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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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old-memoria · 1 year

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describe your ultimate perfect day! what are you wearing? what will you do? how's the weather?

ohhh it depends on my mood really. Im a winter enjoyer (all my homies hate s*mmer).. those snowy and frosty days I mean, when everything is covered with soft snow and it shines under the rays of sunshine.. ethereal. So I wake up at noon because i go to sleep at 2 am at best drink coffee, go for a walk with my dog, watch something nice on youtube or read a book. Then my bf and friends come over, we laugh and discuss some nonsense from latest gossip to serious political stuff, later, when its dark, we go to some busy bar or cafe and enjoy ourselves to escape the grim reality of living in an authoritarian state If its summer, its basically the same but more partying and i leave the hose after 5 pm because fuck the heat. Also, I adore sleepless summer nights when you're outside with your favourite person and you just talk talk talk about everything and anything. there's nothing more intimate than this + any perfect day involves listening to music lol

Perfect Day by Lou Reed playing in my head now

#I always wear black so i dont really bother choosing clothes #i do have some colourful clothes of course and i wear it when its hot outside like pink or white dresses and stuff #you wont last too long in total black when its +30 you know #but my color of choice is black. also a lot of jewellery. i dont usually wear necklaces but i looove rings #especially those big and pretentious ones... like i've robbed some oil tycoon's widow #thank you for asking!!#sending you love and flower power

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allfearstofallto · 2 months

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I FORGOT A COUPLE PEOPLE FOR MY YANDERE HISTORICAL AU!!

[Part 1] [Part 3]

TW: mentions of drugging

Travelling Merchant! Alhaitham who has seen practically every nation twice over, yet always lingers in yours for a bit too long. His ability to document down things quickly and retain information better than most means that he's always ahead of what trends will be happening soon using data and analytics. He sells mostly dresses, fabrics, and jewelery. Things that a commoner like yourself could never afford. But he insists every time that you take some of his stock. A dress here or a necklace there, something to make your already pretty face prettier, even though you tell him that you'd never be able to afford it. He's fuming, seeing red when he observes your parading around the city with someone on your arm, one of the dresses he'd given you hugging your body, you accept his gifts so easily, but don't throw yourself at him?

Mercenary for Hire! Arataki Itto who thinks you look so cute begging on your knees for his protection. You have not much to give in the way of funds, but the loan sharks after your father have set their sights on you and your humble business instead. You heard he's the best of the best and you plead to his good nature to just protect you until their attention falls on someone else. But even after they're gone, he doesn't leave. He assured you that what little gold your provided to pay for his service was enough, yet he's still outside your house every single night. And you can't hire someone else to get rid of him, can you?

(Also) Arranged Husband! Ayato who visited from the nation across the sea. He saw your face once, an innocent looking viscountess, and immediately sent a letter asking for your hand when he returned home. You were wed and sent somewhere entirely different, the complete opposite of what you knew. But Ayato seemed nice. He was always calm and soft spoken, never even raising his voice when he was angry. When he saw that you were still nervous, he always offered you calming tea. But you realized quickly how much you'd been sleeping. How you'd wake up in bed with your husband and not remember when you went to sleep. You constantly felt groggy and your limbs were too heavy. But like clockwork, Ayato would bring you another cup of tea, it'll make you feel better.

#maiistalking<3 #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x you #genshin impact #yandere imagines #arataki itto #yandere arataki itto #yandere ayato x reader #yandere ayato #yandere itto #yandere alhaitham x reader #yandere alhaitham

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lewisvinga · 3 months

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around the world | lewis hamilton x fem! reader

summary; influencer y/n decides to do the trend of showing off her outfits with lewis as they traveled around the world.

warnings; none ??

word count; 815

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1

note; requested! this was longer than expected😭😭

masterlist !

“Okay, ready?” Y/n questions after setting up her phone on the desk in their room. They were currently in their hotel room in Las Vegas, almost ready to leave for the opening of the Las Vegas Grand Prix when she got the idea to shoot the tiktok.

“Wait, what do I do again?” Lewis asked with a chuckle, smoothing down the long black coat he wore on top of a black top with a deep v-neck.

“I showed you like 20 times, Lew.”

“Was too distracted by your pretty face.”

Y/n playfully rolls her eyes, ignoring the blush on her face as she holds one hand out. “Just clap my hand while crossing your legs at the same time.” She explains while copying the motion.

Since they were known as a fashionable couple who always matched, she wore a similar outfit to his but in a dress form. She wore a midi tight black dress with a v-neck and a matching black coat. They both wore their matching pearl necklaces from Valentino and even had matching sunglasses. She of course had her black mini Kelly in hand, an anniversary gift from him from a couple years prior.

