough and beer. It’s almost dinnertime, and your stomach growls. When was the last time you ate? You spent hours agonising over what to wear until you were sweating and had to shower all over again. You wish you’d snuck an apple into your purse.

David pulls you into him as you both walk through the winding paths between vendors. “It’s a beautiful night,” you say breezily.

David squeezes your waist. “Mmm. You’re beautiful.”

A bit too corny for your taste, but you let it slide. “Don't tell me you're allergic to powdered sugar, because I’ve been eyeing the elephant ears.”

“God, if I eat that shit, I think it’ll set me back a month at the gym,” he laughs. “Let’s get one for you, though.”

Great. Now you're the expensive date who eats while her date watches her stuff her mouth with an elephant ear. “Uh. Maybe later.”

You stop at a jewellery vendor and spend a good while eyeing up a beautiful gold necklace and the heart-shaped pendant dangling from it. David doesn’t notice your staring and breezes by with your hand firmly in his. “Let's check out the grand stand. My buddy’s band is playing before the fireworks display.”

“Sure,” you say, turning your head to watch the necklace disappear slowly from view.

The gigantic domed stage houses a group of musicians currently tuning up their instruments. David sidles right up to the front and releases your hand to execute an elaborate handshake with his friend, who’s fine-tuning his bass.

“Hey, man,” greets the bass player. “Good to see you. Who’s this?”

You open your mouth to introduce yourself, stretching your hand out, but David says, “My date for tonight. Baby, this is Ray, of Uncontrolled Bleeding fame.”

The bass player shakes your hand politely. “Very nice to meet you.”

Because it doesn’t seem to matter much to David, you decide it’s worth the time to tell Ray your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Ray. I’m excited to hear you play.”

Not that you've ever heard of a band called Uncontrolled Bleeding. Still, Ray seems nice enough, and you're on a date. You should give them a chance.

David squeezes your waist and kisses you lightly on the temple. “You mind if I go backstage for a bit to say hi to the other guys? Won’t be long.”

What?

“Oh!” you manage to eke out over the great swooping nosedive your heart has just performed. He’s here to see his friends. He’s not on a date. “Of course. Take your time. I’ll just… walk around.”

David departs with Ray for a personal backstage tour while you bite down on your tongue and turn back in the direction of the main strip. A few vendors catch your attention, and you take your time because God knows David is taking his. A little bit of you revels in your own petty victory when, a half-hour later, Uncontrolled Bleeding begins to blare their metallic, screaming anthems across the park and you haven’t returned to the grand stand.

You find your way back to the jewellery vendor to ponder over your favourite necklace some more, but your night gets worse when you find that it’s disappeared from the headless display mannequin. You solemnly slide your wallet back into your bag and pause when you hear your phone ringing.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” It’s David’s voice, presumably, though it’s so loud on the other end of the line that you can barely make out his words. “I can’t… where… left?”

You plug one ear and look vaguely in the direction of the grand stand across the park. “I can’t hear you very well, David.”

“… afterparty… downtown… going… Uber home?”

You press your lips together and look down at the ground: at your pretty sandals, your new dress. Your entirely wasted potential on a guy who wanted you to find your own way home. “Yeah, David,” you say tightly. You don’t particularly care if he can hear you. “You have fun with your friends.”

“Can’t hear… talk later… okay?”

You hang up and wander back toward the vendor selling elephant ears.

“Miller.”

“Hi, Joel.”

“Honey, it’s loud. Can barely hear you. Are you safe?”

“I’m safe, Joel, I promise. It’s just—Uncontrolled Bleeding.”

“What?”

“No, I mean, the band. They’re really loud. I hate to ask, and I know it’s late, but—”

“What do you need?”

“I, uh… I need a ride home. I can’t get a cab, and all the Ubers around are taken, and the busses are rerouted all the way—”

“I’m comin’ to get you. You just wait for me at the entrance, okay, baby girl?”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“You know I said you could call me for anything. I meant it.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Oh! Wait—”

“What? What is it?”

“Do you want an elephant ear?”

Joel is white-knuckling the steering wheel when he arrives to pick you up. Despite the congestion around the festival grounds and the fact that your apartment is at least fifteen minutes away, Joel makes it to you in a mere five.

“Did you blow every red light to get here, Mr. Miller?” you ask with a playful smile as you secure your seatbelt and settle on the truck bench.

“I was in the area,” he says with a crooked smile, looking your way. “May have pushed forty a couple times, though.”

You sheepishly extend a cardboard takeout box filled with fried, powdered dough. “Will you take this as my sincere thanks, or will you expect a separate batch of lemon squares?”

Joel answers by dipping his head and taking a bite of the flattened, doughy bread. You watch every minute movement, his strong jaw working as he chews, indulging you even though he’s already done far too much to get you out of this rut. He doesn’t once break eye contact while he eats; you begin to chew subconsciously on your bottom lip.

“Ain’t bad,” he declares at last, and your shoulders deflate with a kind of relief, “but if you let me take you for some real dinner, I’ll forget about that extra batch.”

You tentatively reach for his mouth and swipe some powdered sugar from his moustache with the pad of your thumb. You feel his eyes scanning your face all the while. “Look at me, the lucky girl,” you say softly. “One date goes wrong, and there’s a strong, handsome man waiting to take me on another.”

From the very first day, Joel Miller has always taken his time when it comes to looking at you. It’s a penetrative stare that makes your skin heat up from the tips of your ears down to your chest. His eyes are so dark, pools of warm melted sugar, and you feel yourself leaning, trancelike, slow, into that cavernous gaze. Your body is not your own. It seeks the subtle warmth, the familiar scent—sawdust, coffee beans, rich, dark cologne—and the violent torrent of sensation that erupts from the contact point when he cups your cheek in one hand.

You’re in the throes of attention, warm as a candle weeping fat waxen tears.

“Told you before,” says Joel, his thumb sweeping fondly across your chin, “you deserve somethin’ real.”

“Yeah,” you sigh happily, feeling all-too complacent under the touch of his rough palm, “maybe I do.”

Behind you, a car honks its horn, and Joel curses, pulling away from the curb. He takes you to Turner’s, a bar by campus that would be crawling with students if it weren’t for the festival. Joel comes around to the passenger’s door and opens it for you, helping you hop out with your hand enclosed in his. His palm is a steady weight on your back as you both walk inside the dim, stuffy bar.

The back is bustling with activity—drunk folks playing pool or watching the Huskies’ football game or splitting their attention between both—but the bar itself has enough spaces open to fit the two of you. Here, the light is burnt orange, and it makes the strands of grey in his hair shimmer gold. His eyes observe his surroundings with a military precision before they flit back to you, magnetic.

“Shame to waste this dress on that asshole,” says Joel, sweeping his gaze down, back up, barely perceptible. “You’re too goddamn pretty for any of ‘em.”

You’re deliciously abuzz with the incisive way he compliments you. It feels like being punctured down to your very soul; you will never forget the shape of the stain his words leave. “Do you spy on all my dates, Joel?”

He smirks. “Don’t need to spy on ‘em, baby. They’re a bunch of obnoxious kids.”

You huff, resting your cheek against your palm. “I just don’t get it. I thought David was just fine. Then, he takes me on a date just to abandon me for his friends and tell me to find my own way home.”

Joel shakes his head, scoffing as he runs his fingers through his beard. He does that when he’s frustrated sometimes, and you wonder if his hair is soft or coarse. “Piece of shit doesn't know how good he got it.”

“You must know something I don’t,” you say mirthlessly, watching the bartender approach from the other end of the long honey-oak block. “I haven't been able to get a second date since I moved in.”

Joel is silent, eyes still firmly fixed to you, until the bartender arrives, a charming middle-aged woman with a particular Texan twang you could recognise from a mile away. “What’ll it be, Joel?” she asks, giving him a sweet dimpled smile. “Hi, honey. This old man botherin’ you?”

“Only in a nice way,” you reply, squeezing his shoulder.

Joel hides his grin with a swipe of his fingers over his bottom lip. “Coffee for me, Rina. Drivin’ home.”

Rina’s eyes slide to you, and you ask for the same. You don't want to drink alone. She reappears moments later with two small, chipped mugs of dark roast in her hands. Setting them in front of you, she takes your food orders: a BLT for Joel and a veggie burger for yourself. It’s almost ten o’clock now, too late to eat, but your eyes droop sleepily and your stomach growls for a taste of real food. The powdered dough, shockingly, did not suffice.

“You ever miss Texas?” Joel asks once you're halfway into your respective meals. You notice that he only digs into his sandwich when you aren't eating, and abstains briefly to watch while you take your bites. It's an exchange of energy, a steady vigil by your side, the hypnotic pull of his warm body. You cannot scoot any closer to him, but your leg brushes his where you rest your foot on his barstool.

“I wish I remembered more of it,” you tell him. “I grew up a big city girl. Even lost my accent a year into being away. My dad would tease me about it all the time. Said I’d been gentrified.” You fondly shake your head. “Miss him like hell.”

“I can still hear it sometimes,” says Joel, tilting his head to the side, “when you get all passionate about somethin’. Like the time I installed your deadbolt and you tried to explain away your Backstreet Boys CD.”

You put your head in your hands. “Oh, God. I thought you'd forgotten.”

“Nuh-uh, baby, you ain't easy to forget. And I like when you get excited. You get this look in your eye.”

“Yeah?” You slide your foot up his ankle and bring the leg of his jeans with it. Up, down, you keep going, letting the relative darkness embolden you, his sweet little pet names and his silent adequacy enabling what is most definitely inappropriate behaviour. “Tell me about this look, Joel.”

He rests his elbow up on the bar and squares his broad shoulders to you. They eclipse all the other patrons behind him. “You've got pretty eyes,” he tells you. “First thing I noticed when I met you all those months ago. Saw how they lit up when you smiled. Heard your happiness when you told me about Texas. It was nice to be the reason you smiled, ‘n’ I just wanted to make it happen again. I couldn't say no to you. Don't know how any man ever could.”

The revelation stuns you in your seat. His expression telegraphs little save for his attentiveness, his posture locked parallel with yours, singularly focused on the way you react to him.

You try for a joke. “And I was the only applicant.”

It crumbles, sand in your mouth. Something has shifted. Joel isn't the type to shy away from a conversation, but his gaze hasn't once shifted from your face. It feels like flames licking your cheeks, the heat of that look pushing in on both sides, inescapable. You find that you enjoy the way his attention makes you preen; you want him to look at you.

He thinks you have pretty eyes.

“You know that ain't the reason why,” he says, whisper-quiet and gruff amid the vague chatter in the bar.

“Why, Joel?” you ask, spine straightening, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. As you suspected, his eyes flick down your face, lashes obscuring the precise shade of his irises.

His Adam’s apple dips. “‘Cause I like you,” he says, the feeling of it like the slide of suede down your spine, “and I wanna keep you safe.”

You shrug slightly, giving him a smile. “I feel pretty safe.”

Joel’s hand drops to the bar top and his fingertips brush yours. The touch jolts your sleepy mind awake. “You're too good for every single one of those assholes you bring around. You know that, right?”

“I’m beginning to understand.”

“You deserve someone who's gonna be good to you. Give you all the attention you need. Make you… happy.”

You swallow thickly, the candle flame pressing in, sucking the oxygen from your lungs. “Thank you, Joel.”

His fingers begin to creep up every ridge of your knuckles, slowly turning over your palm so it faces the ceiling. The rough pad of his thumb traces the long lifeline inside.

“Repeat it.”

His eyes lift to yours, and for a moment, there’s something in them that ignites an instinct inside you to flee. There's danger in those eyes: the careful, measured restraint of a man who knows more anger than he lets show. A flicker, brief but incandescent, passes through your head, an electrical current.

He’s the reason you never had a second date.

It disappears the instant it comes, the Paterian glimpse of an idea in its entirety fleeing for the horizon, and the instinct recedes in favour of the warm, melting sensation his fingers disseminate through your bones.

“I deserve someone who will be good to me,” you repeat, like a mantra. “I deserve someone who’s going to make me happy, and keep me safe.”

“That's right,” says Joel, brushing his thumb along the veins in your wrist. You feel the shiver, but you're locked to him, your eyes unable to take in any information apart from the way he feels, looks, smells. “You're a good girl, baby.”

Your lashes flutter and a sweeping rush of pressure descends on your core at the way those words sound on his tongue. You picture him directing you to your knees and calling you a good girl while you take his big cock between your lips, imagine the way he would hiss through his teeth, good fuckin’ girl, that’s it, baby girl, while he fucks you from behind, merciless. Hands and tongues and limbs would mould into one another, amalgamate, becoming indistinguishable.

He would be good to you. You know it. He’s always been good to you.

“Joel?”

“Hmm.” Fingers still make idle patterns on your forearm.

“I think you should take a look at my sink when you get a chance. It might be broken.”

No amount of coy suggestion could make him ignorant to your desire for closeness. You can feel your body screaming for it, grasping at him with buffed claws. Joel smirks, looking down at your foot making a path up and down his ankle.

“I’ll take a look tomorrow.”

It’s two o’clock in the morning when a shuffling outside your bedroom door guides you out of a decent sleep. In total silence, the most minute noises can be deafening. But it sounds, to your sleep-addled brain, like the hasty retreat of footsteps.

You blink awake, shifting onto your other side to peer above the darkness of your doorway. Through the bleary haze in your eyes, you notice a tiny red light in the upper corner of the room.

You squint, rubbing your eyes furiously to pry them open wide, but your vision is the static grain of an old television, and your eyes refuse to adjust. Instead, you grumble, pulling your comforter over your head, and go back to sleep.

You’ll tell Joel tomorrow.

THE LANDLORD

He cannot wait until the morning.

The nighttime, he discovered long ago, is a friend. It’s the gentle descent of darkness, the horizontal fall of the golden-hour sunlight scanning the entirety of the apartment before it at last succumbs to silent, tar-black night. Occasionally, a car will pass below, or the honk of a horn will tear jaggedly through the quiet, but most times, Joel can sink comfortably into the dark and assume his post.

Six months ago, he showed some restraint.

Of course, the connection was instantaneous—the pretty girl standing in his foyer with a radiant smile on her face, drinking in the chipped paint and ancient railings and furniture imprinted with years of use, arrested all movement of his heart. You wore a white dress and a pair of strappy sandals, not suited whatsoever for walking the city but perfectly tailored to make an impression. You arrived punctually, all smiles and handshakes and Southern politeness despite your insistence that you'd left it all behind. You shone. And when Joel slid his rough, work-worn hand into yours, dipping his gaze to watch the way he dwarfed your fingers, he felt a tremor roll gently from your body to his, thunder over a mountain. He wanted to chase the next lightning strike.

It began leisurely, like a hobby, something he could go to when life got a little much. He watched you come home, examining the way your shoulders rounded slightly when you were upset and the way you wiggled your fingers in a wave to those passing by when you were happy. He watched, typically from the garden out front, as you pranced about your balcony on cool mornings to the electronic croonings of Britney Spears, curled up in a chair with a blanket over your legs and a coffee mug warming your hands, or watered your thriving plants from where they hung in the direct morning sunlight. Your day-to-day became his day-to-day.

And then, he was doing more than merely watching. He was following.

Your favourite coffee place by the apartment building, just a block away. He lingered far behind that first morning, his fingers twitching in your direction before the rest of his body steered him. The neighbourhood wasn't so great back then, prone to muggings and the like. He wanted to keep you safe. That was all.

You ordered something cold, too sweet for his tastes, and sat for a while as you worked. The barista spent the rest of your time there eyeing you up whenever he could. Joel scoffed. He wouldn't know what the fuck to do with you. Just a goddamn kid.

He followed you to work and back, on those rare days he wasn't occupied maintaining the grounds. You sat in a corner cubicle with a decent amount of sunlight and typed away on your laptop all day. Joel monitored the company’s publications just so he could have a glimpse of the way you wrote; he wasn't interested in makeup, but he bought a subscription to Viva because he wanted to trace his fingers over your name in those small italic letters. MANAGING EDITOR.

Your writing is clean, efficient, and smooth. It reads like velvet. He keeps a pile of magazines and newsletters tucked in the back of his bookshelf. For the August edition, they printed your interview with a local prizewinning novelist; you beamed in the picture, photographed in your favourite coffee shop, so happy and so generous, sharing your talent with others.

He was so fucking proud.

Five months ago, he watched you bring a date home for the first time.

It blindsided him. He could not prepare, plan, or sabotage. He could not do a thing as you guided the man—a fucking kid with a too-big ego, grinning smugly for his imminent conquest—inside the elevator. Joel could only watch helplessly, wiping his brow from his precarious place on the ladder, as you walked past him with no more than a soft, sweet smile. He never forgot the painful imprint of that smile on his eyelids. It still burns his eyes late at night, when he stays awake inside his office, monitoring his dual screens. He will pinch the bridge of his nose and close his eyes just to replay the memory of that look.

The kid left the next morning, before you woke. He never contacted you again. You trudged into the lobby that day, a weariness in your eyes that did not match the vibrant colour of your dress. You spoke idly to another woman in the elevator about your broken thermostat, hugging yourself to keep warm.

It was working perfectly a few hours later, and there was a bouquet of roses waiting for you at the concierge’s desk. Fiddling with the red ribbon, tears welling in your eyes, you asked who the admirer was. Sam shrugged his shoulders, but when you turned to look out the front windows, you saw Joel tending to the red roses in the garden bed.

It earned him the first taste of your baking. Biting into one of those moist, warm brownies felt like melting a little piece of you down and moulding it into the shape of his mouth. It felt like taking a piece of the girl he’d coveted for weeks and rolling it over his tongue, keeping it. Swallowing it down. There it rested inside his stomach until the next time he did you right.

He wanted to tell you no. To insist that he would do anything to make you feel good even if you wanted nothing to do with him. To make it clear that he did everything for you, not for some feeble professional relationship between a landlord and his tenant. He breathed you. He needed you.

So, four months ago, he began to watch you through the cameras.

They’re small, discreet, tucked into holes in the wall that have been spackled over, repainted, re-sanded. He ran the wiring while you were at work, listening to your CDs on loop to get a better sense of the earworms you hummed on your way out the door every morning. One in the living room, one by the entrance, and one in the bedroom.

He could keep you safe this way. This way, he would know if those men you brought you home were treating you right—fucking you like you deserved.

You were so goddamn pretty when you came. For months Joel had sat in his office, slicked-up cock in his hand, jerking himself hard and fast to the pictures of you in Viva. For months he’d spilled over his fingers, on his belly, on the glossy pages of the magazines. The heady, cloying scent of his own sweat and cum stuck to his nostrils. It wasn’t enough. He could imagine wrenching open your tight little pussy all he wanted—the slow, heavy drag of his cock between your hot, wet walls and the sweet noises he’d steal from your tongue—but it wasn’t the satisfaction he needed.

Joel needed you. Your body, your smile, your voice. He needed to wrap you tight around every vein, a tourniquet, squeezing until all feeling was lost.

You would be his, in time. He just needed to make it so.

The first time he watched you pleasure yourself, rain pattered gently against the window panes and thunder echoed in the distance. A couple grids had already lost power, and Joel had a backup generator if the apartment was next, but you did not seem to mind one bit that the storm drew closer. You clicked off the television, retired to the confines of your bed and its soft white linens, and slipped your hand beneath your flimsy shorts. Joel sat upright, his back creaking in protest, his knuckles white around the edge of his desk as he watched, unblinking, the way your fingers gently circled your clit.

He didn't touch his cock once that night, no matter how deeply his own need tugged at him. He couldn't look away from the camera feed for fear that he may miss the moment you reached your orgasm.

When it arrived, it was delicious to watch. Your back arched, your lips parted, and your eyes fluttered shut, fingers rapidly rubbing your slick pussy as you seized under your own ministrations and slowly settled, melting into the mattress. He needed to see more. He needed to be there.

You were a chiaroscuro of savoury, sultry magnetism and the ichor of the morning sunlight. You were kind and thoughtful. You were gentle, patient, attentive. You were one hell of a baker. You were so fucking sexy it made his tongue prickle with the prospective taste, the anticipation of touching your soft skin engulfing any sense. Reason had no place in Joel Miller’s mind when it came to the sweet girl upstairs.

Three months ago, you had recovered from the evident betrayal inherent in expecting more from your date than a one-night stand. The next man was older, a partner at a law firm, and took you to dinner at a nice restaurant. He asked questions about you and reciprocated your enthusiasm for good cuisine. He was kind and treated you well. But an incendiary rage ignited in Joel at the sight of the bastard’s hand on your lower back. Another man was touching you. Another man was getting close to you, making you smile, whispering in your ear. Another man was attempting to claim what was rightfully his.

Joel followed your date home that night instead. He lived in a high-rise downtown, the sort of building that had a doorman and a valet.

Joel followed him down to the underground lot with a lead pipe in hand.

“‘scuse me.”

He shut his car door and turned around, giving Joel a polite smile. “What can I do for you?”

A calculated sheepish scratch on the back of his head. “Just… ah, shit, I don’t mean to bother, but my engine isn't turnin' over and my phone died. Mind if I used yours?”

He patted his pockets for his cell and gave it enthusiastically. Joel did not take the phone. He used the proximity to pull the man close and bring the pipe down across his head.

Blood bloomed, pretty and potent and rich as the roses he planted for you. The body made little noise, the skull shattered upon impact, the legs crumpling. It could never have been much of a man, going down so fucking quick. Should've put up a fight.

The man must not have liked you very much to let himself die. Joel, whose eyelids were tattooed with your radiant smile, would have crawled his way back out of a certain grave. Joel loved you. You belonged to him. This was a necessary consequence.

The pipe was dented by the time he was finished. Joel sank to his knees once the body fell, bringing it down again and again, the meticulous arc of the rusted metal uniquely stirring. It felt so fucking good, battering the skull to pieces, blood and brain and bone fragments accumulating on the ground and the pipe and his face. It felt good knowing he had kept another man from betraying you, hurting you, fucking you only to leave in a blur. He was being altruistic. He was becoming a good man for you.

Joel, kneeling in the pool of warm blood until his jeans were soaked crimson, rubbed his hand down his face and smeared the blood across it. Chest heaving, he let the grin stretch his face.

He had found his calling.

Two months ago, he slipped inside your apartment while you were asleep.

You had a rough day. Your boss insisted the company could not afford to give you a raise despite skyrocketing share prices and all the fucking work you’d done for them. The rain started just before you left the building, holding back tears, and a car splashed icy, muddy water on you during your walk home. Salt in the wound. You were sniffling as you let yourself into the apartment, your hands trembling with the effort of shouldering your bag and your misery. Joel approached you from behind and lifted the bag onto his shoulder.

“Hi, Joel.” Sad and soft and still so polite despite it all.

“Hey.” He opened every door for you on the way to the elevator and rode it up with you for good measure. “Wanna talk about it?”

You just shook your head and sidled up next to him, your cheek resting on his shoulder. He held his breath, overcome with the sensation that if he moved an inch, the spell would break, and the comfort you sought from him would slip between your fingers. Your arm brushed his, your dewy lashes fluttering as you finally let yourself relax. Joel inhaled, and the scent of you cleaved him down the middle: rain and perfume.

“Would you give me a raise?”

He looked down at you and smiled. “For a batch of those cupcakes, I’d give you whatever you like.”

It was a half-truth. He’d give you whatever you wanted, cupcakes or no. The sound of your laughter dripped into his bloodstream, saline. It cleansed him of the wrongs he'd committed. He was doing what needed to be done. The world had to realise it turned for you, and then all would be right.

Hours later, when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, shrouded by distant skyscrapers, he sneaked his way inside. His master key made easy work of the lock, but he had to pull the chain lock off with a pair of pliers because his hands could not reach between the gap. He made clinical work of it and stepped inside.

There was a chair in the corner of your bedroom for days you felt like reading by the window. Joel lowered himself into it and began his vigil.

It was a science to study the way you slept. He began to learn the patterns of your breathing, the minute movements of your limbs and how they translated to the moods of your dreaming. The amount of times you turned around, groaned, or hummed correlated directly to the sort of day you'd had. He began to map your tells in his head, drawing them out, formulating blueprints of the simple things that made you.

To Joel, it was like connecting a red string between thumb tacks, like pouring the varnish over a finished painting, sealing a promise, closing an envelope. He enjoyed the satisfactory slotting of each puzzle piece into place, creating your image, finally knowing you.

By then, he’d caught the virus. He’d let himself get close, and now he was infected with it—that insatiable need to be near, to watch, to admire from mere feet away.

He continued to acquaint himself over the weeks with your sleeping self to supplement the time he could not spend with you while you were awake. On more than one occasion, he got careless, letting himself succumb to sleep in that corner chair, joining you in the dream world. In those dreams, you were wrapped up in his body, warm and soft and tight, and he was taking. He was behind you, on top of you, beneath you, forcing you to look in the mirror as he spread you open on his cock and wrapped his fingers around your throat. In those dreams, your eyes rolled back and your lips moulded to the shape of Joel, yes, oh my God, and he'd whisper back to you—my sweet girl, my good fuckin’ girl, all mine.

And you were. You were his.

Tonight, he followed you to the festival.

He watched you make a beeline for the necklace you wanted only to pout when you saw it had disappeared. He watched your face fall as David’s rejection sank bone-deep. He reeled in his own gnawing rage, pushing deep down that urge to storm right in and rip out the asshole’s throat with his goddamn teeth, and waited until you called him.

He knew you would. You trusted him. You needed him. You needed a strong, capable man to take care of you the way you deserved. So he waited inside his truck by the phone, happy to at last hear your sweet voice on the other end of the line.

Thank you, Joel.

He tucked those words under his ribs, letting them flower and spread. Those words gave him purpose, made him buzz with erratic energy, validated all his actions. He was doing everything right.

Your dress was so fucking pretty. Jesus, he wanted to slip his hands under the hem, finger the waistband of those pink panties he knew you were wearing, and bunch the fabric up around your hips as he stuffed you full of his dick. Fuck, he would fill you up with his cum and tuck your panties back over your abused pussy, keeping all of him safe inside. You’d be so happy. You’d get drunk off his cock, begging for it, crying for it. He’d give you everything.

You do feel safe with him. You said it yourself.

Now, leaning against the doorway in your bedroom, Joel turns the heart-shaped pendant over and over in his palm, rubbing his thumb over the smooth gold surface. It’s cool and quaint and will kiss your skin beautifully. But he needs to wait for the right time. He needs to make sure you’re ready.