“Ready, Lew?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, gorgeous.”

Y/n puts on the countdown and takes a couple steps back to make sure their full outfits are in the frame. The moment the song began, she held her hand out and Lewis did exactly what she explained to him.

“Perfect, now I just gotta remember when we go to Abu Dhabi.”

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“Okay, now we do the same but in these outfits,” Y/n explains again, adjusting her phone in his driver's room. Fortunately, she was quick to remember to record the next part of her TikTok.

They both wore baggy red pants but Lewis wore a white Mercedes shirt while she just wore a plain white blouse with a white Lady Dior in hand.

“Same thing as last week, right?” He asked with a smile as she began the timer.

“Exactly!” She nods in reply, her smile matching his. The song began to play and they copied the same movement they did the week before. Once it was over, she quickly grabbed her phone to check the footage. “Oh, this is gonna be amazing once we finish!”

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“Roscoe, sit,” Lewis tells the bulldog who wore a wide smile. They both watch as Y/n props up her phone on the front porch of their home in England.

The ground was white with snow and the sky let more snowflakes fall. They were wearing layers upon layers due to the freezing temperatures. Of course, they had matching navy blue jackets, and even Roscoe wore a matching vest. Their pants were both black but he wore black boots while she opted for navy boots.

She adjusts the grey scarf she wore that matches his as she starts the timer. “Roscoe, smile for the camera!” She exclaimed, rushing over to stand on the other side of the dog.

Roscoe was seemingly posing as the song began once again, and again Lewis and Y/n did the same movement.

“Roscoe is gonna look so good in that one!” He lets out a laugh, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he bends down to pet his bulldog’s head.

“He’s such a good boy, aren’t you, Roscoe?”

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“Ending it with Brazil?”

“To let the fans know it’s our honeymoon.” Y/n replies in a ‘duh’ tone. She smiled at him and glanced at their matching outfit once again. Lewis had decided to take his braids out and wear his natural curls for the summer, something he usually does when he isn’t racing.

His honey-brown curls were tied into a low bun and covered by a blue hat. He wore an oversized yellow Nike shirt and an earth-green tone pair of baggy pants. Y/n opted for wearing a skirt the same color and a blue Christian Dior tote bag instead of the cap. She also wore a yellow Nike top but it was fitted instead of loose.

It was one of her favorite outfits in one of their favorite countries. Brazil was always special to him and it became special to her, hence their honeymoon location.

“Okay, last one, and be ready!” She exclaims, pressing the countdown once again.

Lewis couldn’t help but stare at her with adoration in his eyes and a loving smile as they did the same moves for the last part of her video. He can already see all the comments they’d get on how he stared at her but he honestly couldn’t care.

He zoned out as he watched Y/n get excited over the video. He was eternally grateful that he was able to go around the world with his wife by his side.

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton scenarios #lewis hamilton imagine #when i open requests imma need more lewis requests

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redr0sewrites · 3 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel Characters with a Goth S/o

this is basically how some of ththe hazbin characters would support their goth s/o- as a goth person this is literally so self-indulgent lmao

🥀Pairing(s): lucifer x reader, velvette x reader, adam x reader, alastor x reader

🥀 Cw: fluff!

Lucifer

lucifer is a little confused and intimidated about your style at first, he definitely asks a lot of questions

VERY supportive once u explain it, hes very much the "okay dear" type

honestly i think he would find it super attractive, the way u express yourself is just so admirable to him

i feel like lucifer is very fidgety and is always losing focus, and one tjing that i do is that im ALWAYS fidgeting with thr chains and accessories on my outfits so like imagine him just standing super close to you and gently rearranging your chains and necklaces for you...

he would let you teach him how to do makeup and eyeliner and would definitely let you practice styles on him!

lucifer would also help you get ready too, always willing to offer some positive feedback or help with makeup and hair

i also think lucifer adores it when you give him music recommendations, and would get super into a lot of the bands that you like

i personally hc him as a siouxsie and the banshees fan bc i just feel like the elegant vibes fit him very well, but i also think he'd like strawberry switchblade too and just goth stuff like that

overall very supportive and super sweet and silly when it comes to your fashion

Velvette

gosh she needs more love

you both are fashion ICONS okay like even before you both become official she is blown away by your style and authenticity

she def designs special fashion items just for you, she makes a whole line of clothes based off of u and ur aesthetic

velvette LOVES matching with you and loves incorporating both of your individual styles into your matching outfits, whether youre more mallgoth or romantic goth or trad goth or anything in between, she is totally inspired by you and your fits and will always want to inspire you in return

def buys you things she seed and thinks you'd like or look good in, regardless of price. her gifts range from thrifted maxi dresses abd fishnets to priceless jewelry and makeup LIKEEEEE omg