The sense memory of your fingers on his skin, gracious and gentle, the way you always are, is pushing at the edges of his control.

There's no one like you. He’s never been more certain of anything.

You're so goddamn sweet in those tiny silk pyjamas, your body curled up on the bed and your leg slung over a large pillow. You may feel cold and lonely at night, but that's only for now. He won't let you feel alone much longer; his body calls to you, singing your name. He has only so much restraint, and he's been waiting for six months.

Your lips are slightly parted, your face smooth and serene under the spell of sleep. You're the reason he fixes what's broken. The world needs to be better for you. It needs to be safe and bright and perfect.

He planted tulips today. You’ll appreciate them, he thinks. He wants you to wake up to vibrant colours every morning and go to sleep knowing that he thinks about you.

You shift slightly in your sleep, a soft moan leaving your mouth as you hug the pillow closer. Joel straightens in the doorway, wondering if your mind can sense him nearby. He doesn't know what he would do with himself if you were dreaming about him. His eyes move from your pretty face down your chest, barely concealed by the tiny top you're wearing, to find the apex of your thighs, temptingly spread on the mattress.

He won't. He can't. You’ll never trust him if he loses himself to desire. Joel grits his teeth, his cock achingly hard in his jeans, and unbuckles his belt as silently as he can. He pulls out his dick and squeezes himself at the base, staving off what he knows will be a too-fast orgasm. You move again, your body stretching out on the bed. Joel spits into his palm and begins to stroke his cock.

He can see a sliver of your waist where your shirt rides up, half of your ass where your leg is slung over the pillow, and your tits smushed together just over the hem of that scrap of a top. You're all of his fucking fantasies rolled into one. Joel breathes hard through his nostrils, his fist tight around the tip of his cock.

He wants to shuck down those little shorts and put his face in your pretty pussy. He wants to grab your hips and guide his cock inside you. He wants to slide into your addictive cunt until you forget your name. Until you forget every name but his. Your soul will be stained with him. His has never forgotten your shape.

God, your tight pussy would feel so fucking good around his cock. He jerks himself roughly, bracing his hand against the doorframe when a little whimper leaves your mouth. Fuck, he mouths, gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw begins to ache. He fucks his own fist, sloppy and unrefined, eyes fixed to your waiting pussy between creamy-soft thighs. His cock dwarfs your slit, eager to spread you open—he’ll fix so nicely once he gets you ready.

Joel feels his stomach tighten, his balls pulling up, his jaw taut as he brings himself to a high over your body the way he has so many times. He switches so he can jerk off into the hand around which his gift to you is coiled, spilling his cum all over his fingers and the necklace as he bites into the heel of his palm. His spine decompresses and his cock slowly softens in his hand, the tension briefly relieved. His fist gradually loosens around the cum-slick necklace; the heart has imprinted its shape into his palm.

You stir, turning over in your bed, and Joel hastily departs, tucking his cock back into his jeans. He has enjoyed this brief interlude, but he has work to do.

Besides, he’ll see you in a few hours. He knows damn well the sink works just fine, but he’ll take any excuse to see you again. And it seems you’ll do the same.

Joel keeps him in a spare apartment in the building, one whose walls have been padded for soundproofing.

Joel’s sleeves are rolled to his elbows and he's occupying the chair across from David, who's taking his sweet fuckin’ time waking up. Joel’s been pacing for a half-hour, rubbing his fingers over his bottom lip, contemplative, but the bastard won't move.

So Joel takes a seat, grabs a fistful of the kid’s hair, and yanks it forcefully so he’s staring him right in the face.

One eye is already blackened—Joel got a little carried away. The sedative worked perfectly, but David has a punchable face. It took all he had not to keep going.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” says Joel as the kid slowly blinks awake, bleary and unfocused. “Eyes on me, now. Don't want you slippin’ away again.”

David only stares for a moment, gears grinding gently to life in his brain Once that animal instinct kicks in, the kid starts writhing against his restraints, bucking hard in Joel’s unrelenting grip. It's useless, of course. He’s tied by the wrists and ankles. Helpless.

Good.

“What—why the fuck… let me fucking go, man, please,” groans the kid.

“You made a mistake, David,” says Joel. “Think I’m gonna forget about that?”

David whimpers, flexing his hands subconsciously as pain undoubtedly prickles his scalp. Joel hasn't let go of his hair. “Please just let me go, man. I swear I didn't do anything. If you want money, I’ve got money.”

Joel smirks, a scoff slipping out. This is rich. The delectable flame licks up his throat again, indistinguishable from the pleasure of a good meal, a good fuck. It's craving. It’s darkness. He sinks deeper.

“You think it's manly to leave your date for your friends and leave her to find a way home herself? You think it's funny to treat her like a little toy and then leave her when you're done?” Joel sneers. “You didn't even call her back, David.”

He whines out another please, his ankles ineffectually kicking out. “I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Just let me go. Fuck, it hurts.”

“You don't know,” says Joel, repeating it, slow and savoury, rolling it around in his mouth. “You wanna know the most insulting part, David? You don't even care. You made her upset, and you didn't get on your goddamn knees to beg her forgiveness. You didn't do everything in your fuckin’ power to get her back.” Joel brings the knife from his pocket and idly pushes the tip into David’s cheek. “You think she ain't worth that, David? Tell me the truth, now.”

David shrieks, hysterical, the terror and pain so fucking delicious that Joel gulps it down and yet still wants.

“Are you fucking kidding me? No bitch is fucking worth it. She was cute, but that's it, I swear. I didn't know she had a boyfriend. I wouldn't have—”

The knife digs, gouges, splitting skin and prodding muscle. Joel can feel the edge of the blade slot between the kid’s teeth. He howls, screaming for help to nobody that can help, not quite gone enough yet to realise his utter hopelessness. Joel will have to rectify that.

“Oh, I ain't her boyfriend yet,” Joel says calmly. “But I am hers, way she's mine. And you hurt what's mine. I can’t forget that.”

The knife retreats to admire its handiwork. The cheek is split, the edges jagged, spitting blood. The kid’s tears slip down his face and dip into the wound, salty enough to hurt. He screams and he cries and it’s beginning to get on Joel’s nerves.

“Please stop,” he cries, watching his assailant rear back and grip the knife tight, like an ice pick. “Please… fuck, please—!”

He’s getting real sick of that word. Please. A mere please can’t excuse the look he put on your face last night. A please will not absolve him of the cardinal sin.

No one—no one—makes you frown.

Joel sinks the knife into David’s knee, using both hands to drive it to the hilt. The kid’s face is ashen, white and grey as clouds rolling in, and his frail screams begin to peter out; he’s losing consciousness. Joel won’t have that—not until he’s finished.

“Stop whinin’, David. A real man falls in front of his woman and makes things right. A real man fixes what's broken. And a real man”—he twists the knife, gorging, glutting on the feeling of making amends on your behalf—“does everything in his power to show her he loves her.”

“Please…” The final, feeble attempt of a doomed man to return from the cliff’s edge.

Joel stands, adjusting his grip on the kid’s hair, and brings his knife just beneath his chin. When he drives it upward, he can see the shimmer of the blade through David’s slack, open mouth.

“I told you to stop whinin’.”

He’s in your bedroom again.

He felt the need calling to him, vibrating with a particular intensity he could not ignore. He rarely comes to see you twice in one night, but now that he's here, he knows it was the only way to settle his nerves.

You're asleep, lips parted against your pillow and a piece of hair fluttering in front of your face with every exhale. Joel approaches your bedside and tucks it safely behind your ear. You don't wake, but you hum sleepily, hugging your pillow closer. Joel smiles, satisfaction sinking deep and assured into his core. He's done right by you. You’ll go happily to him. Moth to a gemlike flame.

He wanders around the edge of the bed, gaze lazily indulging in your body as he goes. His cock twitches again with a need he cannot yet meet, the desire to move your panties aside and fill you with him. He does not. He kneels at your bedside, closest to where your legs have scissored apart beneath your sheets. The temptingly sweet call of that warm place between your thighs has Joel shifting your comforter aside and ghosting his fingers across the soft skin of your calf.

Your breathing deepens slightly, like you're sucking in a long mouthful of air, and then you settle. It's the only indication you give that you can feel his presence. And then it’s gone, and he’s hooking his fingers in the waistband of your pretty panties and bestowing upon himself what he's only seen through screens for months.

You're spread open and glistening, an indication of some preceding dream or fantasy playing out in that keen, busy mind. Your body is wholly pliant, so soft and glowing in the faint silvery light streaming in from the window, and it would be so easy to—

No. He will not taste you. If he does, he won’t stop. You need to trust him. There is blood on his hands that hasn’t yet washed clean, and he will not imprint those rust-red fingerprints on your body. You’re his world—what kind of man willingly imparts such pain onto a world he loves?

Some infinitesimal fractal lodged in Joel’s head obliged him to return to you tonight, to cleanse himself of the events that transpired under the illicit cover of night. The very sight of you reminds him what he’s doing this for. He crushes his nose into the wet spot that darkens your panties and inhales deeply, acquiring some sense of what you will taste like. The smell makes his head go fuzzy, intoxicated, tang and sweetness and impending gratification. In your sleep, you sigh, melting against the mattress.

Joel brings your panties back up over your pussy and thinks, Tomorrow.

THE TENANT

You're miserable when Joel knocks on your door the next day.

“He hasn't called me,” you tell him, letting yourself stew, sulking from the feeling of yet another man deciding you weren’t worth a follow-up phone call. “Am I repulsive? Am I a total freak? Is it something in my perfume?”

Joel looks down at you, lips parted as if on the precipice of a response, sweeping his gaze up and down your body. You’re wearing a simple sweater and skirt, but fuck, he can make you feel naked. His gaze penetrates deeper than flesh. It’s only then you realise he’s holding coffee.

Two cups of coffee.

“Oh, Joel,” you sigh, licking your bottom lip. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he says with a crooked smile, his voice a bit raspy, as if caught off-guard. He hands you your favourite drink—caramel macchiato, double espresso—from your favourite place down the block, and you could kiss him with how good it feels to hold the cool, condensation-slick cup in your hands. Your entire body deflates with the first sip.

“You’re my hero,” you tell him. “I mean it.”

Joel shakes his head fondly. “You got a funny sense of heroics.”

“They taste exactly like this,” you say playfully, tracing the rim of the plastic cup. “Thank you, Joel.”

He swipes his thumb across your chin. “It’s only coffee, baby.”

Since last night, something is inexplicably different. A new, once-forbidden boundary has been crossed. It may be technically inappropriate for your landlord to bring you coffee, touch you so intimately, call you baby. But it makes you feel like warm melting honey, and who is to say a feeling like that is wrong?

He’s wearing a blue T-shirt today. His hair is tousled like he slept on it, and your fingers tingle with the anticipatory sensation of how it would feel to take fistfuls of his locks in your hands. He’s stunning. And you catch yourself staring too late, tearing your gaze away the way one retracts their hand after burning it on the stovetop. Your heart skittering, you direct Joel to the sink and plan some excuse in your head for why it has miraculously fixed itself overnight.

But he doesn’t even spare a glance toward any of your appliances. He’s only looking at you.

“I got somethin’ else,” he says, almost shy, reaching into his pocket for a tiny box.

He grimaces when your eyes, wide and obviously panicked, meet his. “Jesus, I didn’t really think about how this looks. I’m not… proposin’, I swear.”

You both release a nervous laugh, but you cannot deny that your nerves are still fluttering at the sight of that simple suede box in his big hands.

He opens the lid and you gasp. It’s your necklace—the very same heart-shaped pendant you had been eyeing up at the festival. It’s shiny and polished and precisely, undeniably, the same one. “Oh my God,” you whisper, gently sliding your finger over the cool golden pendant. “It’s beautiful. Joel, how did you…”

“Turn around,” he says softly, the gentle direction guiding you better than any hand could. You obey, and Joel steps forward until his hard chest is flush to your back. He’s warm and sure and smells so good—cologne and coffee and mint and something potent, like iron—and all your questions fizzle to sparks in the air. You can no longer grasp for them. You reach out and you only find him.

His touch is careful. The heart-shaped pendant settles against your breastbone and shimmers in the afternoon light. Your chest briefly shimmers with the thought that you were made to wear this necklace. His large, rough hands ghost across the back of your neck as he secures the clasp, and you shiver. A single knuckle trails slowly down your spine, bumping every vertebrae on the way.

“It ain't your perfume.” His deep, grumbling voice is equivalent to the scratch of his beard against your temple as his jaw moves with each word. “And you're nothin’ close to repulsive. Look in that mirror and tell me what you see.”

There is a mirror, a full-length one by the entrance to your apartment, and it's surreal to watch your own body turn to face it, to watch yourself defer entirely to the man behind you. It feels nice to just let him steer you every which way.

“I see you,” you tell him, your hand lifting to the pendant on your throat. “And this.”

Joel clicks his tongue, his nose sliding up your temple. “What else do you see?”

You watch your lashes flutter, your head listing slightly to the side. “I see myself.”

“Hmm.” It’s a sound of approval, his palm now sliding around your waist and his arm banding across your body. He presses his hand to your hip bone and pulls you back against him. “Such a beautiful girl in that mirror. Ain't that right?”

“Joel, I…” You can feel his swelling erection prodding your ass and your head feels hazy with a heady, lustful desire you can no longer ignore or dismiss. “I don't think we should be…”

“No?” His mouth curves against your temple and you shiver at the coarse scratch of his moustache on your skin. It feels deliberate, premeditated. “I won’t tell a soul,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking your hip right where the hem of your sweater begins to inch upward. You can see a strip of your own bare stomach in the mirror. He’s making your eyes droop, your lashes flutter, your body light up from one nerve ending to the next, a closed circuit.

Oh, God. His touch is measured, gentle yet barely restrained. It is dipping a finger into the water just as it nears its boiling point. Months of staring and dreaming and retreating to your bed to touch yourself to thoughts of someone you cannot touch have led you here: his necklace, his gift to you, sitting prettily on your throat, his capable hands moulding you slowly to the shape of him. He’s touching you.

“You like me?” His voice rubs hard on your ears, sanding you down, smoothing the rough edges. He lets you linger on the precipice, a firm grip on your hand, letting you make the choice: to let go, or to reel yourself in.

“I like you,” you whisper, snapping the tether and plummeting to the warm, wet earth below.

You watch Joel’s eyes close in the mirror, something like a prayer falling from his lips. It does not take the shape of words—it is gruff and yet soft, hardly loud enough to discern over the ringing in your ears—but it’s so reverent that you can picture yourself falling to your knees at the sound of it.

His hand skims up your waist until he finds your throat, gently pinching your jaw so he can direct the turn of your head. You go easily, tilting your gaze back to rest your temple on his shoulder, as his other hand slides up from your hip to your ribs, grazing the underside of your breast. “You like me enough to touch you like this?”

You gasp, finding an anchor in the deep brown—nearly black, now—of his eyes. They’re warm but they’re dangerous; once you look, the cage door slides shut, and you’re trapped.

This must be one of your many dreams.

“Yes, Joel.”

“Mmm.” He smirks, teasing his tongue across his plush bottom lip. You watch the movement and feel yourself tightening, want want want a chorus in your ears. “You wanna kiss me, baby girl?”

Silently, you nod, your fingers gently sliding through his silky locks while your other hand seeks the strong balancing force of his shoulder. His smile sobers to a deep, stunning severity, and you cannot think to let it frighten you when you’re already slanting your mouth over his.

It starts slowly. His mouth is soft, his hands deftly returning the fervour with which you hold him, cupping the back of your neck with his other hand warming your ribs. A small gasp escapes you, and a rumble of satisfaction passes from his chest through yours, and it flips an ineffable switch inside him.

Joel turns you in his arms, his chest pressed to yours, his hand shooting out to brace against the wall as he walks you back toward it. Sufficiently cornered, you let your body melt into him, his palm now warming your lower back, his tongue feverishly seeking the seam of your lips. You let him pry you open, tasting the coffee and mint on his breath and inhaling the rich scent of him, sticking it with greedy hands to the walls of your brain. You’ll never tire of him, of this.

He kisses you like a glutton seeking more fulfilment, like an aesthete seeking that exhilarating, fleeting moment in time, desperate and unwavering and famished. Tongues slide together, hands grope and wander, fabrics shift. You can feel your sweater lifting at the same time your fingers finally find the hem of his T-shirt, but he beats you to the chase. You’re dizzy by the time he breaks away to remove your shirt, but you dutifully lift your arms to help him.

You seek his mouth again to resume the kiss, but Joel is decidedly feeling pious. He kisses his way down your throat, the necklace dangling from it, your sternum, your belly, sinking to his knees as he goes along. His hands are firm on your hips, squeezing, keeping you in place, while his mouth draws a map of you, eliciting the honeyed sensation of warm water dripping down your body.

“Oh, God,” you whisper, your head knocking back against the wall. It's so much. You've never been the object of attention quite like this, the marble statue at which the devout kneel, obsessive in their worship. You've never had a man fall to his knees to put his mouth all over you.

Has he wanted you as long as you’ve pined for him?

Joel grunts, his lips dragging open-mouthed kisses from one hip to another, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your skirt and yanking it down. You yelp, grasping his shoulders.

Joel only growls into your skin, his hands dropping to your ass and kneading you while he continues down past your hips. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he grumbles. “So goddamn pretty. Don’t know how I waited this fuckin’ long. Jesus, baby girl, you're perfect. Goddamn perfect.”

His ramblings are poison. Every word infects, squeezing out your healthy cells, replacing them with the delicious scrape of fire against the ceiling of a room. The scratch of his beard. The sweet nurturing sound of his voice. The cared-for sensation of being kissed and touched and spoken to like you're someone worth a second date. Like you're worth the price of all the world and a couple stars, too.

And so the words slip out, shy and whisper-quiet and your cheeks burning hot enough to blister.

“Please, Daddy…”

Joel’s hands tighten on your body, a fractional movement that kicks up the frantic beating of your heart. He tilts his head back to gaze up into your eyes and you feel more naked with that single stare than ever before.

“That what you need, sweet thing?” he says, pressing his lips to your inner thigh. “You need Daddy to make you feel good?”

“Mhm,” you whine, the pitch of your voice pathetic and needy. You watch him crush his nose into your inner thigh, nipping at your sensitive flesh, and his name leaves your mouth in a sob.

“‘m gonna need words,” he commands, biting you again in reproach. “Talk to me, baby girl. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to make me come,” you plead, grasping his soft greying hair in your fingers. “Please.”

“You gonna call me what you wanna call me?” he prompts, smacking your thigh. “C’mon, baby, lemme hear it.”

“Daddy!” you cry out, your hand tightening in his locks. “Fuck, Daddy, please make me come.”

Joel growls, bringing your soaked panties down your legs. Your knees nearly knock together, but he’s shouldering his way between them, bringing one up onto his wide shoulder. You're spread open like this, bared plainly for your landlord to feast upon at his will. The sight of his lips parted, waiting and ready to take your pussy into his mouth, has you trembling.

He gives a slow, experimental lick, sliding the flat of his tongue through your wet slit. You shudder, your head lolling against the wall. One teasing drag of his tongue and you’re butter, humming and whimpering for more, Daddy, please as he takes his fucking time tasting what you have to offer.

“Goddamn sweet,” he grumbles, his blunt nails digging crescent moons into the flesh of your ass, pulling your body flush to him. “Waited so fuckin’ long for this.” You watch the fire ignite from red- to blue-hot in Joel’s eyes, his gaze shuttering as he loses himself, devoted entirely to the process of unravelling you.

The next time he dips his tongue between your folds, he does it deliberately, calculated, as if he has already memorised your shape and now seeks to pry you open. He parts your lips to make way for his mouth, hot and soft against your clit. Softly, you cry out, watching as he presses a featherlight kiss to your pearl. You try to grind against his face, needing more, but a resounding slap to your ass stops you dead.

“No takin’ what I don’t give,” he says. “You understand me?”

You pout, but you nod your head anyway.

He decides it isn’t good enough and abruptly takes your clit between his teeth in a scolding bite.

“Repeat. It.”

“I’ll only take what you give,” you tell him. “I’ll be good.”

Apparently satisfied, he hums, diving back in and finally—finally—sucks on your needy clit. “Oh!” He’s eager, sure, but he’s practised. He’s meticulous in the way he applies pressure to your clit, lapping at you greedily and pulling back to draw your pleasure into measured tidal waves. You crest only to recede from shore, and then his lips suction to you again, his hand snaking around to your front and pressing down on your lower belly.

“Fuck!” you squeak, your stomach tightening as the dizzying pleasure overcomes you. “Joel, I’m gonna—!”

The orgasm pulls you under, drowning you with a forceful hand, your lungs sucking in mouthfuls of air. You seize, your heel digging into Joel’s muscled back, your fingers fisting his hair, your cunt clenching desperately around nothing, begging to be filled. Joel keeps his mouth on you all the while, licking you through your high, and you think it’s a benevolent act until your orgasm gently fades and he continues to make out with your pussy as if it never happened.

“Ah! Joel, please—” It’s so much. Too much; your pussy contracts relentlessly at the endless attention from his tongue, happily licking your clit and relishing the faint throbbing underneath it. It’s like he’s starved. His eyes are closed, his beard glistening with your wetness, his fingers dimpling your flesh as he pulls you right along to another high.

Two thick fingers gather up the juices you’ve leaked onto your thighs and push them back into your hole, insistent in their desire to enter. You gasp, your heart in your fucking throat: “That’s only two?”

He chuckles, but the vibration only makes you jump, letting his fingers sink inside your cunt to the knuckle. “Oh, fuck, fuck, Daddy, that feels so good, please make me come again, I need it, please—!”

Joel groans into your pussy, curling his fingers toward him so they press against a spongy spot inside you that sends your head spinning, your mind folding in on itself. All you know is the next orgasm, the best way to get him to give it to you, the fastest way to reach that indelible place once more, just once more—

Joel’s hand applies more pressure to your belly, and you scream, clawing desperately at his shoulder as you give yourself over to something much, much stronger than an orgasm. It’s foreign, the creeping sensation of an invader taking up residence in your body. You cannot see, cannot hear. It assumes control, tearing a cry from your mouth and locking all your limbs tight and splashing your wetness all over Joel’s chin, beard, shirt.

You think he only stops because you begin to list; he catches you around the hips and presses a soft kiss to your used little clit. “Mmmmm,” is vaguely how you manage to thank him, your eyes peeling slowly open.

“I know, baby girl,” he says, stroking your hip bone with his thumb. He litters kisses all over your thighs, coaxing you through the minute twitching of your muscles as they relax. “You did so good for me, pretty girl. So fuckin’ beautiful. My sweet girl.”

You shiver in his grasp, watching as he makes his way back up your body. He swipes his forearm across his wet beard and you moan a little at the sight. “Nobody’s ever…”

Joel crowds you, his hand cupping the back of your neck so he can guide your gaze up to him. “That's what you don't understand, sweetheart,” he says. “You can try to find another man to make you happy, but he won't be me. I’m the only one who’s gonna treat you right.”

“Joel…” Sense begins to push at the edges of your brain, but you only slump further into his touch, letting him secure your hair behind your ear. “This isn't right,” you whisper. “I pay you every month to live here. People will know. People will talk about me.”

“People have suffered worse for a hell of a lot less.”

You have no time to decode his words because he grabs your hand and presses your palm over his chest. Beneath the shirt and the warm, tanned skin, you feel a strong, rapid heartbeat, hammering away at his ribs. He maintains eye contact, the gaze incisive, peering right into the cluster of wiring inside your head that calls his name. “You feel my heart and you tell me this ain't real. You think this ain't love? You think it's obsession? Infatuation? Think I can’t see you lookin’ at me the way you do?”

His words pin you to the ground. They’re possessive, covetous—jealous. He wants you, and he knows you want him. All these months, he’s wanted you the way you’ve craved him; all the comforts and the roses and the baked goods in lieu of payment for substantial repair jobs; the times he’s let slide some late payments because I know it’s tough sometimes, the inexplicable kindnesses in your everyday.

Joel Miller dedicated himself to you the second you arrived to see the prospective apartment.

“You’re mine,” he says, his thumb stroking your jaw. “And I wanna hear you say it.”

People will call you a whore. They’ll think you’re pimping yourself out for cheaper rent. They’ll send you filthy looks. But the man in front of you makes you feel wanted. Desired. You’re better than all the dates that failed. You’re better than a shitty boss who won’t give you the raise you deserve. Joel is good to you. He’s always been.

“I’m yours, Joel Miller,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “Now please take me to bed.”

He grins, taking your hand and leading you to your bedroom. You get grabby straight away, fingering the hem of his shirt with a pleading look in your eye. You can still see the evidence of your orgasm staining the collar. “You can take it off, baby,” he says with that cocky smile, letting you lift the shirt over his head. In the sunlight, the grey in his hair shimmers, and his chest is bared to you. You lick your lips, placing your hands on his broad shoulders just to feel the way your palms contour to his dips and curves.

You lean in and put your lips to his neck, tracing the shape of him down to the hollow of his throat, He tastes faintly of fresh air and sweat, and he smells like you. Your hands admire the warmth and strength underneath them, his body so tangible when only yesterday it was a distant dream. He lets you indulge, though his hands flex at his sides, and your fingers fumble with his belt buckle.

“Help,” you mumble against his chest, bumping your nose into him. Joel chuckles, relieving you of your burden and shucking off his belt. It clinks along the floor somewhere nearby, and you can unbutton his jeans to bring them down, freeing his hard, throbbing cock.

Your mouth waters at the sight. He’s thick and slightly curved, the tip leaking precum onto his belly, his balls heavy with the need to come. During those long nights after long days of work, you would imagine, for hours on end, what lingered just below his belt; the little trail of hair leading down his soft belly to your destination; the way his wide shoulders would bracket your body, shelter you from all the tough shit you could possibly suffer. You would picture all the ways you could thank him. You bite your bottom lip and ready yourself to sink to your knees, but Joel is having none of it. He attacks your mouth, kissing you deeply, his hands sliding up your back as if he's trying to count every vertebrae. He doesn't relent even when your knees hit the edge of the bed and you collapse backward onto the mattress. He only crawls over you and pins you beneath his hard body.

“So pretty like this,” he says, lowering his head and nudging your chin upward with his nose to give himself better access to your throat. He sucks and nips at you all the way down, pausing at your heaving breasts. His fingers gently toy with one stiff nipple while his mouth occupies itself with the other, teasing it with his tongue and his teeth. You moan softly, content to watch him explore your body, squeezing your tits before he migrates downward.

“Daddy,” you whisper, stroking his hair away from his face, your head falling back onto the pillows as his fingers part your folds once more. “Fuck, please, touch me. I need you inside me.”

Joel settles in between your open legs and takes his cock in his hand. You mewl for him, determined in the face of his big cock to fit it nicely inside you. “Mmm, you ready for me, baby girl? You need Daddy to fill you up, use you like a pretty little toy?”

You’re nodding frantically, the words igniting you. “Please take me.”

Joel slaps the head of his cock against your clit, once, twice, watching your thighs twitch. Spreading the slick wetness from your pussy onto the tip, he finally guides himself to your hole and notches just inside.

“Jesus,” he utters. “Jesus, you're a fuckin’ dream.”

“It’s real,” you pant, “I’m real.”

He begins to disappear inside you, wrenching you open, your poor pussy disused from going so long without decent sex. You feel the pinching pain give way to a delicious pressure in your core as he eases into you, taking it slow despite his taut jaw, his gritted teeth. Your cunt forms a tight seal around his length, your arousal lubricating his entry, and you feel lightheaded. He’s so fucking big—and he’s still going.

“Oh, my… Joel—”

“I know, baby.” He brings his thumb to your clit and helps you relax with every circular swipe. “I know what y’like.”

You keen up against him, your thighs squeezing his hips. He's only halfway inside you and it feels like being filled up to your throat, choking on the air you breathe. Your head falls back, your hands flying up to your tits and squeezing.

“Daddy…”

One of Joel’s hands overlaps yours where it grasps your breast. “That’s my girl. You can take me. Always knew you could.” Still, he's panting with the exertion of holding back.

“You thought about me?” you say coyly, trying to pull him deeper inside you. He obliges, if only because you're being so petulant, and his hips finally knock into yours. You release a bone-deep sigh of relief.

“All I do”—his hips thrust shallowly, baring his teeth as he paws at your thighs—“is think about you.”

You cry out at the angle, the depth he reaches, how thick and heavy he sits inside you. Your pussy sucks him in, begging for more, and Joel obliges by hooking his hand in the back of your knee and pushing your thigh toward your chest.

Your vision whites, a ragged cry leaving your mouth. “Oh, fuck! Yes, yes, yes, that feels so good—”

“‘s right, baby girl. I’m the only one’s gonna fuck you this good,” Joel grits out, dragging his thick cock along your walls, spreading you open, forcing himself to fit. The head of his cock kisses your cervix with every thrust, measured in their intensity, just enough to drive you up the goddamn wall but never enough to sting. “I’m the only one you want.”

Your mouth is open and his pounding urges a steady rush of ah, ah, ahs up your throat. Joel leans over you and tilts your head back with a hand in your hair to slant his mouth over yours. He lets you pour your cries into his mouth and he swallows them down, fucking you so hard that your hips begin to ache.

He smatters your jaw with sloppy kisses. You lift your hand to his face and trace the patches in his beard, your brows drawn together in your perpetual haze.

“I dreamed about you,” you whisper, taking his earlobe between your teeth to make him growl against your skin. “Touched myself thinking about you.”

“I know,” he says, his hips grinding hard against yours, rubbing up against your used clit. He answers your gasp by nibbling your throat, and you keep him fixed to you with your hand at the back of his neck. His soft hair is matted with sweat and you want to bury yourself here, etch the shape of him into your stone. He's strong, capable, so present in this moment that your heart begins to throb to the beat of his.

Joel surges upward and takes you with him, forcing you to sit on his lap. At this angle, his cock reaches deeper, somehow, your mouth falling open and your forehead dropping to his shoulder. His palm is a soothing presence on your sweaty back as he tells you things that make you flush from your chest to your ears.

“Thought about takin’ you on the goddamn bar last night,” he grunts, guiding your ass in a rolling rhythm along his lap, his cock gliding slowly along your walls. You moan, your thighs shaking around his hips. “Thought about spreadin’ you over my desk and fuckin’ you dumb with my cock.”

You sob into the crook of his neck, grinding down on his cock, the pressure of his navel against your clit sparking hot in your lower belly. “What else?” you ask, nipping at the strong muscle where his shoulder meets his neck. Your tits are pressed up against his chest, his warmth engulfing you, your body slowly lowering over him as he guides you the way he likes.

His palm coasts down your spine until he finds your puckered asshole. His name is jagged and rubbed raw on your tongue.

“Shhh, baby girl.” The pad of his finger teases your hole with just enough pressure to ooze electric ecstasy down your spine. “Feels good, doesn't it?”

Fuck, his voice is so gentle, so knowing. You curl your fingers in his hair, your nose tickled by the locks that curl over his ears.

“Mmmhmm,” you mewl, lifting your hips as best you can despite the growing aches, telegraphing your desire to be touched by him—played with.

“Thaaat’s it,” he coos, his nose nudging your cheek as he turns his head. His finger continues to prod your asshole while his hips buck up into you. “Openin’ up for me like a good girl. You’d let me take you wherever I want, hmm? Whenever I want?”

“Yes, Daddy, yes,” you moan, your mouth perpetually open against the skin of his neck. You can’t think. You can't breathe. You can only drink down mouthfuls of him and let your body succumb to the delicious weight of his cock inside you. “Yes, I’ll be your little slut. I’ll be whatever you want. You make me feel so good.”

He seems pleased with your babbling, grinning into your cheek as he keeps you spread wide and pounds up into you. His finger continues to tease your tight hole until he feels your body contract around him and apparently decides that he isn't quite through with you.

“Turn around. Hands and knees.”

Who are you to refuse?

You lament the brief loss of his cock as you shift into your knees, resting your forearms on the bed and teasing him with a wiggle of your ass. Joel hums appreciatively, sidling up behind you and grinding his hard cock between your asscheeks. You jolt forward, but he catches you around the waist and warms his palm at your ribs.

Something warm and wet lands in a glob on your asshole, and you realise he fucking spit on you. Your head spins, dizzied by your own arousal, and soon, the warm, wet head of his cock slips back inside your hole, and you relish the refuge of being taken by him all over again.

“You wanna know what else?” He begins to fuck you hard and fast and almost angry in its intensity. His thrusts knock against your ribcage and rattle the bars, your heart floundering for a way back to the surface. “I thought about knockin’ on your door every goddamn day and putting my dick in this pretty fuckin’ pussy. Thought about your tight fuckin’ body every single time I saw you walk by and a long time after. I thought about the noises you'd make and Jesus, I was right. So goddamn sweet.”

You’re drooling onto the pillow, your eyes rolling back in your head, your fingers uselessly clasping handfuls of your white sheets. Joel is an animal, mounting you from behind and taking you hard, deep, the slick squelching noises of your coupling so crude and indecent that they burn through your ears like a lit fuse. It's wrong. You never should have kissed him. But wrong shouldn't feel like this.

Wrong shouldn’t taste like mint and coffee, shouldn't smell like roses and sawdust. Wrong shouldn’t feel like his cock sitting snug inside your pussy, some obscene jigsaw, seeping saplike pleasure down your spine.

This must be right.

His hands are rapacious, one wrapping around your hair and the other guiding the bend of your back, arching you perfectly to fit him while he takes you the way he likes. “Such a tease in those pretty dresses. Such a prim and proper girl ‘til she gets the right dick. You’ll get on your knees for this dick, baby girl, won't you? You’ll beg for it like a goddamn whore.”

“I will!” you moan, your cheek pressed into the mattress. The force of his thrusts have you travelling up the bed in minuscule movements, his thighs slapping hard against yours. “Fuck, I will, Daddy! Please, Daddy, I wanna make you feel good, I’ll do anything.”

“You're doin’ such a good job already, sweet thing,” he says, using his leverage on your hair and your waist to yank you upright, his chest pressed to your back, your ass now firmly sat in his lap. You moan long and low at the new angle, your back arching and your toes curling.

Joel groans against your jaw, his mouth travelling along the line of it in sloppy kisses that indicate he's about as close as you are. “Yeah, baby. Fuckin’ drunk on my cock. Fucked you good and dumb, hmm? Fucked you so good you can't even think.”

You can only manage a low whine, the sound of it a fleeting puff of air from your lips, the oxygen in your lungs depleting and replaced with the smell of him. You try to bounce on his dick—you really do try—but you cannot remember how to work the muscles in your thighs. You cannot remember what you had for breakfast nor the colour of the skirt you wore today. You can only vaguely understand the shape of the man behind you, the name that belongs to him, the way you curve and fit into him. You’re falling, the technicolour world outside your window fading to the sound of soft, beating wings—that may be your heart, fluttering in your ears—as you seize, yielding to the pleasure.

You will not recall the sounds you make when you come, grasping blindly at his thighs to keep yourself from falling over, your ears ringing. You feel his moustache scratching your jaw and his cock working you through your high, slowing his thrusts to help you land softly on solid ground. You may cry out his name, and you may call him something else entirely. But it's vibrant. It's radiant as the sunlight now dipping behind the distant buildings. It tastes just as sweet as the golden hour.

Joel does not stop fucking you when your body goes limp in his arms. No, he resumes his brutal pace, using you like a fucking toy to get himself off. You happily take it, your head lolling back against his shoulder and your eyes drooping.

“Nnh, fuck… I’m gonna… Jesus—oh, fuck—”

His hips press flush to your ass and he nuzzles his face into your throat, depositing kisses and love bites all over your skin as he pumps shallowly into you, his hot cum filling you up and leaking generously around the seal of your cunt. You gasp, your fingers threading through his already-tousled hair, keeping him glued to you as he flexes against your body and comes hard enough to double himself over.

He collapses on top of you, forcing you to bend at the hip, little puffs of air escaping his mouth and seeping into you. You whine, your sore hips battered and bruised, your pussy deliciously abused as you pulse continuously around his dick. “Joel, please…”

He comes slowly back into his body, his lips trailing down your spine as he lifts himself upright. “Shit. ‘m sorry, baby girl. You feel okay?”

You hum happily, letting yourself pant into the mattress. “Feels so good.”

Joel pulls out, savouring the tight drag of his cock out of your pussy, hissing through his teeth and watching his thick cum dribble slowly out of your hole. “Such a fuckin’ pretty sight. My sweet girl, all used up.”

You drop your face into your forearm and giggle. Joel smooths his hand over your lower back. “What's so funny?”

“Just…” You sound a bit hysterical as you continue to laugh. “I’m going to be late on rent this month. I put a down payment on a car.”

Joel lowers himself next to you and gently pulls you into him, his moustache tickling your cheek. “Planning on gettin’ the hell outta dodge?” he says playfully, nipping your earlobe.

Your eyes droop and you sink into him. “Think I’ll stay here for a while.”

“I know you will, baby,” he murmurs.

“Joel?”

“Hmm.”

“Thank you for the necklace.”

It’s night when you next wake, and Joel is next to you.

For someone so stern and strong, he looks utterly serene in his sleep. His lips are slightly parted, half his face pressed into the pillow, his hair curling around his ears and his arm lazily draped over you. You gently sweep a lock of hair away from his face.

Through the dark, the red light beams, and the arm around your waist tugs you closer.

THE END.

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #tlou hbo

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jamil-s-wifey · 9 months

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If you're taking any scenario request. Maybe could I request funny/silly one where Leona and his S/O are married and live in the Royal Palace. Leona's S/O has gotten lost somehow in their own home and when found their response is "This place is too damn big I'm sorry!"

You have NO idea how much I love these types of fics! Wholesome crackheadedness at its finest✨ We love a spouse with 0 orientation skills. (I'd know, I get lost in supermarkets) This was ONE OF THE FUNNIEST THINGS I've EVER written. I hope you enjoy!

"What the actual fuck."

A turn here. A turn there.

Oh, would you look at that - the exact same vase you passed 5 minutes ago. But was that really the same vase? Or was it its evil twin, trying to further confuse you, only for you to get lost even more and die of starvation, eventually BECOMING ONE WITH THE PALACE...

God, whoever built this palace should have their head on a stake. Haha, that sounded a lot like the Red Queen of Hearts. Perhaps Riddle was rubbing off on you. You two did text occasionally since graduating from NRC.

Speaking of graduation, you married Leona. (yay!) And it's not like you weren't happy. Life was relatively peaceful. You two moved back to the palace. Arrangements had begun for you two to take over a certain part of Sunset Savannah, as something akin to a *Peerage. (They had their own name for it, you are currently far too annoyed to remember.) A lot of (semi-forced) communication set the road to reconciliation between the two brothers. (Admittedly a very long road. A road that puts Gulliver's travels to shame.) The Royal Family™️ accepted you with open hearts. (albeit a tad wary at first)

Really there was only one major problem.

The ROYAL PALACE IS LIKE A GODDAMN LABYRINTH. And that's rich, given your history of painting the white roses with Ace and Deuce in Heartsabyul's maze. So here you are, lost.

Scratch that.

Lost: again.

And all you wanted to do was find Cheka's room. You had a gift for the little cub.

"An architectural masterpiece, my ass. This is an architectural disaster. A disaster with a capital D. D for Vitamin D - what I won't be getting, because I'm trapped within these walls, where the SUN CAN'T REACH ME-"

Okay. Calm down. It's not that bad, sure there isn't a soul in sight, but you're bound to stumble upon somebody at some point, right? There had to be servants, or guards, or somebody! UNLESS! This is all an elaborate plan to get rid of you.

Aha! That must be it. The Royal Family wants you dead and they intend to make it seem like an accident! But Leona wouldn't allow that, right? He loves you! Dearly! You're his spouse, his one and only! Ah, cruel fate.

Is it just you...or are these walls moving in on each other. So this IS an assassination attempt! And you presented yourself on a silver platter. Good job, s/o. Splendid work. A royal for a few months and you're already about to be assassinated. Your name shall remain the book of "Dumbest ways to die." Goodbye cruel world-

"S/o."

Leona's voice rang through the empty hallway, "What are you doing out here."

Ah! And so tragedy was avoided once more!

"Leona, my LOVE! Thank God."

"Did you just- get lost in the palace... again?", his eyes read annoyance but his tone was teasing.

"It's not MY fault this place is so damn big, what do you need all this space for anyways? Indoor badminton? Hide and Seek or Die?"

"Definitely that last one. That's how we get rid of our enemies."

"AHA! I knew it! So this IS an assassination attempt!"

He simply rolled his eyes, pulling you towards him to wrap an arm around your waist and kiss you on the forehead.

"This isn't an assassination attempt. You did this yourself. It's called idiocy."

"You should build a better palace."

"What I should do is put a collar on you. With a tracking device on it. Like a pet."

"Oh, Leona~ Who knew you were into that~"

"Next time I'm leaving you here to rot."

"Then I'll haunt you to Hell and back."

He smirked, pinching your cheek as you were both making your way far from the cursed looping corridor.

"At least you won't be able to get lost."

"I told you, it's not my fault."

"Nah, of course not. The Palace is just cursed."

"EVIDENTLY."

You both knew this isn't the last time you'll be getting lost. And Leona was seriously considering the tracking device.

Perhaps he'd already ordered it too.

You were about to find out.

*Peerage - collective noun for titles like Duke, Duchess, Count, Earl etc. Comes from "Peers of the Realm" where one could hold one or more of these titles. It differs from monarchy to monarchy. THAT'S YOUR WORD FOR THE DAY FOLKS!

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poofiewoofie · 8 months

Text

[ In which Damian Wayne is dipped into the lazarus pits as a babe in order to ensure his perfection. During one such event, something comes out with him. ]

Cue overprotective ghost big bro wreaking havoc in the league of assassins and, eventually, the batfam.

The relationship between Danny and Damian is simply:

Dami: He don't bite.

Literally anybody, getting mauled the moment they even look at Damian weird: YES HE DO

Some notes if I were to ever write this into anything:

This fic would take place in the "future". Danny, a borderline immortal being, has long since outlived his friends and family (with a few exceptions like Dani and a few people becoming ghosts). With this in mind, he doesn't really leave the ghost zone anymore unless he's incredibly bored. Aaaand since the ghost zone operates on a different scale of time and ghosts are weird, he's a bit out of his depth when he leaves. Thus: he embraces his ghost side almost full time.

Danny is of course the ghost king because you can't have a dpxdc fic without that trope.

Damian is 100% shipped to Bruce early, only because the league Can Not™️ with the kid's eldritch guard dog.

Danny "pranks" the league by being a creepy little shit. That, and doing the stupidest shit. Like slowly filling Ra's Al Ghul's private room with rubber ducks until it becomes unbearable.

Let it be said that Ra's has definitely debated just murking his grandson to stop the rubber duck rebellion.

Danny doesn't like Bruce. Of all the batfam, he has it out especially for him. Probably something to do with being rich and having a creepy underground lair.

You know who Danny does like? Jason. Wow, what a shocker.

Danny also definitely cheers Damian on when he tries to impale any of his adoptive siblings. It's a love language.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny being the biggest little shit #and a horrible role model

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eilidh-eternal · 2 months

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🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

Ohhhhhh I have SO MANY recommendations!

@yeyinde their entire masterlist. Absolutely transformative experience reading anything and everything Lev writes. I want to be her when I grow up

@groguspicklejar Chink In the Armor! Best medieval Ghoap AU I’ve ever read!!!! Mafia!141 is so deliciously angsty and she captures it soooo perfectly! Kelsi is absolutely my go to for any and all Kyle pretty boy Garrick reads!!!

@gemmahale Gemma my beloved🖤 everything she writes is literal treasure. Priceless. Deserving of a pretty glass case and soft leather bindings. There are worlds in her head I could not dream up in 100 lifetimes, and her OC’s are sooo complex and well rounded!

@peachesofteal once again, her entire masterlist. Everything she writes is guaranteed to leave me staring at the damn wall with the loading circle spinning on my forehead, wishing I could jump through my screen and live in the worlds she writes

@luminousbeings-crudematter Folie á Deux, Donner Party, and Land Softly are some of my favorites! I still need to work my way through the rest of Lumi’s masterlist😅 but the way she writes Simon 😳 my enclosure only has so many bars, I’m going to have to replace it soon

@391780 oh god too many to count! I looooove the way Early writes dark!141 and ALL of her stories highlight and praise big soft bodies🥰 she also does comic relief INSANELY well, and I just know anytime I sit down to read her fics I’m gonna have a good laugh (get wrecked König)

@moondirti I have just read the first part of Cabin fever and I am already IN LOVE with Dee and their writing style! Cannot wait to read more when I have the chance!

@ceilidho I was not a Price girly when I started getting into CoD, but Ceil’s take on him has irreversibly altered my brain chemistry🫠 and her characterization of a darker Simon?! Canon. She’s in charge now.

@auspicioustidings OH MY GOD!!!! Mhairi just started Ae Fond Kiss and I am so, so, sooooo in love with the concept for this fic! It’s already incredibly gut wrenching and I know I’m gonna be a sobbing mess throughout this series! Truly on the edge of my seat!!!

@pfhwrittes P has such a wrinkly brain! I’m absolutely in love with their Here Be Kink and Dealing Drugs and Feelings collections! Absolutely phenomenal writing! Everything they write is so dark, decadent and rich🤤

@kaadaaan Offer Me His Hunger is such a beautifully written descent into madness and obsession, and Vi does a truly immaculate job of portraying it! I chew on drywall thinking about this DAILY!!!!

@ohbo-ohno PUPPY! SOAP! Don’t Leave Me Locked In Your Heart was the beginning of a very transformative experience for me and with every new fic Bo writes I descend further into madness😵‍💫 I cannot unsee Soap with big puppy eyes and a pouty face and I think Bo should be on the writers team for his “surprise I’m not dead but guess what? I’m Very Fucked Up™️ now” story arc in MWIV bc that was not him in that tunnel

@glossysoap The go-to for any and all Captain related thoughts! Price and 09’ Soap can captain my ship anytime as long as it’s Glossy’s version🫡 Peppers is absolutely deserving of it’s namesake🥵

@charliemwrites never misses! All of her characterizations are spot-fucking-on and she has a wonderful selection of CoD characters that span multiple genres! I’m particularly in love with Woof Woof Johnny🥴 (nasty little freak🖤) and Fields of Elation

@vanderilnde RUGBY! PLAYER! SOAP! He’s dirty and nasty and pervy and pathetic!!!! What more could you want from a man like him? And the way Orion writes him…… CHEWING ON GLASS! I love when soap is a pathetic little whore and Orion NAILED IT!!!

@the-californicationist Oooohhhhh Guile and Guilt was one of the first CoD fics I ever read and it lives in my head 24/7, even when Johnny is whispering Nasty™️ ideas in my ear. The story, the poetry, the characterizations…. IT’S LITERAL PERFECTION!!!!

#eilidh’s asks #author recs #fic recs

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the-moon-files · 3 months

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Man, I love the trope of aliens being terrified of humans, and I've seen some fics of human!reader reacting differently to stuff like posions/plants in hyrule, but this is in another level! We are indestructible! I mean, I could live on Death Mountain! With the Gorons! It's literally a dream come true!

Also, the urge this would give me to give them all the hugs and piggy back rides whenever it gets cold/windy/whatever extreme condition.

If Hylians would be surprisingly light, would they be light enough for me to pick up Time? Just get that big ass man with a bunch of armor on my back? Because new need unlocked.

NEW NEED UNLOCKED INDEEEEDDD. (touches my fingertips together like a villain up to no good)

CREDIT FOUND!! (Who did it first!):

IDK who it was but someone mentioned in a rlly old 2023-2022? LU x human reader post abt the hylians being lighter in comparison to humans!! If i find who it is, or if u recognize u wrote abt smth similar pls leave a comment so I can @ you!! /gen

@wayfayrr :D ive been in humans are space orcs fandom (is it a fandom? More like endless AU idea ppl wrote abt on tumblr) for Years, and ofc i never thought to put with Loz this past year or 2 getting into this fandom dammit - UR WORKS AMAZING THANK YOU SM FOR MERGING MY 2 FAVS AND LIKING/REBLOGGING THIS HOT MESS 😭😭

GOD i NEED to play TP bc u can hold cats like this?? and u get to see LINK do it??? 😭😭

Sun: technically Masc! Reader but not explicit (you/he/him), coule be Gender Neutral, Human Reader

Orbit: headcanons-ish

Stars: The Classic Chain of Links

Comets & Meteors: Content: in Four’s desc. mentioned “diving into chest”, & Triggers: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

A kinda 2nd part/expansion to this post!

no bc the “i can live wherever tf i want” was secretly part of why i wrote that post (so sue me, i wanna be able to follow wild around his hyrule w/o getting nuked)

OMFG SO GLAD SOMEONE WANTS TO TALK ABT HOW AFFECTIONATE YOU’D GET BC OF THIS TOWARDS THE LINKS (anduseitasanexcusehahai mean what? whatd i say??)