velvette LOVES when u wear something she bought for u or designed for u as well

yall are always late for social events bc u HAVE to be the best dressed couple there i swear

also if u wear chunky boots or platforms and ur taller than her???? expect her to pull you down for kisses bc URGH seeing you sm taller than her does something to her

guys i have a type help

Adam

adam thinks your hot af if you're goth

hes the type to make big tiddy goth gf jokes im sorry💀

in all seriousness tho he would LOVE a goth s/o

adam def likes alternative/rock music and he would think it's awesome if you introduced him to some goth bands

he would LOVE the scary bitches, death grips, and also sisters of mercy too

i def think goth people would be much more rare in heaven than in hell, and he would get SO defensive on your behalf if anyone said anything about you or your fashion

honestly hes your number one fan and LOVES giving his input on your fits

honestly your closet doubles when you date him, adam loves seeing you wear his rings and punk jewelry and i def think he has a lot of old band shirts and stuff for his band, so he would love seeing you wear his oversized shirts

if u have piercings WOOWHEE bc adam asks SO MANY QUESTIONS

he thinks theyre so hot ngl, and i def think he has a few piercings and will buy u both matching jewelry

adam would learn to play songs you like on the guitar for you as well

i dont think hed be super keen on letting you put makeup on him but he'd fold after a little persuasion

i honestly think he'd like eyeliner and how he looks wearing it but doesn't want to admit it bc he doesn't want to seem too feminine (but u know ofc)

Alastor

before even meeting you he was fascinated by your style and boldness

alastor loves people who are unique, and someone who chooses to stand out so much definitely catches his eye

he'd find you very aesthetically appealing and would often find himself wanting to be around you more and learn more about you, your style, and goth culture in general

over this time period is probably when he started to develop feelings for you

alastor would def like the romantic/vampire goth look, that whole genre in general is just very elegant and classy while also nonconformist, which definitely speaks to him

when it comes to music alastor would probably be a little skeptical at first, especially when it comes to new technology, however if you (like me) have a record player and vinyl, i def think he would like listening to some of your fav goth bands on that

i dont really know why but i gen think he'd be a fan of the cure, sure its pretty basic but the vibe of some of the songs can be upbeat and kinda jazzy, and they just have that "old timey" vibe i think alastor would appreciate

alastor is fascinated with the process in which you get ready, and enjoys just sitting and watching in peaceful silence as uou do your makeup and pick out your outfit

if you (like most goths) are into creepy and unusual decor, he would LOVE to help you decorate your room

alastor has the strangest taste in interior design and loves sharing his unhinged ideas with you

overall alastor loves people with a lot of individuality and would definitely find a goth partner appealing because of that !!

THIS IS GETTING SO LONG HELP IM PROB GONNA MAKE A PT2 W MORE CHARACTERS HEHE- THIS WAS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR ALASTOR AND VELVETTE I HOPE I DID THEM JUSTICE!!! WE NEED MORE LOVE FOR VELVETTE SHES SOOOOO AJSJDJD- anywaysssss hope yall enjoyed!!! feel free to req more, esp if u want a pt2 to this >:D

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hischierhoney · 10 days

Text

Just Friends

Jack Hughes x Best Friend!Reader

summary: You’ve been best friends with Jack for ages. He’s also been in love with you for ages, but he’s got that completely under control. Really, he does. Right? 5.2k words

warnings: alcohol/intoxication, non graphic mentions of surgery/blood/stitches, hospital stay, reference to Jack’s shoulder surgery :(

Jack finds you in his apartment kitchen, a black tie in his hand. He’s already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, and for once, he feels like hair looks almost presentable. You take the tie from him without a word, and you loop it around his neck, underneath the collar of his shirt. Meanwhile, he grabs your necklace off the counter and fiddles with the clasp.

You hum to yourself as you start to tie the tie. “Ready for the game today?”

He shrugs. “I’m always ready.”

Luke is there, too, shoveling cereal into his mouth and watching the two of you warily. As you loop the tie around your fingers, Jack slips the necklace around your neck, your skin soft under his fingers. He latches it, blindly, with expert precision, muscle memory. He’s done it a million times now.

You tug the tie into place and then smooth it out on his chest. He hasn’t put his jacket on yet, but you’ll fix the lapels of it, too. You take a half a step back and give him a once over. He stands, waiting for your approval with his breath held in his chest. It shouldn’t mean this much, you making sure he looks good, but it does. You reach up and tuck a lock of hair back into place atop his head, and he smiles happily.

“All good,” you say, dusting your hands together as if you’ve just finished a hard day’s work.