There’s only 2 types of Links in this hyrule(s):

Who’s already down with being cuddled at the slightest/not so slightest inconvenience??:

Wild

(unsurprisingly, also if anyone teases him he just teases right back that not only is it “for survival”, but also look he’s “getting Guide Cuddles™️ and You’re Not” lmao,

would sleep right up against ur bedroll every night if u let him, likes when you commit to the cuddle (even if he goes a little red), like wrapping arms + legs around him, adores fireside cuddles, has said on multiple occasions that nothing makes him feel safer than holding onto you, and how he can’t go back to doing things like this on his own anymore 😭😭😭

his favorite cuddle is whatever you give him LMAO u can always count on Wild if your ever feeling like u need to cuddle smth blonde and cute lol - he constantly offers or initiates it himself <33 )

Sky

another unsurprising one, his favorite time to cuddle is when it’s cold outside, or windy, and he can just get under a blanket and take a nap with you,

esp if it’s both and he can convince you to lay partially on him for heated + weighted human blanket purposes, he’s literally staring at you with sparkles in his eyes as soon as a breeze goes by lol

his Loftwing/Crimson wasn’t rlly able to fly u long distances u find out!! :( Hylians are just so light that ofc that explains why they can ride these pelican/ostrich creations for hours, whereas the bird can only rlly manage 20 minutes of low flying with you (+ Sky) on its back, but that’s fine, bc u figured out how to “shield surf” rlly fast down slopes to keep up with Sky flying low, and by “shield surfing” i mean, shocking Wild into jaw-dropped silence as he watches you fly by completely barefoot 👍

(after all, ur skin has to be pretty tough/thick to be able to handle the weather/environmental conditions, and finding out u can withstand lava? yeah this is nothing turns out)

secretly loves piggyback rides, but never asks, u just see him get this look in his eyes, and shuffling in place just behind you lol

Wind

touch starved, but what Link isnt lol

his favorite is piggyback rides, since he was raised by his grandma, and there weren’t a whole lot of close, young adults to pick him up as a kid

so now, he takes FULL advantage of u being able to easily pick him up lol

one time u guys were going uphill while a pleasant breeze was blowing-

actually it was gale force winds.

but ur you, so it took Wind flying backwards into you to realize. he also screeched at you for “ABANDONING ME- YOURE GONNA MAKE ME, A LITTLE GUY LIKE ME, CRAWL UP THIS?? HOW COULD YOU-” you give him piggy back rides whenever it’s windy.

will treat u like his own personal ship whenever ur both in the water, which consists of him yelling sailor terms like “turn starboard! raise the sails!” while sitting on ur shoulders while u get slammed (gently buffeted, really) by waves

Hyrule

shy, shy, shy, shy-

the quintessential:

“👉👈 🥺 is it okay, if we maybe hug rn?? I'm just rlly cold, and i know u said you didnt mind, and I saw Wild and Sky just laying on you, sorry if this is weird-”

Hyrule, sweets, you literally love him more than life itself, of course you’ll cuddle the fairy boy

the more excited he gets = the more likely to jump on ur back/wrap his arms around ur waist happily, esp since he’s an extra cutie patootie and will subconsciously seek u out if the environment gets a little rough

Sets an Amazing example for the other Links, not too clingy when ur busy, great at latching onto ur back when things get tough for him, asks politely and thanks you everytime he gets down <3

Hyrule is eternally fascinated by whatever u do, u just walk thru flood waters like it’s nothing and while the rest are used to it by now, he’s the only Link looking at you like your some kind of god 💗💘💖💕🙈

accidentally squeezed ur arm muscles one time when he saw u doing that thing where u curl ur arm and Wind/Wild were able to hang off of it,

you both just stared at each other for a solid minute before his ears turned down and he went completely red and apologized profusely for 5 minutes, before you just scooped him up too lmao (his face after tho)

Four

depending on the cuddle he gets shy sometimes, even worse if more than 1 Link is looking at you two, in which he will attempt to escape ur arms.

keyword being attempt.

you just wrap ur legs around him and trap him instead lol

likes to cuddle you somehow where he’s not in the way but you can keep doing whatever it is you were busy with

if he splits, then u can fucking bet Red is the first to dive into ur chest- unless there is literally, actively, a threat right in front of him, he’s going for it lol, Green loves to wrap his arms around one of yours and just hang off u all day, Blue will wait until ur sitting somewhere and flop on ur legs to purposely trap u there, the little shit, and Vio just likes hugs. he’s such a sweetheart, he just loves being wrapped up and wrapping you up 🥺

And who must be Convinced. (most to least)

Legend

fully expected,

silly man thinks he’s above love and cuddles, and all the good things in life LMAO came for ur throat again

it'll be below-freezing temperatures, in a cave with a barely there campfire, a blizzard outside, the other heroes complaining at him to just get under the blanket so you’ll get under the blanket,

bc you two are just doing that thing where 2 characters have like a table between them and are fake-out dodging left and right to try and catch the other lmao

is most susceptible to cuddles when he’s tired/injured/sick/sleepy.

it’s a cold morning and u just scootch the Links into a pile and use him as a pillow lol, and as long as no one, not even gods, perceives you two, he’ll let you stay

ok but you definitely caught him from falling into lava one time while on Death Mountain, and had to bridal carry him across half a lava lake back to shore, hehe,

Legend swore everyone there to secrecy on their own graves and favorite items

also refuses to let Ravio know of ur human advantages lol

he just wants the attention on himself as much as he can in between the other Links, no need for more competition

Time

silly man just doesn't think of his needs including affection/emotional comfort,

he only rlly initiates when the circumstances are dire, like gale force winds that he can barely walk thru/starting to slip, desert heat getting to him thru his armor and needs ur cooling touch, etc.

he keeps it as professional as he can, like wrapping an arm around ur shoulders, but you just snatch him by the waist and pick him up half the time, was surprised at first, chain giggled at him, then complained lightly, finally just accepted his fate anytime he touches you lol,

YES you have given him a piggyback ride, when a flood of water burst a dam during a battle/the other Links got out but Time didn't bc of his heavy armor,

so u yoink him up and just stood ur ground against the raging waves and climbed a rock until u weren't submerged anymore, poor guy was so worn out from the battle + the flood that he just let you carry him all the way until u camped for the night, and secretly took a nap 😭

like Legend he can be convinced to rely on u when he’s already vulnerable like sleepy/tired/injured/sick, but he does find himself secretly appreciative someone in the group can just lift his heavy ass in full armor/or someone else if it gets bad enough,

got converted and no longer has to be convinced usually, he just doesn't initiate much so u have to lol

Warriors

YET ANOTHER SILLY MAN!!

whats with all these idiots neglecting themselves, both physically and emotionally??

like boy u cant stand the heat of a desert or blizzard, just let in the cuddles 👹

similar to Time, just more vocal abt how appreciative/advantageous it is to have someone to be able to carry comrades out of harsh conditions or battles easily.

Did Not think abt this applying to himself until you literally swept him off his feet like a classic damsel in distress- mans let out a shriek after taking a second to process everything LMAO-

Loudly and Dramatically complains abt u coming to cuddle him, both just to love on him, and to heat him up in a rainstorm, but hugs you back and holds onto you anyway hehe.

Became the 2nd person to find out you’re immune to lightning.

See, everyone heard Legend talk abt u getting struck in a storm in Wild’s hyrule, but no one really came to full terms with it bc they didn't see it. Warrior is now a full believer. He actually got the closest to pissing his armor he ever has in all of his battles bc he forgot abt the metal in the storm = bad idea, until it was too late and u guys were trying to retreat to regroup, bc there were too many black-bloods, only to get full body tackled by you to avoid getting hit by lightning.

You had to bridal carry him for a minute after bc u just got back up after being hit, (it just felt like you rubbed ur body on the carpet and touched a metal wall, like a full body small static shock) bc he was in such a state of literal horror/shock,

Wars saw your life flash before his eyes 💀

Twilight

HA HA HA- HE NEEDS THE LEAST AMOUNT OF CONVINCING LMAOOO

goofy wolf man has wolf instincts that help ur case as to Why You Need to Pet Twilight’s Hair and Hold His Hand at All Times if Possible.

main reason Twi’s here is bc he thinks his height + weight = him not needing u to hold onto/cuddle as much, and he would be proven wrong HA

actually gets all blushy/shy anytime u pick him up, freezes like a puppy who’s gotten scruffed too lol

likes a lot more casual touch/cuddles, like arm around ur shoulder or his, sitting with legs touching, leaning against u when he’s cold, etc.

omfg funniest thing abt Wars/Time/Twi is that they’re the tallest out of the Links, so they make for extra fun when picking them up, cuddling etc.

but the best thing ever happened one time when Twi was still recovering from the Shadow’s wound, it got reopened/ached so bad he couldn’t run, but u all were trying to retreat at the moment bc Big Boss,

and u just snatched him up into a piggyback ride, his legs comically sticking out, but the best part was that Hylians are light.

so you were able to run full tilt adrenaline powered run, to the point you surpassed the other Links ahead, and had everyone laughing and simultaneously trying to conserve their breath to keep running LMAO

Twi grew up tall/bigger than kids his age, and is another victim of “no adult figures to pick him up when he was younger”, so he gets this little giddy smile when u pick him up lol <3

the first time u put him in a bridal carry for smth like river rushing waters, mans blushed, stuttered abt smth the whole time, and then didnt let go after you tried to put him down, u didnt have the heart to insist, so u just carried him around half of the day 😭

☆

sorry some have less than others, its nearly 2am I'm just riffing kicking my feet and shit, so I'm not being very thorough

i hope u liked my spiral into blonde twink insanity (well theyre kinda on a spectrum of twinkness)

anyway goodnight, and have a great weekend!!

to the 2 other ppl who sent asks, ill get to you soon and thank you sm for sending stuff :’)

Please feel free to send asks for requests or just to chat :)

Peace out,

🌙

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m4k4yl4 · 5 months

Text

Just the two of us[🔥]

Day 1

Summary: When Jeongin and y/n go on their annual Best Friend Christmas Vacation (™️), what happens when they accidentally book the wrong suite..

Content warning: unprotected sex, making out, cum play, teasing, nicknames(baby, sloppy girl), cumming inside, dirty talking, rough sex

Skz 25 days to Christmas fics🎄☃️ series

Masterlist

Posted: 12/01/2023

Y/n sits in the car with jeongin watching the snow fall outside as they make their to the hotel from their annual Christmas vacation, but bo matter home many times they do this every year she still couldn't help but feel so close, too close to him.

His hand laid on the gear shift in the middle of them one move, and his hand would be on her thigh, and that thought played in her mind the whole ride as he sits their oblivious to her feelings, sitting in his matching ugly christmas sweater, tapping his prerty fingers on the wheel to whatever christmas sing came on the radio.

"What are you thinking about?" He glances at her, "Hm? Nothing, why?" She answered a bit fast. He chuckles, "You've had that look on for the 30 minutes. It's your thinking face. Would you like to share with class what's going on up there?" He gives her a playful smile.

She clears her throat before speaking, "it's nothing really, just thinking about what while do once we get to the hotel and everything." She gives a smile back before looking down at her lap arms, starting to cross like she's balling in on herself, hoping he wouldn't ask anymore questions about what she was thinking of.

He takes notice in the movement, taking a glance before moving his hand onto her thigh, "are you cold?" Y/n freezes, her body tensed up at the action, every different scenario and situation played through her head as she looked down at his big hand placed on her, thumb rubbing back and forth on her covered skin.

"Y'know, I told you to wear thicker pants y/n. Those pajamas pants are no use in this weather they're too thin." She gives him a nervous chuckle, not moving her gaze from her leg. "Yeah, of course, sorry. It's just that they're so comfortable.."

"You're lucky I thought of you and brought a blanket just in case." He slips his hand off of her leg, reaching in the back to grab the blanket and handing it to her as she grabs it from him, still mourning the loss of the warmth from his hand. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." The rest of the rise was silent besides the radio playing and the soft sound of snow falling outside. As they finally pull into the parking lot of the hotel, y/n quickly gets out of the car, feeling like she can finally breathe now. Jeongin groans, "Oh god my back hurts, fucking 5 hour car ride suck." She laughs, "You don't gotta tell me I was in the car with you the whole time, my legs are numb."

He laughs with her as they open the trunk taking out their luggage. Jeongin opens the door to the hotel for her, and as y/n enter, she's met with the gust of heat from inside and the smell of christmas. "I always love the way they decorate here." She speaks, looking around the place at the giant christmas tree in the middle of the whole place christmas lights hanging from above as she hears faint music in the background.

Jeongin walks up to the front desk, getting the key for their room, while y/n stayed seated in the main lounge, waiting for him. "Okay, I got the key! Let's go!" They make their upstairs y/n looks around at the other rooms they pass.

"We're not usually on this floor when we come. Are you sure this is right?" Jeongin just smirks at her, "Yup, got a surprise for you." She looks at him confused as they stop at a hotel room almost at the end of the hallway, "A surprise?" Just as she said that, he unlocks the door, letting her go in first, but instead of the happy surprised face he hoped for, he was met with a concerned shocked face instead.

"Jeongin? Is there supposed to only be one bed in here?" Now he's confused too, "huh?" He peaks in seeing one big bed in the middle of the room sitting on it two robes and a bucket of ice with wine bottles and two glasses. "This was not the suite I reserved.."

"You got a suite?" She smiles at thought of him doing this for her, "Well yeah, but I guess I accidentally booked a couple's suite instead. I'm really sorry, I could go downstairs to see if they have any other rooms open." She stops him.

"No! Jeongin, it's fine, really. we're friends, it's normal to share a bed, right? We'll be fine." He smiles down at her, "yeah, yeah, you're right." They enter the room sitting their luggage down as they take in the place.

"Well, at least we get free wine from this." Jeongin comments picking up a bottle to look at. "Yeah, it's a really nice suite, and the bed is so soft!" She falls back on the bed Jeongin joining her. He turns his head towards her, staring at her features, trying to take them all in.

Y/n turns her head, feeling someone's eyes on her, "What?" She questioned Jeongin as he continued to stare, "Nothing.." He says nothing after that but reaches out to her face, resting his hand on her face.

Y/n could feel her skin heating up at how close they were. The feeling of his hand on her face felt scolding like rocks fresh out from a volcano. She quickly sits up, deciding to ignore the moment that had just happened.

"It's getting late, I'm gonna take a shower really quick." She doesn't wait for an answer, grabbing her thing and heading into the big bathroom. "Okay! I'll be out here.." Jeongin responded a little too late.

As y/n stood in the shower and washed away the long car ride from earlier, she seemed too busy in her own mind to hear the man she loved so dearly walk it in the bathroom, til she heard shuffling pulling the curtain back to to peek out seeing jeongin there.

"Jeongin?! What are you doing?? I'm in the shower!" He laughs, "Yeah, I can tell, I just came in to tell you that I was heading downstairs to get dinner, okay?" She nods "okay yeah."

After she had gotten out the shower, she sat on the bed in her robe, trying to find what pajamas she should wear. "I'm back.." Jeongin sentence comes to a stop as he his eyes trailed y/n body robe barley cover her chest as she looks back at him.

"Ah! You got dumplings. I've been wanting some!" She walks over, grabbing the bag from him to sit it down on the table "yeah..You've been saying that, thought I would get you some." She smiles at the gesture sitting down at the table, "Come eat! I'm not eating all of this alone." He comes up sitting down with her, "You sure as hell aren't."

Hours had passed since the two had eaten, and some things had led to another, and one of the bottles of wine had been opened up, as they both sit in bath robes watching whatever christmas movie was on. "Y'know, we should've been getting the couple's suite since the start. This is nice." She laughs, a little tipsy from the wine.

"Yeah, this is nice.. especially with you." He looks over at her. 'There it is again, this little staring contest he keeps doing with me' y/n thought. "You gotta staring probably, mr.yang?" He scoffs, "what makes you say that?" She giggles."I don't know, it's just feels like you haven't been able to take your eyes off me today."

Jeongin doesn't know if it's the wine or the suite or just him being tired of hiding his feelings to get this boldness out of him but before he could think about it his hand is back on her thigh, but this time there's no pants to stop the skin to skin contact.

"Maybe it's cause you're so pretty, ever thought about that?" Y/n eyes widened as he said that her own ha d sliding down touch the one on her thigh, "Jeongin-" "Just shut up, will you." He cuts her off, leaning to and connecting their lips in a heated kiss.

She gasps into the kiss but slowly melts into his arms, a hand planted on his chest while the other guides his hand on her thigh upwards. "Jeongin, please.." she pouts, "Please, what baby? You gotta speak up." He teased

She scoffs at his teasing guiding his hand to her clit feeling his fingers lightly glide over it making her whimper. "Want you so bad, you don't understand. I need you Innie..please." He laughs against her lip.

"Okay, baby. Whatever you want.." He pushes her leg to open her up more glancing down at her pussy, "You're already this wet and I've barley done anything. Did my fingers get you all work up already?"

He taunts her as two fingers slide into her hole. She covers her mouth with the back of her hand as she throws her head back. "Wait- it's too much-" He chuckles, "If just two of my fingers is two much for you how are you gonna take my cock baby? Are we just gonna have to stretch your sloppy hole out all night and make you a crying mess?"

"No! I want your cock, please Innie." He tsk, "I don't think you take it baby.." "I can! I will please," She begs him, her moans getting in the way of her sentence as he curls his fingers inside of her touching places she couldn't.

"Oh really? Well, if you're so sure about..." He slides his fingers out of causing a whine to slip out her mouth, and before she knows it, she gets flipped onto her knees right above jeongin crotch. "Then ride me, baby. If you want my cock so bad."

She moans at his words dragging her hand done his chest til they stopped at his robes belt undoing it, now having a whole view of his body, "Don't be nervous baby.." He runs hand down her side planting them on her hips as she lines herself up with his dick.

She slowly slides down as they both let out a pleasurable hiss at the feeling. "Fuck- too much, Jeongin.." he smirks, "I thought you wanted it? Said you could take it, so take it, baby, " He thrust up into her, causing her to fall forever, nails digging into his shoulder.

"God, you feel so good, baby. Take me so well. C'mon baby fuck yourself on my cock, there you go." He let's out an airy laugh Inbetween his moans as y/n starts lifting herself up and down on his cock and he continues to pump into her their skin connecting every thrust causing embarrassing slapping sounds to start up.

Y/n buries her face onto the crook of his, letting him guide her hips. "J-Jeongin! Innie, I'm close, please!" She squeals at him, speeding up her movements to get to the edge.

"Yeah? You gonna cum around around my cock? Make a mess all over the bed and clean it up, yeah?" She shakes in his arms as he continues to pound into her hole as if she was a fuck toy.

"Gonna let me stay inside and use you? Cum inside and let me fuck it back inside you make your hole all messy. You're just my sloppy girl, aren't you?" He grabs her face, squeezing her cheek Inbetween his fingers, "Yes! I'm your sloppy girl! Fuck- I'm cumming!"

She let's out one last squeal as she finally let's go shaking and squeeze around his cock causing his oragsm to come after. He holds her down on him, filling her feeling some of it slip past and down his cock.

"Fuck..you're so good baby.." He sighs out as they both try to catch their breathe. She looks up at him, wiping sweat from his face, pushing his hair back before leaning in , kissing him.

He holds onto her as they kiss more passionate than the last time. She slowly separates from the kiss, looking hin in the eyes, "Jeongin, please don't leave me.. I don't want this to be a one and done type thing.." He smiles at her, giving her a kiss on the forehead, "wasn't planning on it to be a one and done. You're stuck with me, baby."

She smiles at him, turning to the side to lay on the bed, "I'm glad I'm stuck with you.." He smiles at her, eyes shinning. "I'm glad too." He pulls her in more cuddling her as they try to get their energy again before, before jeongin clears his throat.

"We should probably shower quickly before sleeping." Y/n looks up at him, "round 2 in the shower?" She gives puppy eyes as he laughs at her antics. "You don't even have to ask twice." He gets up from bed, picking her up to head to the bathroom, making her giggle.

Best Christmas Vacation Ever.

A/N: YESSS! I GOT IT OUT ON TIMEE! this took way too long, but I love Jeongin, so it was worth it🤧🤧

#skz #skz fanfic #skz jeongin #yang jeongin #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin fanfic #skz yang jeongin #yang jeongin smut #jeongin smut #skz smut #stray kids jeongin #stary kids #stray kids smut

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klbwriting · 2 months

Note

If you can, any domestic Jason Todd headcanons (or fic) would do. I image something along the lines of them getting married, so what it would be like -the emotional state he would be in lol-, being pregnant with their first child two years later and emotional turmoil pt2 😭 and the child is definitely a girl because Jason is a certified dads girl ™️ perhaps a little snippet of how it would be (in terms of emotions) for him to see his family/child grow up, after such a bad upbringing and feeling at peace. At home, because he knows he is safe and loved unconditionally

OOOOO I LOVE THIS! Ok, here goes, I hope you enjoy!

Jason would be absolutely the most nervous man on the planet to even ask you to marry him. He would plan how to ask for months, carrying the ring in his pocket, a ruby of course, with black diamonds around it. He would be waiting for the perfect moment, a dinner at the nicest place he could find, a picnic on the grounds of the manor, a show that you loved, but every time he would be too nervous, his insecurities and self doubt plaguing him until finally you were the one who brought it up.

You and Jason were sitting on the couch, just hanging out watching some bad reality tv, and you looked at him. He looked back at you, the look in your eye scaring him. You were thinking about something serious, your mouth a thin line, eyes narrowing a little, and he was scrambling to figure out what he had done wrong. Was this it? Did you finally decide to leave him? Then you smiled at him. "Jason?" you said. "Yes sweetheart?" "Are you going to ask me to marry you or is that ring you're carrying around for your other girlfriend?" Jason was floored but honestly, what better time? You were looking more gorgeous than ever before, relax in your sweatpants and one of his shirts, smiling so sweet he couldn't wait another second and got down on one knee right there.

The wedding was somehow more stressful than popping the question. Jason kept expecting you to come to your senses and break everything off, leave him for someone with less baggage then him, someone who wasn't worried about the backup plans for your wedding in case Joker or Bane attacked the city. But the day arrived and Bruce brought in backup to make sure no one messed with his son's big day. Clark Kent said a quick hello to Jason before getting a call about an important story and needed to leave early, but he would send a gift. Then Diana Prince showed up, telling Bruce and Jason that she had just spoken to you and you looked amazing, just gorgeous. Then he was at the top of the aisle and watching you come towards him he didn't think his life could be any more perfect.

You pretty much spent the first couple years married in a constant state of perfect happiness. Jason was an even better husband than boyfriend, and he still somehow kept protecting the city. He was amazing and you felt so lucky that he was in your life. Then you found out you were pregnant and Jason almost spiraled. It was rough for the first couple months as he adjusted to the idea. He never honestly pictured himself as a father since his had been so epically bad. He could not imagine he would be any better. He got reckless in his patrolling, making you stress out until finally you had to tell him what was happening. The stress from him being out and not being careful was making you sick, maybe hurting the baby, and Jason realized one night when came home to find you sobbing on the bathroom floor that he needed to pull himself together. You were going to be a great parent and he would have to work on himself to be on your level. He got some help from a therapist, from Bruce, who maybe wasn't a perfect father but he was better than Jason's real father.

The birth of his daughter was the greatest day of Jason's life. You were amazing, bring a new life into this world, the beautiful little girl who stole his heart. He kissed your head, watching you hold the baby, tears in your eyes. "She's perfect," you said softly. Jason smiled and kissed her little head. "You both are perfect," he whispered. Somehow, all the fear he had had when he found out about the baby was gone, all he could think about was how he was going to be the best father he could. This girl would grow up happy, loved, and accepted for who she was.

Jason thought the first day of school was the worst day ever. His baby, his little angel, old enough to go off on her own. You thought you were emotional until you saw Jason not even holding back the tears, watching his daughter enter school for the first time, turning one time to run back and hug her daddy. He gripped her close before letting her go and gently pushing her towards her class. "What do you think?" you asked him. He swallowed hard, watching her turn and wave again, smiling wide, so confident in herself and so happy. "I feel happy, like everything is finally perfect," he said softly, heart feeling at peace for the first time.

#asks #answered #jason todd #jasontodd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n

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tibbythetiger · 6 months

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Okay, so what I’m thinking is that Mike is a BoyFailure™️, he’s probably worked at every single place in town, or at the very least tried. I’m imagining, in his large job pursuit, he had a brief stint working at Sparky’s. This is how he and Ness meet, I imagine at first they start Mike out as a server, so he’s being trained by Ness. Ness, who yes, Mike thinks grudgingly, is kinda cute, if not mostly annoying (the guy never stops talking) and meanwhile, Ness is just enamored with someone who just lets him talk (again, he never really stops.) Over the course, of his training, Mike decides that maybe Ness is a little more cute and funny, than annoying, but decides not to bother even trying anything. He knows he’s a mess, and he has Abby (not to mention, he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be a server here for much longer, because as nice as Ness is, Mike cannot seem to pick up an ounce of that when he’s speaking to customers). They eventually do decide, that Mike cannot handle being around customers, and decide to put him in the kitchen, much to everyone else who works at the diner’s chagrin, because at this point, Ness has decided he also thinks that Mike is cute and kinda funny when he lets himself talk to people. A Ness with a crush is loud, flirty, easily flustered, and always in Mike’s space. This means Ness is always in the kitchen, and his service starts to slack, coupling that with the fact that Mike cannot seem to cook anything without starting it on fire (or worse, injuring himself) Sparky’s sadly lets him go. Ness is devastated, as Mike is cagey about personal details, and won’t give out his phone number so he’s sure he’ll never see him again. Because he’s overdramatic, he’s moping around the diner for weeks afterward; then he walks out one day to serve a table. It’s a cute little girl, sitting by herself drawing a picture. Ness is great with kids, and it’s obvious she’s probably waiting for someone in the bathroom, so he strikes up a conversation with her, even making her laugh when lo and behold, who sits down but his long lost love, Mike. At first, Ness is shocked, because surely this means that Mike was kinda shutting him down before because he’s straight, or maybe in a long-term relationship. But still, he bucks up, takes their order and as the two are leaving he tells Mike he makes a pretty cute kid. (Mike and Abby react pretty similarly to this as they did when Vanessa thought they were parent/child) From then on, Abby and Mike end up becoming regulars, and Abby adores Ness. He’s one of the few people she’ll talk to, and once she even draws him a picture of him, she and Mike (Ness and Mike both try to act like this is not a Big Deal, despite Ness framing it in his apartment) Mike and Ness still lowkey flirt, and even exchange phone numbers (for Abby, is Mike’s reasoning, but Ness is so overjoyed he just brushes away the very flimsy excuse) As the events of the movie take place, and with Mike’s new schedule, they’re unable to stop in, and only exchange a few phone calls. (Ness does overhear the conversation with Jan, Max and her brother, he leaves vm, after vm for Mike but he never sees them, and then Jan deletes them when she’s at the house) I also am assuming that the diner is 24hrs, and Ness is one of the few servers, so he’s unable to watch Abby to keep the original plot of the movie progressing the same.

That’s what I got for now!! I’m coming to visit this again and add some more for post-movie development, or maybe write this out as an actual fic!! If someone decides to write this themselves, please feel free to, just credit me and tag me in it so I can read it!! <3

#securitywaiter #ness the waiter #mike schmidt #mike x ness

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venturelovebot · 24 days

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SFW Alphabet

A/N: I'm still working on part two of my tattoo date fic so I hope this will suffice in the mean time!

Premise: Venture's SFW alphabet headcanons! I did every letter!

Warnings: None! Just fluff!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

• EXTREMELY. Cannot keep their hands to themselves– physical touch is their love language. Gets touch starved so easily it's kind of sad. Has to be holding hands at all times off work. Absolutely loves hugs, kisses and cuddling you so much. ( ˊᵕˋ )♡

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

• They met you when you were both going to school. Considers themself lucky to have met you in the first place even if you weren't both studying archeology. Extremely loyal and caring and always went out of their way to spend time with you when they saw you. Encouraged you to try your best at everything and was always enthusiastic to learn whatever you were learning about.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

• YES– loves to be the big spoon if you're shorter. Being little spoon is also great to them. Would and could cuddle you for days on end if life permitted it. Loves it when you lay your head on their chest and listens to their heartbeat, and they love doing the same to you if they had a particularly rough day. Loves to rub your hand with their thumb when holding it (also known as the Thumb Thing™️).

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

• One day they definitely want to when their body can't keep up with adventuring anymore. You both take turns cooking and cleaning unless you're particularly tired or sick, then they switch into Parent Mode™️ and take care of everything to the best of their ability.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

• I'm pretty sure you're stuck with them for life. You'd literally have to die in order to break up... 😭 Like once they find someone that puts up with all their shenanigans that's it. You're locked in for life. Good luck.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

• Would absolutely brag nonstop about having a spouse. Definitely mentions them without thinking ("Oh my god I gotta show Y/N" "I wonder how Y/N is doing today" "I wonder if Y/N would like this") but getting married depends on you honestly. They're fine with just being in a committed relationship.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

• They're tougher than they realize sometimes, but they try to be as gentle as they can depending on your sensory tolerance. Emotionally they're the sweetest little goober ever so you'll never have to worry about them hurting your feelings!

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

• Hugs are their lifeblood, second to cuddles. They don't even ask for them– just expect for them to have their arms around you at nearly all times. Their hugs are super warm and comforting! Loves to hold on to you a lot and just sway back and forth a little bit and just enjoy your physical company.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

• Says it by accident a couple dates in, gets so embarrassed about it that they avoid you for a day or so until they feel guilty and talk to you about it. Didn't even think about the possibility you'd say it back (and mean it) until you actually did because you were worried about them avoiding you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

• Gets a little jealous if they see someone making you laugh but they're not going to make a big deal about it. They usually cheer up with hugs and reassurance if they really need it. Has a lot of trust in you, but they can be a tiny bit insecure and worry they're not good enough... they'd never tell you that, though.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

• Literally anywhere and everywhere but is a giant fan of forehead and cheek kisses. If you wear lipstick and leave a mark behind they love it even more, but don't expect them to tell you that. Loves to shower kisses on parts of yourself that you're insecure about.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

• A giant goofball around kids, and they're excellent with them. Has no idea if they want kids of their own yet though.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

• They're usually up first and always bring you coffee how you like it. Makes breakfast if they have the time but usually just puts a bagel in the toaster and is out the door. On days they aren't busy they love to cuddle you until you wake up. If you're the one up first they panic when the bed is empty (how did you escape their arms?!?!) before inevitably falling back asleep again... but not for long.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

• Sleeps much, much better with you beside them. Has to be holding on to you in order to stay asleep and ends up taking up the entire bed as a result. You have definitely fallen asleep holding their hand and woke up still holding it. Big fan of reading with you until you both fall asleep.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

• Accidentally opens up about the most random things but doesn't mind sharing their experiences if you're sharing yours. Mostly afraid of opening up too much because they're afraid of being seen as annoying or overly dependent so they need some reassurance that you're okay with them sharing things about themself.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

• Easily frustrated at some things (usually equipment and unforeseeable circumstances) but it takes a lot to actually get them angry. Would never take it out on anyone but themself, though.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

• Remembers every detail of your conservations down to the time you said it. Almost a concerning level of memorization but it's done out of love and not because they're being weird– they promise!

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

• If you're married then it's definitely your wedding. If you're not married then it's definitely the first date.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

• More protective then they realize. Always subconsciously likes to hover over you, so you're always accidentally running into them when you turn around. Otherwise they need you to be nearby if possible because you're their biggest comfort! They feel protected just being around you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

• Tries their hardest at literally everything but not everything always goes the way they want it to... 😭 Always remembers your birthday and anniversary because it's some of the happiest days of their life. Puts 110% into finding the perfect gifts for you and would always prefer to make/find it themself rather then buy anything (but can't help it if they buy you a plushie of your favorite animal).

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

• You can't convince me they're not ADHD so they got impulsive issues for sure. Doesn't think everything through before doing it– how do you think their tooth got chipped? Also has a bad habit of cutting everyone off in conversation because they want to info dump about certain things. It's endearing, really.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

• Puts a moderate amount of effort into their appearance. Definitely goes the extra mile for important things like dates but otherwise keeps it pretty casual. They like to be comfy more than anything.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

• Absolutely! They don't even like going a day without a hug or kiss from you. They want you to be apart of their story until the very end, just like the skeleton lovers of Pompeii.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

• Isn't a huge conspiracy theorist but certainly thinks about ancient aliens a lot more than most archeologists do.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

• Doesn't like overly apathetic people– especially when it comes to preserving history and making sure the history of humans isn't erased. Also wouldn't really like anyone who didn't care at least a little bit about history and human's ability to repeat it.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

• Naps like a pro but they can't sleep through the night if they're not with you. Loves to have lavender tea with you before bed: specifically after showering and before beginning your reading session. Needs a goodnight kiss before turning off the lights.

#venture x reader #venture overwatch #sloane cameron #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader #overwatch fanfiction #overwatch 2 #overwatch #banner and divider by saradika-graphics

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moraxsthrone · 11 months

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OK I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY AND PROUD OF YOURSELF BC YOU SINGLE-HANDEDLY GAVE ME ITTO BRAINROT HOW?? WHY?? W H A T???? DFCVHBNJNKMLAG

Indulge me with this little thirst

Imagine you're wearing the cutest lacy frilly lingerie set (bonus if it matches his colors black/purple/red) that just accentuates all the right curves and spots, crisscross stripes over your skin aND WHEN HE SEES YOU HE JUST GOES 👀!!!!!!! jaw hits the floor blushing drooling and repeating "babe" your name and freaking out, brain stops working just pulls you up on his big strong arms and sits you on his lap (and BOI his not-so-little friend downstairs is already excited huh)

and you just go :3c all coy and cute and delicate leaning in pressing your chest against his, scooting closer "Itto baby you gotta be careful unwrapping your present, it would be a shame to tear up something so pretty... right?" finger drawing circles on his skin making him SHIVER

AND IMAGINE HIM JUST S T R U G G L I N G TO KEEP IT TOGETHER and be delicate untying the lacy strings like NAH MAN he's got BIG HANDS NOT MADE FOR THIS TASK LMAO

plus you're making it REAL hard kissing and chuckling at his neck and rolling your hips against his crotch slow and sensual

by the time those panties come off they're soaked through with a mix of his pre and your slick asxdcvghjbnjkl

*HSAKING BITING MY PILLOW HORNY GRIP*

MA'AM I WROTE AN ENTIRE FIC WHAT HAVE YOU D O N E i think.... i think you gave me a size kink........ BUT GODS YOUR WRITING IS SO!!!!! *rabid horny crys noises*

i’ll have you know i am quite pleased with myself for making you (and anyone else who will listen) foam at the mouth for arataki mf itto.

‧₊˚ pairing — arataki itto x f!reader

‧₊˚ wc — 1.3k

‧₊˚ cw — nsfw. mdni. fem!reader. praise. oral (m. & f. rcv'ing). implied squirting.

‧₊˚ a/n — okay, so crys sent me this WEEKS AGO and every time i sat down and tried to answer, the words just wouldn't come out right? BUT THEN i realized itto's bday was only a few weeks away (at the time) and since she describes you as being his "present" IT HIT ME LIKE A TON OF BRICKS...THIS WOULD MAKE THE PERFECT BIRTHDAY IDEA FOR OUR ONE AND ONI KING ARATAKI ITTO!!

poor itto’s just sitting there, looking down between his claws and the cute frilly bra you have on, his big oni head full, debating with himself over whether he should try to be delicate and slowly work the lacy underthings off of you, or throw caution to the wind and get the things off of you as quickly as he can by Any Means Necessary™️. as ravishing as you look in that dainty lingerie, he decides it's worth sacrificing in the name of getting his mouth on your tits as quickly as possible. his hands are trembling a little and his cock is throbbing underneath your thigh when his pretty crimson eyes meet yours, full of unspoken apologies.

but then he gets another idea. a better idea.

what if he can do everything he wants with you without taking the lingerie off at all????

itto grabs two handfuls of your ass, squeezing your plush flesh between his big fingers as he guides your hips, rocking them back and forth to feel the heat of your cunt dragging along his clothed length. he’s so hard and big you can feel the ridge of his cockhead through the thin material of your panties, which are getting wetter with your slick by the second.

you huff a breathy laugh against his neck, shuddering a little when your clit catches on the front seam of his pants. you’re moving on your own when he captures your chin between his thumb and index finger, guiding your face away from his neck so he can press his lips to yours. his kiss is needy and passionate, a quiet groan escaping his throat when you push your tongue into his mouth. oh, he likes that very much, especially when you lick at his fangs with a playful moan.

he cups one of your tits in his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, making you whine a little in his mouth. he can feel your hard nipple through the lacy material and pushes the cup of the bra down to let your tit spill out into his hand. he temporarily abandons your fervent kiss to trace the tip of his tongue around your pebbled bud before closing his lips around it to suckle, his tongue still swirling. You push your fingers into his hair, holding onto his horns as your head falls back in pleasure.

he picks you up and puts you on your back before getting on his knees and pushing your open legs back, spreading them wide so he can see the dark wet spot that has formed in the fabric that's covering your juicy cunt. he can smell you and it’s making his cock drool inside his pants. he kisses your folds through the flimsy cloth, the tip of his nose nudging your hard clit as he goes. soft presses of his lips turn into open-mouthed kisses just before he teases your sweet little pearl. he flattens his tongue against your cunt, making you moan at the feeling of his hot, wet muscle as it makes pinpoints of contact with your skin through the lacy panties.

“mmm baby, your pussy tastes so good…fuck,” itto mutters, his voice heavy with lust.

hooking his finger inside the crotch of your panties, itto moves the lace over to one side, exposing your pink, glistening slit. the sight of your beautiful pussy has him licking his lips...then slowly licking yours. you flinch beneath him, heels digging into his hard shoulders when he flicks and rolls your tiny hard-on around with the tip of his tongue before wrapping his lips around it and sucking it in. your oni may not be the smartest guy, but he knows how to eat pussy like no other. he pulls off long enough to stick his middle finger in his mouth and get it wet before carefully pushing it in your hole, watching your face with a mischievous grin as your back arches for him when you feel the slight stretch of his thick digit. he slowly fucks you with his finger before adding another.

and you certainly don't have to take anything off to be able to swallow his thick cock. he thinks it’s so sweet when you choke on it bc it shows how much you wanna please him and make him feel good. so he brushes his thumb over your hollowed cheek and there’s so much adoration in his fiery eyes when he groans and tells you how good you are to him. you treat him like a king and he dotes on you bc you’re his queen.

and when he's ready to fuck you, he just rolls you onto your belly and pushes those purple little panties to the side. the thong is hooked around his thumb as he holds onto your hips and pushes his leaking cockhead inside you. little by little, inch by inch, he fills you with his thick oni cock and starts hitting it from the back. your whimpers and gasps of his name spur him on, driving his big dick in and out of your juicy cunt. he watches the way your tight little hole stretches open around his wide shaft, his fang leaving an indentation where he bites his lower lip to keep from cumming too fast. “nhnnn…fuck yeah, baby! takin’ my cock so well…” he praises you as the front of his muscular thighs clap against the back of yours.

a few more thrusts and he pulls out, making you whine. but before you can protest, he’s got you on your back and his huge hands around your ankles, pulling them against the hard plane of his chest. itto’s bedroom eyes are burning into yours when the tip of his tongue swipes across his lower lip as he guides his fat tip back to your hole. he pushes inside you again, his open-mouthed groan harmonizing with your pretty sigh as your wet heat stretches around him, tight and welcoming like he’s right where he’s supposed to be. leaning forward, he puts you in a press and starts fucking you again, but this time it’s slow and deep. irises of molten rock peer into your watering eyes as he tells you how beautiful you are, how good you are to him, how much he appreciates you and the way you’ve given him the best birthday present of all:

you. you, and your love.

your legs are hanging helplessly over his beefy, marked arms. the red straps of your bra have long fallen off your shoulders, your tits spilling out of the flimsy cups and bouncing with every hard thrust of itto’s strong hips. his long, white hair has fallen over his shoulders to tickle your skin, and your eyes soften.

“mmm, happy birthday, my king…” you sigh.

he leans in closer, pressing your knees to your chest, his hips still snapping into yours as he cups your jaw in his big hand. “i love you, my queen…love you so fuckin’ much,” he breathes, then kisses you hard. your tongues swirl and his hips begin to stutter. “fuck, m'so close. cum...cum with me, baby…”

with the way his thick, bulbous cockhead has been tugging at your sweet spot for the past few minutes, you don't need to be told twice. you place your hands on either side of his face and nod, panting. he buries himself deep and grinds into you, his coarse thatch of white pubic hair rubbing your clit as his heavy balls draw up tighter and tighter against your taint.

“oh gods…” he sighs, “...fuck…”

“cum for me, itto,” you gasp, beckoning him as your own orgasm takes hold and he feels you gush all around him, soaking his lower abs and crying his name.

he plants his lips against one of your palms and squeezes his eyes shut, grunting, “cumming…i- nngghhaa fuck!” his hips twitch and jerk into you as the first jet of his hot semen erupts inside you. his oni ancestry ensures that he cums in massive loads, filling you to the brim and spilling out of you before he’s even done emptying himself inside your womb.

‧₊˚ itto m.list || happy bday you big sexy oni *kisses his horns, one at a time*

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kiwisbell · 3 months

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Gloves Off [joel miller]

You enjoy watching him bleed, but you love to watch him succeed. He builds ‘em up just to knock ‘em down. He’s The Contractor, and he’s your reigning king of the ring.

my masterlist!

pairing: boxer!joel miller x f!reader

tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), no outbreak!joel, blood and violence (by virtue of joel’s career), boxing, joel’s got that dawg in him, established relationship, oral fixation, weightlifting, cleaning wounds, protective!joel, soft!joel, joel is a munch, cockblocking, fingering, squirting, riding, unprotected piv (let's not follow this example), creampie, cum eating, dirty talk, light choking, mirror sex, “she” pronoun used — switches to “you” a little ways in & stays that way, some light playful smacking, some light playful blasphemy, a hint of exhibitionism, they're a bedroom-ceiling-mirror couple™️, no i do not know the intricacies of boxing, it's violent and i'm just a girl

word count: ~ 9k

read on ao3!

a/n: this is mostly porn and some very light plot. we're mostly just establishing these two for now – but more will come in the future as i build on this universe! thank you so much mya @cavillscurls for beta reading this mess, for giving joel's girl her fightin' name, and for generally holding my hand. ilysm honey

dividers by the lovely @saradika

follow @kiwisbellupdates and turn on notifications if you'd like to be notified when i post a fic!

It’s loud. Loud enough to bruise. Monstrous pulses of bass resonate from the ground into veins and lungs and muscles. No choice but to swallow.

In those rare moments when the music recedes, it's the swell of the audience, the cloying aroma of beer and the crunch of peanut shells underfoot. It’s the rapacious jeers and whoops from a crowd who refuses to let silence infest. Chest-deep belching and beer-guzzling and bet-placing. Illicit handshakes that become permissible for the next hour.

The lights of the arena dazzle—rhythmic hues of flashing yellowblueorange strobing brilliantly above to the throbbing bass. He always gets uproarious applause, makes an indelible impression: the stoic, humble shake of his wide shoulders as he bounces impatiently on the balls of his feet, the royal blue robe embroidered with gold, the eager kiss he gives his girlfriend as she gently slips the fabric off and gives him a brilliant smile.

He isn't shy about the way he takes his girl into his arms, one big callused hand pulling her in at the small of her back. The audience roars. Cameras flash. Some sort of pre-fight ritual, some unfamiliars presume. Presses go wild for shit like this. Maybe he’s doing it for the cameras.

Then he cups her face, her ear comfortably situated between his thumb and forefinger, briefly bunching her hair in his fist before he lets her go. And—no, this isn't for show. She says something nobody but he can hear, slipping his robe over her own shoulders, too-big and draping off her body, and he grins crookedly, half-listening to his coach rattle off the game plan.

She kisses him chastely on the cheek, but it lingers, some whispers—promises, maybe—softly exchanged. Then she saunters off, hips swaying, tying his robe around her waist.

“And now—”

The drawl of the announcer heralds a cheer.

“Your heavyweight champion, your boy in blue, your reigning king of the K.O.—”

Another piercing uproar. There are few here in Austin who favour the opponent. They toast their cups of foamy beer to the man approaching the ring, still bouncing and shaking out his limbs and popping in a mouthguard.

“You know him. You love him. You enjoy watching him bleed, but you love to watch him succeed. The Contractor—”

It’s his girl who screams this time, banging the flat of her palms on the floor of the ring, her eyes alight with excitement. Under the robe wrapped around her body is a tight black dress. She's a picture of paradox. Elegance rubs up against the ravenous spirit of the arena. The lights dance in her eyes. Hunger thrives in those irises. Her eyes don't waver from the man entering the ring.

“Joel Miller!”

He slips under the ropes and raises his fists, now adorned in bright red gloves, high in the air. He’s dressed in blue shorts that reflect the strobing colours, torso bare, greying hair tousled. Tousled, no doubt, from her fingers. He stands like a Grecian statue before the crowd, made to be admired, and yet they feel distinctly as if they have intruded on an obscene, private moment.

The judge, dressed in an old polo and a pair of dress slacks, exuding the illusion of propriety, enters next. Joel doesn't smile or wave at the crowd. Fans know his shtick—the cold, calculated killer with the K.O. record last season, disinterested in reputation, a man of focus. But he glances down at the girl just outside the ring and winks. Her answering grin tells a story. But it is not one for the cameras and the press and the beer-guzzlers. It’s just another length of the thread spooling between them.

The opponent arrives—some up-and-coming challenger who goes by Ricky The Great and wears a plastic gold crown as he emerges from the darkness; yawn—and the audience promptly begins their jeers. It’s Texas. Here, Joel Miller owns the scene. That's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Ricky The Great, all glamorous smiles and brush-offs in the face of so much heckling, shrugs off his fire truck-red robe and climbs into the arena. He bumps gloves with Joel, who kneels down and bumps gloves with his girl’s bare fists. The judge speaks to both of them—something about a clean fight, nothin’ dirty now—and the crowd draws a collective breath. The music peters. For a moment, there's silence.

The bell rings and the roar of the crowd crescendos.

Joel makes the first hit. He doesn't bother circling his opponent for long; he strikes precise and true and knocks Ricky’s head back. The rippling of his muscles as he throws his first punch is taut, intricate. A delicate transfer of energy. There's none of the same finesse in the way Ricky strikes: he’s flighty, uncertain, too stiff in his attacks. But he’s got strength, and his blows land.

The first strikes Joel on the left side of his face, a low thud of impact that makes the audience recoil.

She’s lurching forward, spitting venom, hurling fire at the challenger: Oh, fuck that! Is that all you can do? My mother’s dog hits harder than that!

The Contractor shakes it off, back on the defensive, and look at the boy in blue carry the fight, he’s got his arms up to block the next, and he’s returning each punch like he’s making conversation, and folks—folks!—the first round is over, the Contractor is fired up, and he’s not going to let another hit get past him, don't mess with Miller, folks, don't mess with Miller!

With a thick forearm, he swipes his sweat-matted curls away from his sticky forehead and lowers himself into the opposite corner from Ricky The Great.

“You gotta keep your guard up, Texas,” says a sweet, sultry voice—she’s hopping up into the ring, handing him a water bottle. “Don’t get cocky.”

He squirts the water into his mouth and all over his face while his coach Fred takes a knee beside him. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Your lady’s right. Don’t gotta be on the offensive the whole damn time. Hit him, but hit him smart. He’s a rookie.” Fred claps him hard on the shoulder. “Yeah?”

Joel nods, his brow lowered, his face set in a firm scowl. The Texas Hold ‘Em, she calls that look. Means he's done playin’.

Fred smacks him twice on the cheek. “You gonna fight like you mean it?”

“Goddamn right.”

“You gonna hit the kid like he owes you money?”

“Goddamn fuckin’ right.”

Fred grunts, satisfied. “Good. Then get your ass up and fight like a man, so you can take your girlfriend to dinner. Eh, asshole?”

She bites her bottom lip. “You gonna take me out?”

Joel inhales sharply through his bruised nose as she toys with the tie of the robe around her waist. “Tomorrow night,” he says. “White Rose.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes are doe-like. “Better win this fight, then, Texas. Maybe I’ll treat you.”

She slips under the ropes and winks, settling in for round two. Joel knocks his gloves together and stands up, shaking himself out.

Ricky The Great is giving him a great, bloodied smile, rolling his head around his shoulders. “Hell of a fight you put up,” he says good-naturedly as they meet in the centre of the ring to bump gloves again. “Hell of a pretty girl, too.”

A minute narrowing of brown eyes gone beetle-black. A careful and measured silence as he awaits the next words he knows will decide the course of the night.

“You’ll let me have a go with her after, right?”

The bell chimes. The crowd roars.

Headlines stamped bold-faced on front pages by morning will only beckon a bigger crowd by the next fight.

RICKY THE GREAT K.O.’d IN SECOND ROUND: THE CONTRACTOR REIGNS

You listen to the rhythmic thud, thud, thud of his fists hitting the bag as your teeth absently chew the end of your pen to plastic mulch.

His back is facing you, huge and muscled and rippling with every blow he lands on the bag. Gruff exhales are punched out of him, the deep purple hue of the bruises on his chest pulling taut over tanned skin. He's quiet, typical after a fight, the adrenaline of the ring accumulating in the weight of each punch.

“Joel, honey, a couple venues are asking for you by name. Say they want you in… let’s see, Wyoming, New York, and Las Vegas. Should I tell them you're local only?”

He doesn't answer, the rhythm of his punches never faltering, the cascading path of his spine flexing, dripping beads of sweat. There are dimples in his lower back.

“Joel?”

He isn't just letting off steam.

He’s mad.

You sigh, peeling yourself away from your desk and placing your hand between his shoulder blades. He shows his blows, grasping the bag to keep it still, his head briefly lolling low as you rub his sweat-slick back.

“Come with me,” you say softly, pressing a soft kiss to one of the bruises on his shoulder. He takes a moment to shuck off his gloves, dropping them to the floor and following you to the desk. His hands are still wrapped, knuckles bruised beneath. You guide him gently to sit in your chair while you shuffle through items in the drawers to produce a cloth. You wet it with your water bottle, now lukewarm, and gesture for his hands as you sit on the desk. You begin to unwrap the gauze on his left, letting it rest in your lap.

You make quick work of the wraps and his split knuckles, gently cleaning away the dried blood and making sure no dirt has accumulated. He flexes his fingers when you're finished and seems to relish the twinge of pain that accompanies it.

“You should take it easy on your hands after a fight, honey. Rest up before the next.”

It's lost on him, of course. He hardly sleeps. But he nods, one hand on your thigh, rubbing circles over your hip bone. “I know.”

You smile faintly, touched by his attempt to placate you despite the distant glaze over his eyes, and begin to clean the cuts on his face: one on his lip, his chin, and just below his swollen eye. To his credit, he doesn't flinch much. You've been patching him up long enough.

“Wanna tell me what happened, Texas?”

His eyes shutter, head ducked to evade the tender press of the washcloth to his chin. You frown. “Joel.”

He just shakes his head. You shouldn't have to hear shit like that. And he knows that you know, but you don't say a word, humming softly, the melody of letting it go. Joel grasps your free hand and threads his fingers through yours, his mouth meeting your unmarred knuckles.

“Baby,” you coo, “I need to get you cleaned up. Look at me.”

He lifts his eyes as best he can with one sealed a quarter shut, and you click your tongue softly. “Nobody gets a hit in on my man. Fucking asshole.”

“‘s okay, baby.” He kisses the inside of your wrist and you bite down on a laugh when his moustache tickles your sensitive skin. “I’m okay. Had my coach there with me.”

“Fred’s a pretty good guy,” you say coyly.

Joel hauls you abruptly onto his lap. You yelp, winding your arms around his neck to steady yourself. His lips find your jaw, ghosting along the line of it. “You know I ain't talkin’ about Fred.”

“Take it easy,” you implore him. “You’ve got a split lip and a swollen eye, killer. Can’t go getting all sweet on me.”

He harrumphs, your grumpy old dog, and continues to kiss you anyway, nosing at your cheek so you’ll turn your head to the side. He places his lips on your pulse point and lets them linger there awhile.

At last, he tells you the truth. “He asked if I’d share you.”

You scratch your nails at his scalp, tousling his sweaty curls. “Hmm. Wouldn't be the first time. Remember Galveston?”

His grip instinctively tightens around your waist. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

“You got him good, though.”

“Goddamn right.”

“And I got a real nice night out of it. Fuck, that hotel room. The continental breakfast. The bath.”

“That fuckin’ dress,” he adds, nipping your jaw. “Could've eaten you alive.”

“You did.”

Joel chuckles, kissing his way back to your mouth. “Never goin’ back to that bar again, though.”

He’d started a good-and-proper fight in the dive bar that night a few years back over some piece of shit who pinched your ass in front of Joel. Your killer had made quite the reputation for himself… after you and Fred bailed him out of the county jail with a decent rap sheet to take back home as a souvenir. From the proud gleam in his eye that night, you guessed he'd happily paste that record to the refrigerator if he had his say.

“I don’t know, honey. Folks in that town know not to mess with Texas.”

He gives you a hard look. Goddamn right.

“You had me going there for a minute during that first round,” you tell him, cupping the good side of his face. “You feel okay?”

He studies you, fingers idly tracing your vertebrae. “Yeah, baby. I’m good.”

“You still feel like that dinner at the White Rose?”

He grins crookedly. “If you let me pick your dress.”

You smile, brushing some wet curls away from his forehead. “Anything you need.”

Kissing him deeply, you lick your way into his mouth, your thighs hugging his hips. Joel groans, pulling you snug to him by the small of your back, and you feel him begin to fill out his shorts, his length warm and heavy against his leg. You roll your hips, desire tingling at your fingertips and spreading inward.

It’s warm and sticky, this love he has. It’s the way the sunlight glues a gold shine to his skin when he first wakes and it’s the boundless crooning melody of “Purple Rain” in your ear as he's winding down from a fight. He’s the muggy fingers of dusk, languid and lazy on your body, gold darkening to black as you become a thing he seeks to cover, conceal, make only his.

He suffocates. It’s how he best knows to show you his love.

Joel tugs your hair so you’ll tip your head back and leaves sloppy, open-mouthed kisses up your throat, stern in his nibbles and bites, teeth scraping along the cut of your jaw.

“Joel…”

“You know what I need.” Joel jerks his chin in the direction of the bench. “Go and spread ‘em, nice and wide for me.”

Oh, you think, noting the tension that still coils in his shoulders. Oh.

Your heart thunders as you obey, crossing the room and lowering yourself onto the adjustable bench, thighs straddling the cushion. Joel’s eyes are catlike, pupils puffy, predatory. He prowls toward you, dropping to one knee, near-clinical in his assessment of your posture, your heaving chest, the slight quiver of your thighs as he lifts his hands to squeeze your soft flesh.

“Wanna see you,” he says plainly. “Show me.”

You’re giddy with excitement as you lift the hem of your top and toss it aside, giving him a good view of the white lace cupping your breasts. Joel hums, shifting closer, easing your thighs open to fit his broad shoulders.

One of his hands migrates from your hip to your ribcage, his thumb brushing over the soft swell of your breast. You shudder, letting him explore you, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“Take this off,” he says. You reach for the clasp of your bra and let it join your discarded shirt. The rough pad of his thumb rolls gently over your nipple as your skin puckers and you begin to stiffen.

“Joel,” you whisper. He tuts you into silence and warms your sternum under his palm.

“Relax, baby. Let me see you play for a little while.”

Leaning back on the bench, your hand trails down your body, fingers dancing on your soft, sweet skin, and Joel’s licking his lips before you can even reach the apex of your thighs—lifting your skirt and showing him the simple cotton panties covering his meal. You’ve darkened the fabric with your arousal.

“Goddamn vision,” says Joel. “So fuckin’ pretty. You need someone to pay her some attention?”

“Please,” you mewl, your fingers swiping lightly over your clit. “Please, baby, I need you so bad.”

Joel lowers himself beneath your skirt and presses a soft kiss to your pussy over your panties. Your hips buck instinctively, seeking his mouth, but Joel presses his palm flat against your lower belly.

“Joel…”

“Lie still, sweetheart. I need a taste.”

You whine, a bit petulant, but let him take his time, his tongue darting out to lick you over your underwear. The muffled pleasure makes you choke on air, your head falling back against the bench. You lose sight of his head under your skirt, unable to grasp his hair or guide him closer, unable to do anything except let him take what he wants.

Back when he used to smoke, Joel found a replacement drug between your legs. He’d lick and suck at your clit until he no longer craved the sweet stick of nicotine to his lungs; sometimes, on fight nights like this one, he’ll spend hours with his mouth on your body to quell the buzz of adrenaline that beat his heart against his ribs. He needs his hit in the shape of you.

His new habits had carried over in the years since he quit. Now, he’s dimpling your thighs with his fingers, keeping you spread open as he teases you with his mouth, making out with your pussy. He swallows your sweet little moans and inhales your scent and loses himself entirely in the pleasure of being between your thighs.

“Fuck, baby—” Your voice breaks into a whimper as he at last shifts your ruined panties aside and slides his hot tongue through your weeping slit. “Ahhhh, fuck. Yeah, right there.”

He groans at the first real taste of you, drenched and puffy and practically crying for him, your hips grinding in time with the swirling motions of his tongue. The sting of the cut on his lip, soaked in your wetness, does little to deter him. He delves into you, the slope of his nose pressed against your sensitive little clit as he glides the tip of his tongue around your hole. Your hands find your tits, squeezing and rolling your nipples between your fingers, head lolling against the cushion of his bench.

Joel slides the flat of his tongue through your slit repeatedly, lavishing attention on your folds with his lips, kissing you deeply and fervently, the consistent pressure pooling in your core. Your stomach tightens when he sucks your clit between his lips, moustache prickling your thighs as he hugs your thighs around his shoulders. They rest on his back, your toes curling with the mounting pleasure as he flicks his tongue over your slick pearl and takes it into his mouth.

“Ohhhh, yes. Yesyesyes, just like that. Fuck, baby, that feels soooooh!”

Joel growls, crushed into your pussy, deafening himself as he holds your thighs firm around his ears, split knuckles stinging. He needs this. He’ll die if he doesn't have this. Your gooey-sweet body cups him in a soft, glowing light, warmth wiggling out from the core of you and splitting him down the middle. He eats you until you're sobbing his name, begging to come, jerking your hips around under the weight of his tongue against your clit.

“Joel, I’m…”

He knows. He can feel it. You pulse slowly, rhythmically, your stomach tight and your hips grinding up into his face. With one finalistic twitch of your thighs, your leg kicks out, and you come, your head thrown back against the bench, your entire body seizing with Joel’s head fixed between your legs.

He doesn't stop when you begin to shiver on your way back down, licking up the release from your tight little hole and slathering it over your folds just to drink it back up again. You give him a gurgling moan, reaching down to shuck your skirt up and reveal his face: pupils wide, fingers dimpling your thighs, he looks intoxicated. Gently licking your puffy clit, he swirls his tongue over it, and you gasp, your fingers curling in his sweaty locks.

“Joel, up,” you plead, tugging on his hair. He groans, absconding from your oversensitive pussy, his mouth leaving messy kisses up your belly.

He rests his chin there, looking dazedly up at you. He slowly drags his tongue over his bottom lip, his moustache slick with you. Your thighs suffer a phantom twitch as you watch him idly clean himself up. “Kiss me,” you croak, hauling yourself upright and cupping the back of his neck in your hand.

He does, licking at your kiss-bruised lip, begging for entry. You grant it, tasting your own release on his tongue, a little dazed yourself by the heady tang. Joel’s big arms wrap around your hips, pulling you closer by the small of your back. He breaks the kiss just to tilt your chin up with his nose and nestle his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m all yours, Texas,” you whisper, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Always have been.”

And the smug bastard grins, the shape of it burned into your throat. “Yeah, I know.”

“Miller, your girlfriend's here.”

Ben doesn't even bother to look up from the books as you breeze past his desk with a paper bag in your hands.

“Hi, Ben,” you chirp.

“Hi, honey. He’s in the ring.”

“Thanks!”

Joel, meanwhile, unstraps his gloves, clapping Hank on the shoulder. “Good fightin’, man,” he says.

The younger guy wheezes out a cough as he sheds his own gear. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get the shit kicked outta me by you anytime, Miller.”

You appear around the corner, all smiles, carrying his lunch. Joel hops down from the ring and scoops you up in his arms, setting you down on the edge of the platform. You playfully dig your heels into his ass to pull him closer.

“Smells so good, baby,” he says, grinning against your mouth, the kiss turning into a mess of lips and teeth.

“Me or the food?”

He gives your ass a swat. “What'd you bring me?”

“BLT on rye from Nico’s. Because you didn’t eat breakfast,” you say pointedly.

Joel drops his forehead to your shoulder. “Shit. Sorry, coach.”

“You can apologise later,” you purr, tilting his chin up with your fingers, “the way you do best. For now, just eat.”

“Get a fuckin’ room, Miller,” booms Willie from the opposite side of the gym, barrel-chested and big-headed, wailing on the pads his much smaller trainer holds at arm’s length. You roll your eyes, handing the sandwich to Joel.

But he puts his hands right on your ass and yanks you closer, his teeth gnashing out to catch a nipple through your dress. “Don’t you dare go all male,” you chide. “You're just hungry.”

“Fred won't let me fight him,” grumbles Joel, unwrapping the sandwich and diving in, one hand still kneading your ass. His second nature is touching you. His fingers drum along your vertebrae in the back-and-forth rhythm of a fight.

“That’s because Fred wants you fighting strangers only,” you remind him, plucking his towel from the rope and tousling his sweaty curls. “And so do I.”

You dry him off, sweat and a little blood soaking into the pile, as Joel buries his face between your tits. You smack him upside the head.

“Miller,” calls Fred, hurrying toward the pair of you, “I need a syllable.”

Joel huffs, dropping into a chair and pulling you with him. You toss the damp towel aside and brush his curls away from his forehead. He continues to devour his sandwich like it's his last fucking meal despite your slow downs and don’t chokes, one strong arm banding around your waist.

Fred tucks a cigarette behind his ear, his eyes a little wired. “I’ve got Danny Cain on the phone in my office, and he's asking' for you.”

You frown. “He reps The Preacher.”

“Yeah. He fuckin’ does.” Fred sounds damn near breathless. “And The Preacher wants to fight you, Miller, so you'd better get into my office and answer that fuckin’ line.”

Joel pats your ass and stands with you. “Jesus, Fred, all right. C’mon, baby.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the coach plucks the cigarette from his ear. “I’m going for a smoke. Don't fucking fuck each other in my office, or I swear to God—”

“Keep your whistle on, Freddie,” you call over your shoulder. You can feel the backdraft of the steam billowing from his ears when Joel gives your ass another firm swat.

“Baby, this is huge,” you tell him, locking yourselves inside Fred’s office. His line blinks red. “If you can win against the Preacher…”

“I get to rub it in that God-fearin’ asshole’s face forever.”

“And you’ll steal his record.” You playfully gnash at the tip of his nose, and he grabs a handful of your ass, pulling you with him.

“You're goddamn right I will.” Joel grins, lounging in Fred’s chair and picking up the receiver. “Miller.”

His hand beckons you as he tucks the phone between his chin and shoulder. You slide back into his lap and put the phone on Speaker.

“It’s good to finally talk with you, Joel.” It's the gruff drawl of Danny Cain, extremely-former heavyweight champ. “My guys and I have been sniffin’ after you for a while now.”

Joel draws little rings over your spine with his fingers, connecting them like links on a chain. “Y’know, I used to watch your fights as Genesis all the time with my pops before he went.”

You nip his ear over the subtle dig. “Listen, man, after the ratings you drew in for the fight against that idiot kid the other night, it’d be idiotic not to put you up against David.”

Your brows lift suggestively, and Joel’s teeth gleam in the relative darkness as the corner of his mouth pulls up in a crooked smile. “That so?”

A brief pause. You picture Cain’s chest deflating in a cold sigh, frost creeping over all that he breathes on. “That's so. Ratings gold, and we’re willing to split the difference on travel if you're willing to meet in the middle. Crowd’ll go crazy to see the biggest names in heavyweight knock skulls. If you agree, I’ll be calling your agent.”

Joel’s grin widens, calluses playing upon the soft flesh of your inner thigh, inching his way under your dress. “My agent will be mighty pleased to hear from you,” he says, punctuated by a firm press of his palm to your warm core. “Better be nice to her. She can be a real biter if you ain't careful.”

You grasp his wrist and use his hand to pull your panties aside, bringing two of his fingers to swipe through your slit. Joel watches them emerge glistening, eyes slits beneath his lashes, as Cain says, “Gonna need a yes or no from you, Miller.”

Joel’s gaze is hawklike as you bring his fingers to your mouth and slide your tongue along their length. “Yeah.” His voice is coarse as the white scarring over his knuckles. “Yeah, you got yourself a deal.”

Cain grunts his approval, and you both clock the gentle scratching of pen on paper. “Is your agent around to talk now, or should I wait ‘til later?”

You lift your brows, sealing your lips over his fingers, letting them slide, hot and wet, down your throat. You taste the tang of your arousal, blooming outward from your core as Joel’s free hand greedily bunches the fabric of your dress. You’re pressed flush to his chest, your tongue licking sweat and slick from his fingertips.

“Sorry, Danny, my agent’s got her mouth full at the moment. Can’t quite talk.”

Joel’s pupils are puffy in the darkness. Your body is illuminated by the small window in Fred’s office. He likes it when he's swallowed by black. You're the one who looks best in the light, anyway. “Later’s good. Lookin’ forward to takin’ down your Preacher.”

“Careful, Miller. Ego like that will get you in trouble,” says Cain.

“Ego’s got me this far,” says Joel. He’s stopped listening. “See you in confessional.”

And he hangs up the phone, yanking you around the waist so you're straddling his hips, sitting nice and pretty on his lap, his fattening length sitting heavy against his thigh.

Your smile is a wicked, crawling shiver that begins at his tailbone and creeps upward. “You Godless bastard.”

“Tell me all about it,” he says, reaching around your body and shucking your skirt up around your hips. “C’mere.”

You bite down on your grin, cupping his cheek in your palm and kissing him. Joel capitalises on his chance to swallow you whole, prying your mouth open, sliding his tongue along yours, his palms sliding up your arms, conjuring goosebumps.

“My beautiful girl,” he groans, nipping hungrily at your bottom lip. “My perfect, sweet, mean fuckin’ girl. Gonna take down that goddamn Preacher. Gonna take you to Italy.”

“Mmm, Italy.” You sigh happily against him, tasting memory. Gelato and baked ziti. Suntanning on white sand. Rolling around beneath fresh linens and lounging, catlike, on beach chairs, a drink always in hand. The cloying coconut notes of sunscreen and the supple flesh of your ass as he took his time rubbing it all in. “I miss Italy.”

Joel preens at the sound of you practically purring, your body flowering for him, nuances hidden in the slight swirling of your hips, the greedy fistfuls you take of the hair at the nape of his neck. He tilts his chin up, drinking down the proximity of you, your skin silk and perfume and memories of years he’s given you. Your lust-soaked pupils expand, wet and rimmed red near your waterline, desperation you will not vocalise. He watches you teeter on the precipice of your pride and pulls you closer, priming your body to tip sweetly over the edge.

You gasp into his mouth as he hooks his fingers beneath the straps on your shoulders and abruptly yanks down the top of your dress. The fabric pools at the flare of your waist, your nipples stiffening as your tits confront cool air. Joel’s eyes droop, black as pitch, watching the light shift over your heaving chest.

Your breath catches when he touches you. And his hands are there, because they must be, because there is no other choice, curling around your ribs, thumbs brushing the supple swell of your breasts. The shiver wrecks you, coiled tight around your spine, your underwear dampening. You sit right atop his thick, persistent length, grinding absentmindedly to relieve the pressure winding around your stomach, and the fact that you’re in Fred’s office becomes a microcosm of you-and-Joel. There is nothing but.

Joel studies you like he’ll be tested: eyes following the path of his hands, he does not once blink, that suffocating black gaze cupping hot wax over your belly, letting the makeshift bowl tip out in increments. He knows how to keep you alight just long enough to turn needy, desperate, close to inhuman.

“Baby,” you croak, watching the callused tips of his fingers meet your nipples, pinching softly, not quite enough to hurt, just enough to feel it in the steady dripdripdrip of your arousal. You’re pooling in your panties, heady and warm and too-big for this small, small room. Need pushes outward against the walls, boxing you in tight, locking you in gravity with his body.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Be nice ‘n’ quiet, now. Fred’ll have a bird.”

“Oh, please.” Fred doesn’t know half the things you’ve done in his office. You grind down on Joel’s erection and watch his bared teeth glimmer. You need him now.

Head swimming, honeyed and slow, Joel languidly nuzzles his face between your breasts, alternating between soft licks and playful bites. Your sternum is electrified, your bare skin humming for his touch. Joel cups the scruff of your neck in his rough hand and leaves open-mouthed kisses from your throat to your jaw. You moan, your head lolling backward, cradled safely in his palm, pushing out your breasts to give him better access. He grins, chest puffing up, leaving a deeper-than-usual imprint of his teeth in your pulse point. Your answering shudder, your throaty little groan, your tug on his hair, bordering on painful, please him to no end. His cock twitches underneath you, aching to be freed.

“Actually, baby, go ahead and be as loud as you like. I sign his checks.”

Your reproach is halfhearted, muffled in his throat, the echo of the fightin’ bell vibrating low in your body. “I sign his checks,” you point out, nibbling his earlobe, your fingers tugging his too-long curls. He needs a cut before his next fight.

Joel chuckles, pressing his fingers to your clit over your ruined panties. “You need me in here? Need me nice ‘n’ deep?”

You moan like a whore at the friction, hips bucking. You pulse uselessly, emptily, the slow grind of your clit along his length not enough. “Joel, please… fuck, I need… need you inside. Please fuck me, honey, please. I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.”

“Oh, baby,” he says mockingly, shifting your panties to the side and sliding his fingers through your soaked slit. “So fuckin’ wet. Poor baby girl needs a mean old man to show her a good time.”

Your eyes are frenzied, wild, sweat glistening at your temples. You nod frantically, your hand dipping between your bodies to squeeze his cock over his shorts. Joel grunts, fisting your hair. “I need it,” you mewl. “Fuck, I need it. Need your big fucking cock. You’re so big.”

The harsh rapping of knuckles on Fred’s office door deters neither of you. Still grinding, still palming at him, you don’t stop, arousal clouding your judgement. “Dirty fuckin’ girl,” Joel grits out. “He’s right outside. You wanna make him mad?”

You whine. You don’t want to piss off Fred—not really.

But you’re nodding anyway, rocking yourself against him, puffing out incomplete wisps of his name that dissipate as smoke on the air.

The knocking escalates, now desperate.

“I swear to God,” shouts Fred, pounding hard on his door, “if you two don’t stop right now, I’m banning the both of you for fucking life.”

Joel groans, letting Fred hear it, his forehead resting against yours. “Goddammit.”

You pout, hips slowing to a crawl on his lap. Your core is still tightly-wound, his erection no less firm against your inner thigh, but the moment has passed. For now.

“Later,” you whisper.

He gives your tits a fond squeeze before he helps you secure your straps back over your shoulders.

Later.

“Just like that, baby. Good. That’s a good girl.”

“It doesn’t feel right, Joel.”

“That’s because you’ve never done it before. It’ll take time. Now, c’mon, arms up.”

You huff, raising your fists the way he’s taught you, letting him adjust your stance as he circles you. “Higher,” he says plainly. You obey, your left hand obscuring your face; Joel curls his own fist around it and untucks your thumb. “Thought I taught you how to throw a good punch. What’s this?” He wiggles your thumb.

Your Joel is all business when it comes to self-defence. Your face warms as he puts his hands on your waist to shift your feet, but he’s clinical. He doesn’t let you steal a kiss or flirt your way out of a lesson.

Plenty of time for that once I know you’re safe, he says. Bastard.

“That’s good, baby. Much better.” And fuck it all, his praises make you a little more pliant to his commands, buzzing with the prospect of finally getting him into bed tonight. If you listen, you’ll get out sooner, and you’ll get his dick. You cycle your mantra in your head as Joel lifts his naked palms to you.

“Now,” he says, “you ready to fight?”

You glare. “Not before you announce me.”

The grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. He may be stern about your teachings, but he’s a sucker, and he’s always been.

Joel raises his voice to a rare boom, alerting those few stragglers still packing up their gear around the pair of you. “You know her. You love her. If you don’t, you better check your goddamn priorities. You wanna see her kick some ass.” He’s cupping his hands over his mouth and mimicking the roar of the crowd. “She’s The Agent, and she’ll sign your contract… for termination.”

A few stray whoops and whistles erupt from the meagre crowd. You take an extravagant, swooping bow and bring your fists back up at the ready.

“C’mon, now. Show me what you've got,” says Joel, clapping his palms together and presenting them for you to punch. “Keep your guard up.”

You only waver for a moment, and you’re certain he sees the frown that ticks across your brow. “I don't wanna—”

Joel shakes his head, beckoning you with a flick of his fingers. “You can't hurt me, baby. C’mon. Be mean. Be a killer.”

Your face screws up in concentration as you aim a blow at his palm. You’re thrown off balance more than he, who barely budges. He steadies you with a hand at your waist and merely repositions you to hit him again. The only satisfaction you find is in the demarcated circle of tender pink that’s begun to grow where your punch landed.

“Not bad, if you could stay upright,” says Joel.

“Do you want to get your dick inside me tonight, Miller, or would you prefer to sleep on the couch?”

His crooked smile ignites your competitive side. “Hit me again.”

“I was put on this earth to be pretty and shout at people, Joel. I was not meant to fight. That’s why you’re here.”

“And you do a beautiful job, baby. Now, hit me.”

Throwing less of your body and more of your arm into the second blow, you manage to strike at his hand hard enough to rock it backward. He grunts his approval and nods for you to go again. “Don’t overextend your arm. You’ll pull somethin’ that way. Keep it tight to your body, block your precious organs, and hit me nice ‘n’ controlled.”

You’re alarmed by the low pitch of his voice as he instructs you, the timbre pulling taut at your core. It’s the same tone he uses when he wants to direct your body, mould you the way he likes, make you bend to the shape that pleases him best. Your fist tightens and you hit him again.

For making me wet at the gym, you asshole.

You throw another punch, remembering to keep your arm tucked in, your gut protected, and a satisfying groan rumbles in his chest.

“That’s it, baby.”

You’ve backed him into the corner of the ring, his spine on the ropes, your knuckles stinging from impact after impact until—

“All right, killer,” he says, closing his hand around your fist when you land your final punch. “That’s enough. Your knuckles are gonna split, and it’s my job to be the bloody one. Right?”

Your chest glistens with a thin smattering of sweat, your noses mere inches apart as he sweeps his gaze over your weary body and licks his bottom lip. Your mouth opens as if to catch the breath he lets go.

He brings your sore hand to his mouth. “Home?” he says gruffly.

His moustache bristles around the crest of your knuckle, mouth pursed to slot perfectly in place. There are few spaces he could occupy that don’t feel as right as this.

His mouth is on you before you’ve turned the key to the front door of your home. He stumbles with you in his grasp, his hard chest flush to your back, walking you toward the bedroom with little ceremony. He’s feverish in the way he mouths wetly at your throat from behind, his fingers splayed over your belly to maintain his own balance. Still, his desire is clumsy, staggering, his other hand kneading your ass despite the fact that it’s wedged between your bodies.

“Easy, Texas,” you laugh. It turns breathless as he sucks on your pulse, his hot mouth drawing blood to the surface just beneath your jaw, the hairs of his moustache tickling your sensitive skin. Your hand flies back, burying your fingers in his locks, as Joel’s grabby hands fiddle with the straps of your dress.

“Want it off,” he grumbles.

You coax him with a couple slow downs while he fumbles with the fabric, and he just shakes his head. “No. Want it off. Lift.”

“Caveman.” You roll your eyes, raising your arms above your head to placate him. He tugs your dress up and over your head, tousling your hair in the process, reaching around your body to squeeze your tits in his hands.

Another laugh bubbles up. “No taking it slow tonight?”

He lands a smack on your ass. “Fuck that. Bend over.”

Your shared bedroom boasts a California King, a smattering of houseplants (your idea—for fresh air), and a mirror on the ceiling, directly above the bed. That was Joel’s idea.

Giggling, you lower yourself over the mattress as he drops to his knees behind you, kissing all the way down your spine, mouthing at the small of your back, hands roving and groping. He squeezes your hips, pinning you against the mattress, his hot breath lifting the hairs on your skin. His lips are wet, warm, pliant against your core—and you choke when he slathers his tongue over your panty-covered asshole, his huge arms hugging your thighs around his ears.

“Joel, holy fuck. Oh my God—”

He bites into the flesh of your ass, his fingers sliding achingly slow up your inner thigh. Your mouth hangs open, cheek pressed to the mattress, as he slides your panties aside and licks a hungry stripe between your folds.

“Ohhhh, God, baby, yeah. Yeah, keep going. Please keep going.”

And he may be a complete asshole, but he’s nothing if not indulgent—so he yanks down your panties, grabs you by the hips, and roughly turns you on your back.

“Keep goin’?” he says gruffly, pressing his middle and ring fingers to your tight hole. “Then look up and watch yourself come in that mirror, baby.”

You shudder, tilting your chin up to catch your own eye in the mirror on the ceiling. It’s fucking obscene to see yourself spread out on the bed, Joel lying between your thighs, your chest rising and falling in the dim light of your twin orange lamps. You watch his hand creep up your belly, pressing gently on your sternum as if to anchor you in place, and a whimper leaves your mouth when he dips his head to taste you.

His fingers slide through your wetness and stretch open your cunt as he laps lazily at your clit, keeping you malleable and relaxed and soaking-fucking-wet. Your back arches into his rough palm, a crescendo of Joel oozing from the corners of your mouth. He hums, adding to the chorus, his fingers’ percussive rhythm (in-out, in-out, punctuated by a tortuous curl against your sweetest spot) dragging out the song of your pleasure. He’s an expert by now. A fucking maestro.

“Ahh, yes, right there,” you gasp, your fingers threading through his hair, “rightthererightthererightthere! Yes, yes!”

You squeeze him as he fucks you with his fingers, relentless in the pursuit of his victory, your high. His lips, briefly mesmerised by the crease where your thigh meets your hip, now migrate to your pussy, flattening between your folds and flicking at your pearly wet clit. In the mirror above your head, you see the flutter of your thighs, the intake of breath, the greedy curl of your hand in his locks.

He’s going to fucking kill you.

You taste iron and realise you’ve bit your lip. Joel, of course, occupied by your pretty clit but spying to make sure you’re still watching your reflection, spots it, and slides his hand to your throat, squeezing gently at the pulse points on both sides before he slips the pad of his thumb past your bottom lip.

You moan around him, your jaw forced open, blood smearing around the tip of his thumb, mingled with saliva. It blinds you, the fucking filth of it, as he removes his thumb only to hook his hand around your chin and flatten two fingers to your tongue.

He likes to open you up this way. Your body takes him in so readily, happily sucking on the fingers in your mouth and squeezing down on those in your pussy like a goddamn bear trap. His healing knuckles sting from the sensation of being trapped deep inside you, where he fucking belongs. Tongue lapping at your clit, a cat to milk, Joel watches as your body begins to writhe underneath him, your eyes still dutifully fixed on the mirror, and he knows.

He knows exactly the tells you begin to display for him: the hitch of your breath halfway up your throat, the way it hollows in a little pool, the perpetual grinding of your hips against his face. Your stomach is tightening, your cunt slick with the relentless push-pull of his fingers.

He removes his mouth briefly from your clit, using the heel of his palm instead, letting you roll your hips up against him. “Gonna come, baby?” he asks, a little breathless, eyes wild and black.

You nod, whining, your fingers tugging at his scalp until tears prickle in his ducts. He groans, biting into your thigh, and watches as your pussy convulses, a drop of your own wetness splashing onto his forearm.

A minute tick of his brow.

Oh, yeah. He knows.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath, the frothy slick of your arousal webbing between his fingers. “Yeah, you’re gonna fuckin’ come. You’re gonna get me all fuckin’ wet with this creamy pussy, baby.” He grins at the sight of the tears slipping from your eyes, your eager sucking as you take his fingers down your throat. “You’re gonna watch yourself squirt. You hear me?”

Your thighs twitch, your hips bucking in his hand, and he feels fucking strong. He feels like the goddamn winner.

He takes his fingers from your mouth so he can hear your cries, your bruised lips spilling over with molten gold pleas and chants. It’s garbled, it’s nonsense, you’re coming—

And Joel, the fucking asshole, gets you there with a smile on his face, his palm rubbing hard against your needy clit, his fingers curling into the spot that forces the pressure up, up, out…

“Thaaat’s it, baby. Soak me, c’mon. Get me all wet.”

“Joel, Joel, Joel, ffffffffffuck—”

It’s the intermittent hiss of a pressure-release valve, your juices splattering onto Joel’s chin, glistening obscenely in the hairs on his chest, your hips bucking wildly against his face. He growls into you, his hand pressing down on your belly as he fucks his fingers in and out, in and out, the filthy shlick of your wet cunt warming your cheeks. Joel’s mouth is latched to your hypersensitive clit as you writhe beneath him, lengthening the torture just enough to make you scream, your thighs suffocating him.

More wetness spurts from your cunt as Joel retracts his fingers. Crawling back up your body with gentle kisses to your soft, sweat-slick skin, he pulls you slowly back into yourself, no longer staring absently at yourself in the mirror but blinking up at him, a sleepy smile crinkling the corners of your eyes.

“Knew you could do it,” he says with a crooked grin.

You smack his shoulder. “You're such a dick,” you croak.

“That any way to say thank you, baby girl?” Joel takes your nipple between his teeth and playfully swats your other breast.

You tug his hair. “Joel!”

“Not quite.” He presses his lips to your sternum, his hands kneading your tits.

Your moan is soft and sighing, your hips wiggling underneath him with what little room you have. “Mmm, yeah. Like that, baby. Touch me.”

“All I ever wanna do”—his mouth moves, carving a path to your jaw, the strong curve of his nose tilting your chin up so you’re forced to watch yourself in the mirror once more—“is touch you.”

His dick is a heavy, throbbing weight in his shorts, which he shucks down with little ceremony, tossing aside his shirt and socks so he can hover, skin-to-skin, above your body.

Briefly, he studies you, swiping your tears away with his thumb, his arm flexing next to your head. You smile through your daze, cupping his cheek in your palm. The prickling of his beard makes an imprint on your skin as he nuzzles your hand.

“Your turn to watch,” you whisper, brushing the pad of your thumb across his chin. “Lie on your back.”

Joel rolls you on top of him, sitting atop his length, hot and pulsing beneath your messy cunt. You place your hands on his chest, gently rolling your hips. Joel groans, his hands flying to your hips.

“Jesus, baby.”

“You need someone to take care of you, Texas.” Your hands caress his chest, the rippling muscles of his biceps, the taper of his waist. “You worked hard today. You signed a deal.”

“You signed a deal. Shit—” His voice breaks as you take a playful bite of his throat, smacking your flank in feeble retribution. “Shit, baby. Sit on my dick.”

“You wanna come?” You grind down on him, coaxing precum out of his tip and cleaning it off his belly with your finger. Joel watches with lidded eyes as you spread it around your used clit. “Watch the mirror, baby.”

With your guidance, your nose tilting his chin skyward, Joel obeys, admiring the curve of your naked spine in the mirror, the way your body undulates on top of him. You're a fucking vision. He’s void of a reason you’d pick him, but your reverent hands are trailing up and down his muscled torso, and Joel doesn't give a fuck why as long as you keep choosing him.

You finally reach between your bodies and sink down to the hilt. He bares his teeth, fingers ironclad around your hips. You’re careful in your study of him as you lift yourself up and drop back down, admiring the cut of his jaw as he keeps his head angled toward the mirror.

And fuck, he stretches you—wrenched open around him, you’re consumed, filled to the throat, ruined, and Joel’s pleading with you to move, baby, but you don't know if you can. Your thighs tremble with the effort, your body weak from your orgasm, and you feel you’ve all but failed him until his hands begin to slide up your spine and pull you down, flush to his chest.

“Just like this,” he says into your ear, wrapping his fist around your hair. “C’mon, baby. Ride me just like this.”

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder as you bob up and down on his dick, eliciting precisely the strained groans you want to hear from him. “That's it,” he huffs, his mouth perpetually open, sliding against your temple.

He's still watching you writhe in the foggy mirror, the delicious dips and planes of your figure haloed by the fuzzy light pooling in the room. His cock twitches inside you, hot and wet and so fucking tight, your chests sliding together with the rhythmic dance of your joined bodies.

It's a tangle of limbs and extremities and it smells like the musk of sweat, sex, perfume still lingering. It's the dizzying scent of your shampoo. It's your mewling cries of his name as you ride him like a spoiled fucking princess. His balls pull tight, his head swimming, spiralling with the feel of you so warm and soft in his arms.

Joel’s tongue loosens, his high a foregone conclusion. “You wanted to ride me in that chair today. Ain't that right, baby girl? You wanted to get fucked all loose right out in the open. I’d do it. I’d sit you right on my dick in front of everyone else and let ‘em see how fuckin’ pretty you are when you come. None of ‘em could touch. All of ‘em wanna fuck you. They think you’re so goddamn pretty, so tight and soft. You wanna show ‘em?”

You suddenly seize, your hands grasping his hair, face buried in his throat, and you're gushing. You're fucking squirting again, and it’s everywhere: beading in the trail of hair on his belly, dripping down his balls, smearing between your bodies as you continue to ride him in the haze of your climax.

“Oh, Jesus. Goddamn—shit—”

Joel groans, his eyes at last shuttering as his arms wind around your body to clutch you tight. Teeth bared against your cheek, he pumps you full. It's hot, sticky, messy. It’ll need a change of bedsheets. It wrings every ounce of energy from his bones and fogs up the mirror until you're both smudges of skin and hair.

You begin to giggle, your face hidden in the crook of his neck, your entire body trembling. Joel isn't sure what's funny, but he starts to laugh in tandem.

“Gotta clean you up,” he mumbles, absently pressing kisses along your jaw. “Made a fuckin’ mess, baby.”

“Hmph. I’ll think about it.” You’re settling in for a winter’s nap, it seems, tucking yourself into his side. Joel caresses your back, delighted by the thrilling little shivers that visibly travel up your spine.

His ears stop ringing after a minute or two. He stares up at the mirror for twice as long as that as clarity begins to seep back into the glass from the corners. Your lashes flutter against his bare skin every time you blink.

“Do you really think I can beat him?”

The question lingers long after it's asked, the way smoke from a candle still swirls after it's burned out.

You make a soft sound of acknowledgement. “What makes you think you can’t?”

“He’s a good fighter. Don’t matter that he’s an asshole.”

Your soft, melodic hum tells him you're falling asleep. “Funny. I say the same thing about you all the time.”

“Just…” He swallows. “Just promise me somethin’.”

You lift your head, eyes alert and blinking. “Promise me that we’ll be good,” he says tightly. “That we could lose it all right now, right this second, and we’d still be okay. You’d still be here.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow. He wants to wipe away the gash between your brows. “I must not have done a very good job of lovin’ you if you really think I’d leave,” you say sweetly, your fingers trailing up and down his arm. “I’m in your corner, Texas. And it’s not just because you need me. We don’t need a big house and a pool and a home gym. We never used to have any of that.”

You’re smiling now, eyes glittering in the relative darkness. Joel exhales, and his entire body shudders as if plucking out his lungs and lending them to you.

“I’ll love you when you win, and I’ll love you if you lose,” you tell him. “You’re my guy.”

Joel nods: a simple tip of his head. He doesn't need much more than that.

He may not need to win, but for you, for this, he will.

#kiwisbell's fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller fluff #boxer!joel #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fic

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jammyambition · 6 months

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Hello!!! Unfortunately for everyone who might see this, I have now attempted to write Baby’s First Smut™️. You heard it here first, I’m not just hoarding fics on this blog anymore (unless this crashes and burns then I will delete it and hide in shame forever ofc) I have been inspired by so many amazing fic writers on here, and I’ll tag a couple just so I can share the love, I hope that’s okay! @pascalisbaby , @tinycozycomfort, @cupofjoel, @joelscruff thank you for your amazing and inspiring work!! Lots of love!!❤️

If people like this I could always write a continuation!! I have lots of ideas in my brain 💡

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Old Man.

Jackson!Joel x Reader

MINORS DNI/NSFW

Warnings: No description of size/appearance/skin colour. Reader is in early to mid 20’s, has a vagina/vulva, has hair long enough to pull, Joel uses terms of endearment such as honey/sweetheart/darlin’/baby/little girl, contains fingering, finger sucking, hair pulling, face grabbing, light/moderate spanking, slightly Mean!Joel, Joel is 56 so I cannot stress this enough, there is a big age gap! 1 single use of the word Daddy, slight humiliation and finally the use of the word Sir about 2 or 3 times. I imagined game!Joel for this fic, but ofc imagine whatever iteration you like!! I am done.

word count: 3,835

You and Joel have been patrol partners for a while now, and you have taking quite a liking to him. A cocky mistake nearly costs you your life, and Joel takes drastic measures to ensure it doesn’t happen again.

The air is crisp and cool as you walk slowly up the snowy path to Joel’s front door. Your mind racing as you think back to the events of your most recent patrol with him; you, a bunch of clickers and your near devastating misplaced confidence in yourself.

You thought you could take on a group by yourself from the safety of your horse. You’d managed to get a few headshots, reaching back to get another arrow from your quiver and nicking yourself on your knife, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the feeling of your skin being sliced open. At the sound of your gasp, the clickers whipped their heads around, causing a whimper of fear to bubble out from your lips. You urge your horse forward as quickly as possible, desperate to escape the clawing hands and gnashing teeth of the monsters, but you’re not quick enough, they’re gaining on you with alarming speed. Your heart pounds in your chest like a frightened rabbit, your breath coming in quick, wet pants as you panic. The situation seems dire, and you do the only thing you can think of that might save you from certain death.

“JOEL!!”

The clickers seem to gain even more speed at the sound of your scream, and you begin to worry that they might drag you off your horse, those gnarled claws and gaping mouths inching ever closer by the second. At the last second, just as you feel the tips of a set of claws scratching at your calf through your thick trousers, one of the clickers is thrown back by a direct shot to it’s head, a halo of gore and fungal brain matter splattering onto the ground and landing in patches on your clothes and face. Another deafening bang and another clicker thumps to the ground at the feet of your panicked horse, and after another 3 lethally calculated shots, you’re finally, blissfully safe. You feel colour and heat returning to your sweaty face, heart racing with adrenaline and relief. You look up, and he’s there. Your saviour. Of course it’s Joel, who else would it be? No one else would be that efficient, that calm under pressure, and also, you note with trembling breath, no one else would look quite that angry.

You can see the rifle clenched in his trembling fist, his nostrils flaring as he catches his breath, coming down from the panic of the last few minutes. He sets the rifle down and motions for you to ride over to join him.

Fuck.

The ride over to Joel feels somewhat like the ride to your own grave, the anger and frustration is radiating off him in palpable waves, his thick fingers twisting around the reins of his horse in a way that both frightens you and makes your mouth feel a little dry. You can’t deny that Joel is a treat to be on patrol with, between his hunting and shooting skills, his good looks and gruff, deep voice, usually you would jump at the chance to spend any amount of time with him, but right now you’d rather be on the receiving end of literally anybody else’s anger.

You turn to Joel, taking in the heavy, thunderous set of his dark brows, his usually kind brown eyes now steely with the promise of you being in for a real dressing down.

“So, you wanna tell me exactly what you were thinking back there?” Joel says, low and vaguely threatening, but tinged with genuine concern.

You swallow dryly.

“I-…I thought I could handle it Joel, I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

Your mouth feels dry and sandpapery, a fierce blush burning in your cheeks as your embarrassment grows.

He breathes in slowly, measuredly before exploding.

“You’re goddamn right it’s your fault, you couldn’t handle shit back there! What would have happened if I wasn’t there, if I hadn’t heard you call for me? I told you, I told you to stick with me and to let me handle packs of infected, and you ignored me and went off alone to try and what? Prove yourself to me? Well, I hate to tell you honey, but the only thing you’ve proven today is that I cannot trust you to follow my orders! I can’t believe you’d be so childish, so goddamn stubborn!”

He takes in another breath, this one sharp and gasping after this outburst.

You blanch, reaching another level of embarrassment you previously thought didn’t exist. He was right, you did want to prove yourself to him, you wanted to impress him, but it didn’t work, you just nearly got yourself killed. Your pride wounded and anger growing, you spit back at him in turn.

“Y-you think I want to impress you, old man? I only took on that pack of clickers because I thought YOU wouldn’t be able to handle it!”

You lie through your teeth, hating yourself even more the moment the words tumble from your freezing lips.

He looks straight ahead, over at the gates of Jackson which loom ahead of you.

“That right, sweetheart?”

He sounds as if he’s speaking through gritted teeth, and you feel your insides chill a little at the cold sound of his voice. You fucked up, bad.

You hitch your horses back at the stables, and as you walk away, desperate to go home, away from Joel and wash your day of adrenaline and crippling embarrassment off you with a hot shower, you feel his firm grasp on your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks.

He leans in close to your ear, his warm breath tickling your cold skin and making you shiver.

“I think you and I need to have a little talk about what happened today. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll have the decency to to show your face tomorrow. I expect an apology.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words.

“Y-yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll see you tomorrow, Joel.” You stutter, your cheeks heating up even more.

He steps back from you, completely unaffected and calm.

“Good. I’ll catch you later, honey.”

He turns and walks away, over to where Tommy and Maria are beckoning him to come for a nightcap, greeting them with a familiar smile.

You rub your face with your gloved hands, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your palms to your eyes.

“Shit!” You mutter under your breath. “Shit.”

And that is exactly why you’re hauling your sorry ass up Joel’s path, apologies and excuses dancing around your head, trying to work out just how you can get yourself out of this mess. You imagine Joel telling you that you can’t be on patrol anymore, you’re too irresponsible, too impulsive. Your stomach clenches with nerves.

Finally, you reach his front door and knock lightly a few times, willing him not to be in the house. You can come back tomorrow. You begin to turn away, making your way back down the path as you hear the latch of his front door opening.

You hear Joel’s heavy footsteps on the wooden porch and your heart sinks a little as you hear him speak.

“Don’t think you’ll get away that easy, darlin’. Get in here. Now.”

He steps aside to allow you to get past him, and you squeeze through into the living room, your shoulders brushing his lightly as you pass.

He steps back into the house and shuts the door firmly, your stomach jolting nervously at the finality of the sound. You’re trapped.

Joel moves through the living room, taking a seat on one of the large, comfortable chairs. He gets himself settled, leaning back with his arms draped casually across the back of the chair and his legs spread apart slightly. You can’t help it when your gaze flits between the exposed muscle of his bicep as the arms of his t-shirt rides up slightly, and the bulge in his blue jeans when he leans back. He adjusts himself again, pushing his hips forward. His t-shirt rides up just a little, exposing a sliver of soft, tanned stomach. You feel like you’re about to pass out as you take in the sight in front of you.

“Stop staring at him, for fucks sake!” You think, as you feel your face heat up even more.

“Come here.” Joel says sternly, pointing at a spot in front of him, about a foot away from where he’s sitting.

You walk tentatively over to where he points, coming to a halt just in front of his boots.

“That’s good, darlin’. So you can take orders, huh?” he rumbles, and you swear you hear a slight hint of amusement in his voice.

“I can take orders, old man.” You reply, tartly.

He grunts quietly, unamused.

“Now tell me, what’s with this attitude huh? You’re so polite with everyone else, so nice and sweet. Why do I get this bratty little attitude of yours?” He says, sternly, locking you in his steely gaze.

You don’t answer as you struggle to think of a reply, your mouth opening and closing over and over.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to say, sweetheart? You think I deserve this attitude of yours after I saved your life? Saved you from that cocky little stunt you pulled?” He goes on, filling the silence for you.

You feel hot and guilty as he lectures you, but your stomach twists pleasurably at the sight of him in front of you, and the deep, stern tone of his voice is making you feel hot and even a little damp in your underwear.

“J-Joel, this is…this is humiliating. I don’t need to be lectured like this, I’m not a child.” You find your voice, desperate to prove that you’re not as pathetic and bratty as he’s making you out to be.

“No? Then why do you act like such a child, out on patrol with me? Always with your bratty little comments, disobeying my direct orders, going off on your own when you think you know better!” He sounds more annoyed now, his voice taking on a sharper edge, you can tell you’re getting to him and a small part of you want to push further.

“Jesus Joel, you’re speaking to me like I’m not a grown woman, I’m in my 20’s for fucks sake! I don’t have to answer to you! I can take care of myself, I have more experience than you’ve ever given me credit for, old man.” You spit back, angry at the implications of his words and desperate to hold your own in this battle that you’re acutely aware you’re losing.

A dark look flits across his face, and he looks almost feral when he raises his eyes back to you. You a nervous tingling across the back of your neck as you realise you may have pushed it just a little too far this time.

His hand shoots out and grabs your collar tightly, pulling you down to his level, his forehead pressing against yours as his eyes bore into yours from below.

“Do you have any idea how much older I am than you, little girl? How much more experience I have than you? What I could do to a little brat like you?” He seethes, his voice low and threatening.

You feel a spike of arousal in your stomach as he grits his words out at you, his breath flickering over your face as his dark eyes search yours.

You swallow, steeling yourself against his intense gaze.

“Oh, I’d love to see what you’d do a little brat like me, old man.” You retort, smirking.

Another half-crazed look passes across his face and then suddenly he pulls you sharply by your wrist, unbalancing you and having you land directly across his knees, your ass sticking up slightly.

You’re in shock, feeling vulnerable and exposed despite the two layers of clothing protecting your modesty.

“Joel?! What the fuck?” You protest, trying to stand up, but his arm is solid and vice like around your waist.

He chuckles, clinging to your waist even tighter to ensure you can’t escape.

“Showin’ you what I do to little brats like you, sweetheart.”

Suddenly his hand comes down on your ass, taking you by surprise and making you yelp. Another sudden burst of arousal spikes through your core and you squirm in his lap slightly.

“You’re gonna spank me!? Really, Joel!?” You say, embarrassed.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it, honey. I can see you squirmin’ from here.” He chides, bringing his hand down again, making you let out a strangled half yelp, half moan.

“F-fuck! That hurts, Joel!” You whimper.

“It’s meant to hurt sweetheart, how else is it gonna fix your little attitude problem?” He says, laughing slightly at your predicament.

You feel wetness pooling in your underwear as he strikes your ass again, and you squirm slightly again in his lap, feeling an unexpected hardness digging into your stomach.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it, honey. I can practically feel you making a mess of your underwear, little girl.” He says coolly.

You whimper again, feeling hot and flustered from his ministrations and words. You can feel your pussy dripping with need and you worry it’s about to start making a stain on his jeans.

Joel runs a soothing, warm hand through your hair, coaxing you to look up at him.

“Cmon, darlin’. If you tell me the truth, I’ll give you what you want.” He looks searchingly into your face, big brown eyes kind and gentle.

You swallow, your throat dry with shame and your tongue thick with arousal, willing yourself to come up with a response that isn’t just incomprehensible whines and whimpers betraying your desperation for him.

“I..I…I don’t want anything, Joel. I swear!”

Your voice shakes as you lie through your teeth.

You hear Joel make a half grunt, half chuckle above you, and he draws breath before he speaks.

“You little liar.”

He sounds almost amused as he brings his hand down on your ass again, harder than before, and you accidentally let a strangled moan fall from your lips.

Your hand flies to your lips, as if you’re trying to push the sound back down your throat and your face feels impossibly hot. You can feel yourself leaking into your underwear, almost certainly soaking the fabric through entirely and you’re worried that it might start to leak out and stain his rough denim jeans.

“Oh, honey…” he says, sickly sweet and tender, and then winds a broad hand in the hair at the soft nape of your neck and pulls your head back sharply, slotting his face next to yours and pressing his lips up against your ear.

“I think you want me to fuck that little hole of yours until you remember who’s in charge here, little girl.”

You feel a gush of wetness in your underwear at his words, and an unrestrained moan leaves you against your will.

You nod your head as he begins to gently kiss and nibble at your ear slightly, making you shiver.

He leans back slightly and speaks again, his voice husky and laced with something like desire.

“Need words from you, darlin’. I ain’t doin’ shit until I know you want it. Come on, tell me what you want, honey.”

You gaze up at him, your eyes wide and probably slightly dazed looking from all the blood rushing away from your brain. You lick your dry lips and open your mouth to speak.

“N-need you to touch me Joel, please.”

He looks deep into your eyes.

“That right, baby? Need me to touch you, make you behave? Make you good for me?”

As he says this, you feel his large, warm hand sliding slowly up your thigh, stopping at your inner thigh and tracing small, teasing circles on the sensitive skin.

You can feel yourself get even wetter, and you squirm a little in his lap as his fingers move a little higher, tracing the large wet patch on your underwear.

He smirks slightly, almost condescendingly before speaking.

“All this from a little punishment, darlin’? You really this wet for me?”

He moves his fingers up to the waistband of your underwear and hooks his fingers under the elastic.

“Can I take these off, baby? You want this?”

You’re practically grinding on his thigh with frustration and your voice is small and desperate as you answer.

“Please Joel, take ‘em off, need you so bad.”

He chuckles, deep and warm as he slides your underwear down your thighs, tutting sympathetically as he sees the marks his hand left behind on your ass.

“Poor lil’ thing. Maybe I went too hard on you. Still, you look so damn good like this, honey. Is this how I should get you to mind me from now on? Put you over my knee and spank this pretty lil ass till ya’ listen?”

You moan quietly at his words, not at all opposed to the idea, which of course, Joel notices.

“I see I got a lil masochist on my hands here, ain’t that right, darlin’? You like a lil pain?”

You whimper out a response.

“Yeah, I-I like it, Joel. Now p-please, you’ve teased me enough, need you to touch me.”

He seems to take pity on you as he slowly pulls your underwear down your legs, urging your hips up to give himself room. As you lay back down in his lap you feel his hardness digging into your stomach and you whine out.

“Please Joel, I want your cock so bad, I’ll be good I promise.”

You look up at him with pleading eyes, and he brings his large hand up to your face, smushing your cheeks together so your lips push out in a pout.

“As cute as you are, darlin’, you’re not getting my cock until you can prove you can listen to me, take orders from me like a good girl. Got it, honey?”

You start to pitch up a whine, complaining slightly.

“B-but, Joel, I-I-….”

His grip on your cheeks goes tighter, and he nods your head up and down slightly, his mouth curved into a condescending grin.

“There we go, good girl. Say “Yes, Sir.” That’s it…”

He chuckles, dropping his grip on your cheeks and stroking your hair again in a soothing motion, then moving his hands back to your dripping wet core.

“Listen to me, little girl. You’re gonna lay nice and still over my knee and you’re gonna take what I have to give you, got it? Gonna show you who’s in charge around here, honey; you’re gonna mind me when we’re done.”

As he says this, he slides a thick finger into your dripping hole, and you feel yourself clench around his digit.

“O-oh, fuck!”

You whine as he starts up an unforgiving pace, and you can hear the sticky, wet noises of your own arousal echoing through the room.

“You like that honey? Huh?”

He says, as he slips another finger in, the slight stretch making you cry out in pleasure again.

“Where’s that bratty attitude now, little girl? You gonna talk back to me now you’re getting fucked over my knee? Fucked good by this old man?”

You feel yourself somehow get even wetter at his words, whines tumbling from your lips.

“N-no, Joel, I promise! I’ll b-be good, I swear! Just please don’t stop!”

He makes a thinking noise, his fingers not slowing as he moves his other hand to your lower back, holding you down.

“I don’t know honey, I’m not convinced that you’ll be a good girl for me. Show me some proper respect, and maybe I’ll think about it. Go on.”

You let out a frustrated whine, not believing that he can possibly make this situation anymore humiliating, but you think you know what he wants.

Finally you give in.

“Please, Sir! Please, don’t stop!”

You think you can feel his cock twitch slightly as it digs into your stomach from below, and you feel a slight sense of satisfaction as he speaks.

“Yeah honey, that’s a good girl. Showing me some proper respect now, huh?”

He seems pleased, and as if rewarding you for your efforts he scoops you up and sits you in his lap properly, draping your legs either side of his broad thighs.

You feel your wetness drip out of you as your core is entirely exposed to the cool air of the room.

“I think my good girl deserves a little reward now, show her I’m not all bad, right baby?”

His fingers go straight for your clit and begin to rub it in tight, calculated circles as the fingers of his other hand plunge back into your tight hole.

You moan loudly he does this, feeling yourself close to cumming already after his relentless teasing. You feel as if you can’t control the loud, desperate whines and moans leaving your lips as he continues to work your body expertly.

You hear him tut again as your moans reach a particularly loud crescendo.

“Shh, honey…damn, you really are desperate to cum, huh? You better quieten down, you wouldn’t want your lil’ friends to know you’re getting fucked so good by a man old enough to be your daddy. Ain’t that right little girl?”

As he says this, he takes his fingers out from your pussy and shoves them in your open mouth, silencing your moans.

“Yeah, that’s better. Give you something to keep you quiet while you cum, darlin’.”

You feel yourself tightening around nothing, your legs clenching and shaking as you begin to cum, Joel’s fingers in your mouth keeping you quiet.

He continues to rub your clit slowly as you come down from your high, the feeling making you shiver and spasm in his arms.

You relax back into his chest, feeling slightly dizzy from your intense orgasm, your muscles feeling jelly-like and utterly relaxed.

Joel wraps his arms around your shaking form, reclining further into the chair and allowing you to nestle into his arms.

“You okay, honey? Need anything, some water or something?”

You look up at him, his brown eyes kind and gentle again.

You giggle slightly,

“Maybe my pants back, old man…”

He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Oh, back to our old ways already are we, sweetheart?”

He says, playfully.

You laugh quietly again, resting your head on his chest.

“Yeah, something like that.”

You two stay like that for a while, until finally your legs begin to go numb due to the uncomfortable position. Joel sends you off with a kiss on the forehead and a pat on your (still slightly sore) ass, as well as a warning that you’d better listen to him next time you’re on patrol together.

You find yourself making a promise to yourself to show Joel just how much of a good girl you can be the next time you’re on patrol together.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou fanfiction

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

Text

Pure (Matt Murdock x Fem!Virgin!Reader)

Author’s Note: Well, everyone, I’ve strapped on my slut pants for this one. How I got this idea, I don’t know. All I know is that I had it, wrote it, needed to take a cold shower in the middle of writing it, and finished it. I think it’s even a little funnier after this last episode of She-Hulk, especially since I wrote it before I saw it. Is this self-serving? Yes. Is this also the perfect alternative fic option for me to include a gif of Bed Matt™️ when I wanted to but didn’t for another fic? Also yes. Enjoy, sluts (affectionate)! :)

Summary: After Matt overhears a conversation between you and Karen, his feelings that he holds for you already take on a new life, and his thoughts won’t rest until he sees them through.

Warnings: Fluff, mutual friends pining but neither of them know it until they know it, swearing, smut (virgin reader, nervous/excited reader, oral - f!receiving, fingering, sloppy kisses, P in V, praise kink! praise kink!, soft!dom!Matt (did I use that right?), Communication King Murdock, light corruption kink?, unprotected sex--if I’m gonna do a corruption kink, I might as well go all the way on it), cutesy cuteness because I just love seeing Matt happy.

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson and Karen Page

Word Count: 5,957

Matt’s not sure what word he’d use to describe you—one single term seems impossible to ascribe. Every time he tries to think of one, it never seems to capture your essence. You’re the furthest thing from selfish, and you only want to help those around you. You’re like light, a soothing breeze on a warm summer day.

One day, he’s talking with Father Lantom, finally having taken the old priest up on his offer of a latte at a chat. When the word “pure” falls from his lips, Matt immediately thinks of you—your kindness, your laugh, your optimism, and your heart. Everything about you is pure, and only enhances every last thing that you do.

But when Matt overhears you talking with Karen the following week, both Foggy and him up to their necks in casework, he comes to realize just how true that connotation is.

“So,” you hum, a lithe tone up-pitching your voice. “How’s everything going with you and Frank.”

Karen blushes and laughs, shaking her head as she files paperwork while you print. “We’re doing good. We went to Coney Island last night.”

“Cute. Did he win you a giant stuffed animal?”

“Actually, yeah. A giant frog.”

“That’s so sweet, I think I’m gonna get a cavity from the story. A full night just playing carnival games?”

“Well, we kind of cut it short. We went back to my place, and, well.”

It takes a second for it to click for you. “Oh.”

“C’mon, (Y/N)! You know how it is. That giddy excitement, especially when you haven’t had a chance to see one another in a long time. You get handsy with each other, he whispers something in your ear . . .”

You nervously clear your throat, and Matt can hear you nod your head as you work to organize the papers printing on the braille machine. Your heart is racing. “Y-Yeah,” you breathe. “Of course.”

Karen notices your shift in tone. “(Y/N), you have done it, haven’t you?”

“Well, um . . .”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I—,” she tries to backpedal.

“No, Kare, it’s fine. It’s just something I’ve done yet, that’s all.”

“Can I ask why?” she asks hesitantly.

Matt can hear you shrug.

“It’s a big step,” you say softly. “And I don’t know . . .”

“Is it like a religion thing, or—?”

“No.” You pause, unsure how to explain your mentality, mortified when your brain plays a ‘What if?’ situation with the idea and your crush on Matt. “If I’m not good at it or . . . I don’t know. It’s the idea that they could just leave the next day because they don’t like me anymore or because I wasn’t good enough. I’ve been rejected for less. I don’t want that to be added to the list of reasons why. To know that they’d stay is important for me. So far, none of them have or have wanted to.”

Matt feels his heart sink while Karen shuffles, unsure of what to say.

“I know the right guy is out there for you,” she settles on. “And I’m sure when you find him and when you’re ready, you’ll know, and it’ll be great. So great, you won’t be able to walk right.”

You let out a soft sigh; with your dating history, you’re not entirely convinced that her words are true, but you appreciate her sentiment. “A girl can only hope, right?”

He’s so caught up in what he just heard, Matt barely registers your footsteps moving towards his office. A gentle knock on his door brings him into the present and away from his thoughts.

“I’ve got those files for you,” you say. “I can put it in the case folder if you want and you can get to them when you’re ready.”

Matt clears his throat and straightens. “I can take them,” he says with a little tilt of his head and a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Matt,” you say, placing them in his open hand before you walk back to your desk.

After overhearing your conversation, Matt can’t prevent his mind from wandering. He’s thought about maybe asking you out before, but he’s been worried that with everything he is, everything he does, he’d ruin your friendship. But now that he had overheard this conversation? Not only does he wonder what it’d be like to kiss you, but now to feel your body under his, completely at his mercy as he is the first person to explore you in the most intimate of ways, his hands being the only thing to give you support as he ruts into you, feeling you clench him tightly. Having you sit in his lap, bouncing up and down, rocking back and forth, your face buried in his neck as you moan and whine just for him. Bending you over his desk, leaning over you to kiss down your spine, marking up your flesh . . .

“Are you even paying attention to a word in saying?” Foggy says. Matt couldn’t tell God Himself the point at which his best friend and partner entered his office he’s so lost in thought.

“Sorry, no,” Matt says sheepishly.

“Who is it this time? That short lawyer with the curly hair heading the new GLK/H office in SoHo?”

He chuckles nervously and shakes his head. “No, not her.”

“Well, I expect the full details when you’re a little less horny.”

“Sure, Fog,” he appeases. “What’s up?”

“I have some things for the discovery on the Christiansen case. Turns out the McNeils were a little less honest than they lead us to believe . . .”

“Thanks for staying late,” Matt says, casually leaning against his office door frame, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie long gone somewhere in his office with a few buttons undone.

“No problem, Matt,” you smile, adjusting at your desk to turn and smile at him. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You always do more than you’re ‘here for’, (Y/N).” He pauses and licks his lips. “You know how much I appreciate you, right? Everything that you do, both for your job here and what you do outside of work.”

“Thanks, Matty,” you say softly, his words making a warm feeling spread across your skin.

He leans away from the doorframe, slowly walking toward where you sit, his hands in his pockets. “You want to get out of here? We could grab a bite, if you want.” His fingers graze over his watch. “It’s late, and I can’t go starving my favorite employee.”

You laugh, the pads of your chair gliding across the floor as you stand up and move toward him. “Don’t let Foggy hear you say that.”

“Eh, he doesn’t count. We’re partners. You’ve stepped up in an incredibly huge way since Karen started at the Bulletin full-time. Nelson and Murdock would’ve sunk without you.”

A blush burns at your cheeks as you dip your head. “You’re giving me too much credit, Matt. It’s all you and Foggy.”

Matt lifts your chin with his finger, gently urging you to look at his face, to stare at his eyes behind his the red lenses of his glasses.

“You’re too good for everyone, you know that? Pure,” he says softly, his voice hitting a low register. “If people can’t recognize that, they don’t deserve you.”

You’re afraid that your words will catch in your throat while your heart races. “Are you saying that you deserve me?” you whisper.

“I’d love to think I do, but, you’re far too good for me. But I’d like to stick around—find that answer out for sure.” He takes a half step closer, feeling your body heat pour onto his frame. “Tell me to stop,” Matt breathes, his voice hitting a sinful timbre as his hot breath tickles your skin. “Just tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Matthew, I . . .” you whisper, your lashes fluttering as you try to keep your thoughts straight.

You shouldn’t. He’s your boss.

He’s your friend.

But you want him.

And he wants you. First and foremost, he wants you for who you are and how you make him feel.

You’ve never felt this before. You’ve never had your heart race so fast and your brain short circuit like this.

“Words, angel.”

Those two words make you lose all self control as you crash your lips to Matt’s, your arms flinging around his neck, your fingers running through his hair and tugging at the strands. Matt moans against your lips, pulling you impossibly close as he leans forward to meet your kisses. Your bodies spin around, pinning you between him and the wall as you exchange passionate embraces. The metal of Matt’s glasses creak between the force of your kisses. Matt’s tongue deftly slides into your mouth, needing to taste every inch of you. Your noses smush together as Matt tightens his grip on your waist, keeping your body in place as he pushes against you. This feeling of his hips against yours is enough to send goosebumps all over your body, parting your lips in a moan that allow him to capture your bottom lip between his, his teeth tugging at the flesh. You’re both breathing heavily as you stand in the office.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Matt admits, tucking some hair being your ear. His hand gently slides down to your neck, holding onto you softly before leaning forward to kiss you again. His tongue parts your lips once more, making the kiss a little sloppy and wet. His lips are as soft and plush as a new pillow, easily clouding your thoughts and judgement.

“Matt, wait,” you stop him, your hands on his chest to create some distance between the two of you, your chest suddenly feeling too small for your beating heart.

Oh no, he thinks. I fucked up, and I fucked up bad.

“(Y/N), listen, I’m sorry, I—,” he starts, but you halt him with some soft taps to his chest.

“No, Matt. It’s just . . . Well, I’ve never . . . I haven’t . . .” You dip your head, embarrassed at the moment, just like you have felt every time you’ve gotten to this point before. Unlike the other times, however, there is so much more weighing on this for you—this is Matt. “I don’t want to just be a fling for you, Matt. I can’t be a fling. I . . . I care about you too much.”

Matt hears your heart race faster, your entire being on the verge of becoming a complete and utter mess. You’re not sure at what point you started to have feelings for Matt, but you know that they’re there and they’re strong—the fact that he even reciprocates them in the slightest is exciting and terrifying. But at the same time, you know that Matt has quite a reputation, and you don’t want to be just another name on a long list of ladies.

Matt moves one of your hands directly above his heart, holding your other firmly in his. “You could never be a fling. You’re so much more to me than any relationship I’ve had before. It’s only you. And I want to show you just how much I mean that.”

Matt’s words wash over you like warm water from your shower head, His heart beats steadily with each word, the posture of your hand on his chest a silent, wonderful reassurance that he means everything he says. You capture his lips with yours, the embrace languid and tender but absolutely brimming with burning desire. He smiles down at you after your lips part, his nose brushing against yours. “Then I guess the question is if you can keep your hands to yourself long enough for us to make it back to my place.”

The door to his loft isn’t even closed before you bring your lips back to his, pulling him by his shirt collar and into your body, snaking you hands over his shoulders and onto the back of his neck when you feel you have him close enough. Matt’s hands slide down your body and under your thighs, lifting them up around his waist. You moan in delight into his mouth, his lips moving to your neck to nip, suck, and lick at the think skin that you are all too eagerly offering him. He tosses his glasses on the table by the door as he walks your bodies from the entryway to the bedroom. Matt’s attempt to gently place you down on the mattress is skewed by his own growing desire, turning the motion into more of a toss, your body bouncing up and down on the furniture.

Matt kneels at the edge of the bed, volleying kisses back and forth on the inside of your legs. Pushing up the fabric of your flowing skirt, he gains access to your thighs, becoming a little more aggressive with his ministrations, nibbling at the skin, licking down the little stings that accompany it. You let out breathy little sighs, each press of Matt’s lips against your skin making your heart race in a glorious fashion. Each kiss moves higher up your leg, spreading new branches of goosebumps and warmth all over.

That when you feel it—an overpowering wetness between you legs, trapped in your panties.

“Matt,” you breathe. Internally panicking that you’ve started your period far before you were supposed to, you wanted to push Matt away to save your embarrassment. But Matt knows exactly what really happened—it’s a sign of your enjoyment, your eagerness for him, your want. You really are so pure. Part of him feels guilty for making a move on you like this no matter how readily you accepted him, no matter how you both feel for one another, but the thought of being your first, being the one to tarnish that pristine virtue, to make you his, it makes him rock hard.

His hands snake up your thighs and push them wide open, letting your scent hit through his nose, permitting through your panties.

“Matt,” you try again, begging God above or whatever supreme being is there to spare you any further embarrassment.

“You smell so pretty for me, angel,” he groans, brushing his nose on your clothed core. “Can’t imagine how you taste.”

Matt presses soft kisses to your clothed core, pulling a whine from your lips.

“Your panties are so soft,” he mutters, nipping at you through the soft, thin fabric some more. “I bet your cunt is even softer.”

Dragging his lips up your panties, he grasps the hem of your underwear with his teeth, slowly pulling it down your hips and off your body. You watch the movement as Matt seductively works, and you’re shocked to find the inside of your panties void of any red color. Instead there is just a large damp spot in the middle and a long string of a clear something coming from you and to the fabric. Once your underwear is midway down your thighs, Matt uses his calloused fingers to slide them off of your body, letting the fabric pool on the floor between his bent legs and the bed.

“I want you to tell me how it feels,” Matt whispers, his hot breath fanning across your glistening folds as his nose brushes up against the top of your pubic mound, placing a little kiss there in anticipation. “I want to hear those pretty little sounds fall from your lips, okay?”

You don’t even get a proper chance to really comprehend or answer his question. Matt’s lips are on you in a second, pressing a soft, open kiss right on a special bundle of nerves that make you moan and your heart sharply skip a beat.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he smirks, gently grazing his hands over your exposed thighs. “That feel nice, hm?”

“Yes,” you breathe, looking down at him, the sight of his face between your legs sending you absolutely wild. “Do it again.”

A devilish smile grows on his lips before he complies to your request, this time adding light sucks to the way he wraps his plush lips around your clit. You can’t help the needy moans that fall out of your mouth, keening for more attention from his lips. You can feel Matt’s lips pull into a big smile as he continues to work his mouth. He pulls away for half of a second before licking a stripe up your folds. You whine, your back arching off of his mattress while your head tosses to the side. It’s like you’re not in control of your body while Matt’s lips are on you, twisting and turning into the pleasure. Matt has to use his forearm and one of his strong hands to pin your hips down to the mattress as he eats you out like a starved man. The combination of licks, sucks, and kisses turn you into a whimpering and moaning mess. When he lightens the embraces, you think you’re getting off easily. What you don’t expect is for a finger from Matt’s free hand to lightly brush up against your glistening folds. You suck in a hiss at the sensation, causing Matt to glance back up toward you while his finger continues to move up and down.

The sight is something glorious. His fluffy brown hair is disheveled and the tip of his nose, lips, and chin are covered in a marvelous slick from having his face buried between your legs. His honey hazel eyes are warm as they focus just to the right of you, making you feel safe as you cross a boundary you can never come back from.

“If you enjoyed that, angel, I think you’ll like what comes next,” Matt teases, his voice low with lust.

Dragging his fingers back down, you feel him at your opening. His fingers, absolutely covered in your arousal, gently push your lips open as he feels you; then, he carefully prods your entrance with his middle finger, pushing in slowly. Your eyes flutter shut and you moan as you feel him, slowly moving his finger in and out of you.

“Tell me how that feels, angel,” he urges, unable to stop himself from pressing a gentle kiss to your hipbone.

“G-good,” you exhale, closing your eyes to focus on the way that he manages to sneak his finger a little bit deeper in you each time.

“And do you like this better?” Matt punctuates his question with a curl of his finger, the tip of his digit scraping against your wrinkly walls and hitting something soft and spongey that draws an intense moan from you. A deep chuckle rolls from Matt’s lips and coats your warm body like honey. “Is that a yes, sweetheart? I need you to try and use your words for me.”

“Better,” you whine, writhing against his arm. “More.”

“More.” The way he coos my words back to you is somewhere between a question and amusement. Regardless of his exact tone, Matt carefully slides another finger in you. Rolling your head from one side to another, you let out a low groan, basking in how amazing the sensation feels as Matt manages to hit something so spongey and wonderful, increasing the pleasure with each ministration. You can’t but help the way that your toes curl and your back arches when he puts his mouth back on you. Your hand shoots towards his head, fingers tugging at his hair to keep him close. You’re an absolute mess as Matt works you, and you have no idea how or what to focus on more—his fingers or his mouth. What does begin to register, however, is a tightness in your tummy, a fluttering. You’re not exactly sure what’s going on, but you know that the longer that Matt works, the way that his touches set your body on fire, the more prominent the feeling gets.

You wine as he removes his fingers from you, his mouth kissing everywhere but where he had been thoroughly inspecting the real estate. Pushing your dress up and off your body, Matt wastes no time kissing as much of your gradually exposed skin as possible. Once the fabric is pushed over your head and off of your arms, Matt peppers kisses all over your collarbone and neck as he pulls your bra down and off, just avoiding your lips as he changes locations.

“You’re going so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his hands finding a home on your waist as he finally brings his lips to yours. “But that feeling you had? That good one in your tummy? I want to be in you when it finally lets go. Will you let me do that, angel?”

Matt barely has a chance to finish his sentence before you blurt “yes” and bring his mouth back on yours. The kiss is deep and needy, and he lets you undo his shirt and feel all over his sculpted figure. You don’t know what takes over you, but all you know is that you need Matt in every way, shape, and form possible. Matt finishes the work you started, wriggling off his white button down as he paints kisses all over your chest. His senses are in overdrive as he comes in contact with the supple skin of your breasts, his nose filling with a cocktail of your fruity body wash, your skin, and the thin sheen of sweat that has emerged on your body. While the noises you make as you move against his sheets is a beautiful symphony, the way your heart sings for him is the best thing he has heard in his entire life. Its rhythm is one of elation and tenderness—pure.

There’s that word again.

Even as you lay under Matt, completely at his mercy as the two of you engage in an activity that should pollute the very core of the term, but still manage to embody the fullest extent of the word.

As the thought crosses his mind as he brushes the tip of his nose up your skin to rejoin your lips, that’s when the thought comes to him.

You’re it for him.

“I thought I was the one who’s supposed to get flustered,” you chuckle breathily, your hand moving to caress his cheek.

A smile pulls at Matt’s lips, bringing those beautiful crinkles out for your enjoyment. “I just want to remember this,” he explains softly before pulling you in for a lusty kiss, a moan falling from his lips into you. Matt gives your swollen and tingly skin a few more tender kisses before leaning back on his knees, undoing his belt and ridding himself of all fabric below the waist.

You suck in a gasp when you see his cock out, hard, painfully taut, and leaking. All for you. Matt shifts his weight to his left, twisting his body to reach for the nightstand. You take his hand in both of yours, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Angel, I—,” he starts, but you give his hand a squeeze.

“Matt, I want this,” you keen as you try to calm your excited breathing. Everything feels right. “I want you.” You pull him back into you, and he lowers himself over your body so his hair tuft flops in front.

“Are you sure?” God above, is his voice so soft when he says that question. It’s brimmed with excitement, affection, tenderness, and nerves.

“I’m sure,” you confirm as his thumb gently strokes back and forth on your cheek. The pad of his digit roams to your bottom lip, letting him feel just how soft it is. You open your mouth slightly, and Matt can’t help but slide his finger in, letting you capture it and envelope it in warmth. Now, it’s Matt’s turn to moan as he feels your tongue swirl around his finger, letting his mind wander to what your mouth would be link around his cock.

That question will have to be answered another time.

Right now, he wants nothing more than to be buried as far as he can possibly get in you.

Pulling out his finger, he presses one more kiss to your lips before adjusting himself between your spread legs. You've gotten even wetter for him, if that's at all possible, and the smell of it drives him up a wall.

"I'm gonna go slow, okay?" he tells you. "I want to hear those beautiful nosies from you, angel, but you need to stop me if it hurts and you need some time. Can I hear you promise me that?"

"Promise," you whisper, your heart racing in an out of control pace. Matt takes one of your hands in his, lacing his fingers with yours in an effort to soothe you.

"Good girl," he coos. You feel a deep blush burn at your cheeks and your heart race as you squeeze his hand involuntarily. "You like that, huh? You like when I call you my good girl?" Just like earlier in the night, your brain short circuits when the name falls from his lips once more. "Oh, I think l'm gonna have fun with that," he teases, bringing your entwined hands to his lips for a kiss.

Carefully, Matt moves forward, and you can feel the head of his cock press against your opening. He pauses for a beat before he continues to press forward, making you a whimpering mess with each movement. With each gentle push into you, your pleasure grows.

"Wait," you squeak when the burning stretch becomes too much. "Hold on a second."

"That's my good girl," he praises. "Doing what I asked, using your words. Tell me when you're ready for more, angel."

As you take your time to adjust, Matt brings your wrist and forearm up to his lips, kissing, sucking, and nipping at the skin, licking down each mark he makes in an effort to soothe the sting.

"More," you swallow.

"Kisses, angel?" he smiles against your skin. "Or cock?"

"Cock," you breathe. "I want more."

Planting a kiss smack dab in the middle of your palm, Matt continues moving his hips forward slowly, letting out a low grunt as he pushes deeper in you.

"Oh, God, Matt," you moan, the sting of intrusion having turned into something only of pleasure. "Oh, so good.”

"So perfect, sweetheart," he sighs as his face controls in pleasure that matches your own. A low rumble falls from his chest when he bottoms out in you, somehow managing to fit all the way inside.

"Talk to me," he hums as he leans back over your body, kissing up the curve of your side and up and over your breasts, up the column of your neck, and finally to your lips.

"Move," you beg, tugging his bottom lip with your teeth before you press kisses up his jaw and to his ear. If that's what him pushing in felt like, you want it all. Over and over and over. "I-I need you to move."

A blissed-out smirk falls across Matt's lips before he kisses you hungrily, one hand resting on the side of your neck while the other weaves through your hair in the back of your head.

"You're doing such a good job taking my cock like that," he praises as he slowly beings to set a rhythm, the drag of his length against you unlike anything you have felt before. "Such a good girl for me, letting me spread you wide and take you. God, angel, you’re doing so good, taking me all the way like that, nice and deep.”

How Matt is forming coherent sentences is fully beyond you at this point. Maybe it’s because he’s done this before, maybe it solely something he’s doing to keep you calm as he pushes through his own pleasure.

“So tight, angel,” he grunts, his hands sliding up your thighs towards your hips. “Oh, you feel so good. Fuck.”

You moan and whimper with each one of Matt’s thrusts, and you yank him down on top of you, desperate to feel every last inch of him against you. He groans but quickly lets out a little chuckle, thrown off and endeared by your excitement as he cages your body below his.

“You like that, sweetheart? Feel good?”

“Y-Yes,” you moan, moving your hands along his incredibly soft skin. You paint a trail of kisses all along his shoulders, collarbones, and neck while he keeps on rocking into you. His hot breath tickles your skin as his beard brushes goosebumps all over your body while he tries to match you embraces. Matt whispers and grunts little praises into your skin, never faltering to let you know how good you’re doing for him.

“M-Matt,” you whine, your nails digging little crescents into his back. “S-Shit! Mmm!”

“Words,” he grunts, his ability for full sentences now starting to escape him.

“God, you’re so deep!” you cry, your eyes fluttered shut as you absorb the pleasure he gives you as your words being to slur together. “So big.”

Matt tunes into your body, listening to how the blood rushes through your veins down to where your bodies join together and your heart races. He knows you’re not going to last much longer.

“Angel,” he pants. “Angel, it’s okay.”

“Matt!” you cry, your voice curving up in pitch. You’re so close, he can taste it—and it drives him wild.

“I know, angel, I know. You’re gonna feel so g—fuck, that’s nice. So good for me.”

“Matt, I—.”

“‘M right here,” he assures with a kiss. “Right here. Let go for me, angel. Let me hear you.”

With a few more thrusts, an intense pleasure rips through your body, unlike anything you have felt before, and far better than what you’ve ever experienced. Your hips buck up to meet Matt’s while your legs latch onto his waist. Matt up above you is the only thing keeping you from thrashing around in euphoria. You hold onto him for dear life, your hands mussing his hair as he buries his face in your neck, moaning as he chases his own release and spills into you. He forces his hips to keep moving fast as he cums, desperate to make sure that your first orgasm is memorable, that the tremors ripple through your body long after it has past, even if it means the sensations verge on too much for him. Only once he feels you start to loosen up and your breathing begin to relax does he pull out, pressing kisses into your skin all the while his hands caress your shaking body. He hears your head roll to the side to face him as he lies down next to you.

“Matt,” you breathe, and he can hear the blissed out smile spreading across your face as you curl your body into his.

“You alright, angel?” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“Amazing,” you sigh softly.

“I’m gonna go get some things to clean you up, okay? I’ll be right back.”

You hum a confirmation as Matt gives you another kiss, carefully rolling out of bed and through the loft. He returns quickly with a warm damp towel, some water, and a pack of grapes. Putting the glasses down on the nightstand, he sits on his knees, pressing gentle kisses into the skin of your stomach, hips, and thighs.

“Can you open your legs for me, sweetheart?” he asks softly.

“I don’t think I can do more,” you breathe dreamily.

Matt chuckles, absolutely beaming at your happy disposition in his bed. “We’ll get you there eventually, sweetheart. But I want to clean you up. I’m gonna move your knee, okay?”

You oblige with his request, a soft moan falling from your lips as you spread wide for him, the delightful soreness reminding you of how perfectly his body fit with yours. “That’s it,” he whispers as he helps gently guide your leg open. “That’s my girl.” Matt is careful with his wipes, sprinkling kisses here and there as little reassurances. He’s extra careful when he gets to your core, knowing all too well how sensitive you must be. When he’s finished, he tosses it to the side and leans up over you to kiss you.

“Can you sit up for me now and drink some water?” he whispers into your cheek before stamping another kiss to your skin.

You do as he asks without another word and he hands you the glass, a gentle arm around your shoulders as you hydrate. “Can I get you anything else, angel? Do you want a snack? I can give you a little massage, if you want.”

“I’m okay,” you tell him, your mind beginning to reorient itself as you snuggle into his body. “That was . . . I don’t even know.”

“I hope it was a good ‘I don’t even know’,” he smirks.

“The best ‘I don’t even know’,” you chuckle. “I, um . . .” You blush deeply before you mutter, “Thank you for being my first.”

Matt notices the skip in your heartbeat, the shy and scared tone of your voice, and the salty tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks.

You’re embarrassed—ashamed, even. Why?

Matt pushes your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at his face.

“Thank you for giving me the honor. For trusting me,” he whispers, placing a light kiss on the apple of your cheek. “This is something important. Personal.”

“You don’t think . . . I mean, I . . .” you start, unsure of how to even form the question you were thinking.

“Not too many people are like you, (Y/N)—pure like you in everything that you do. I’m glad you were able to trust me with this.” Your wrap an arm around him and turn your face into his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else tonight with anyone else.” He kisses your temple. “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow,” he whispers in your hair. “Let me date you. Because I don’t want this to be it between us.”

That sentence makes you tilt your head up, amazed how he’s facing you with nothing but utter adoration. “I told you you weren’t a fling. I want the chance to show you how happy you make me, how you make me feel. Please?”

A bright smile pulls at your lips, a new wave of energy washing over you. You pull your body up, having your lips meet his, rolling on top of him. You gingerly straddle his hips with your legs, kissing him passionately as he reciprocates with just as much emotion.

“Can I take that as a yes, or?” Matt chuckles, a deep red blush speckling his fair complexion as you carefully place your body weight on his lap.

“Yes,” you hum, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth before moving back in and slipping your tongue in his mouth like he did to you earlier.

“Mm, angel,” he murmurs against your lips, and you feel something begin to press against your thigh, Matt’s strong hands moving up your waist as his thumbs brush the sides of your breasts. Your heart swells with excitement and your face flushes with heat, a tingly buzz in your lower abdomen. If you thought Matt was intoxicating just by sitting at his desk doing legal work, you are simply drunk on him with his body below you like this.

“How about we test my stamina?” you sigh between kisses.

Matt smiles brightly and kisses you with urgency, understanding that tonight will probably go longer than he initially anticipated. Even in your desire to do something so sinful, you still remain so pure.

And you’re all his.

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