Jack squints at your face, spotting something, and he brings a finger up to brush against your cheekbone. “Eyelash,” he explains, and you hum, closing your eyes as he brushes it away. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Come on, don’t wanna be late. And no cereal in the car, Luke.”

Jack rushes off to grab his jacket. When he comes back, Luke is dumping the last of his cereal into the sink, and Jack grimaces. You’re in the hallway, stepping into a pair of shoes. Luke turns to him with a smirk, and Jack shakes his head before his brother can even open his mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

Luke rolls his eyes. “I just think you guys are-“

“You thinking is dangerous,” Jack says. “Save all that energy for the game.”

He walks away, down the hallway to find you. You reach up to fix his jacket for him, and then you reach for the car keys and hand them off to him. He grins and nudges his elbow against your side.

“You’re such a passenger princess,” he teases.

You shrug. “I’m very good at it!”

He’s not complaining, really. There’s nobody he’d rather see in his passenger seat than you. Your jersey hangs proudly from your shoulders, his name and number on the back, and it makes his chest feel warm. You’re his good luck charm. He just hasn’t told you that yet.

…..

Jack’s spent so much time convincing his brothers and his teammates and his parents that he’s not in love with you, that he can’t pinpoint when it actually happened. He’s not sure there was some big moment, some realization, some day where he looked at you and everything changed. You’ve just been so present in his life that maybe it was a sort of gradual thing. Maybe it’s always been there, and he’s been in denial since he was eleven and Quinn was teasing him on the playground near their house.

Now you’re in New York, closer than you have been in years, both distance wise and friendship wise. You have season tickets, because he’s playing in the NHL and he wants you at every game possible. You spend half your nights at his place when he’s home, and he ignores the funny looks Luke gives him about it. Honestly, he’s a bit tired of denying it all. He thinks maybe if someone just asked point blank he’d let it all spill out.

He reads the text from you and smiles- you’re on your way to the Rock, one of your friends in tow. He’d gotten you two seats for the season, so you wouldn’t have to sit alone. He sort of dreads the day you decide to bring a date, but then he wonders what guy would be stupid enough to go along with that. Jack’s cocky, he’ll admit it. He knows he’s good at hockey. He laughs at the thought of you dragging a date along to see him play.

Someone announces they’re ordering food before the game, from the deli down the street. Jack listens as his teammates put in their orders. Luke goes with his usual. Timo changes things up. When the assistant gets to him, he grins. He orders his go to, and then another, and asks for a can of Coke, too, for good measure. Luke gives a knowing roll of his eyes.

When the guy brings the food in, Jack takes his bag, fishes his sandwich out of it, and hands the other sandwich and the can of Coke back. “Can you get this to seat B322?” He asks, grinning widely. He knows your seat number by heart.

Luke sighs heavily next to him. The guy agrees, of course. Nico, who’s standing nearby, cocks his head in confusion.

“She’s coming straight from work,” Jack defends. The ribbing he gets from the guys will be worth it when he sees you after the game. “She’s gonna be hungry.”

“It’s a hockey arena,” Luke says drily. “There’s so much food here.”

“But she loves Krauszer’s,” Jack says, and Nico rolls his eyes. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t order her some?”

“Friend,” Nico says, drawing out the word. “Sure.”

Jack ignores him. He ignores Luke’s smirk, too. He eats his sandwich and finishes getting ready, and then he heads out onto the ice, knowing you’re there somewhere, probably sipping on a can of Coke.

…..

The issue, Jack finds, is that it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that he’s in love with you.

It was easier, before, when you were younger and he was more dumb and less aware of… everything. He could convince himself it was just puppy love, just absence making the heart grow fonder, when post high school saw the two of you split apart. But now you’re here, close, and yet not close enough. Jack wants more, and he can’t really ignore that feeling these days.

He’s out at a bar, team bonding, as Nico put it. Except that half the team is drunk, including Nico, and the only bonding Jack’s doing is the brotherly kind, trying to keep Luke from sneaking drinks, or worse, getting caught sneaking drinks. Sometimes he hates being an older brother. He’d wanted to come out, maybe talk to a girl, maybe take said girl home, or get her to take him back to her place so he wouldn’t have to worry about Luke overhearing. But it’s not really working, not with Nico hanging off his shoulder like a leech and Luke sneaking another shot, and god, Jack’s going to kill him. If you were here, you’d be keeping an eye on Luke, too. He wishes you were here.

He has a shot to take the edge of the annoyance off. Then he has another, and another, and then there’s a girl across the bar, smiling at him, and- she sort of looks like you, is the thing, but not quite. The sort of uncanny valley of it all is freaking him out. For a moment he wonders if hooking up with her would make it better- would get it out of his system, would scratch the itch. The sane, more sober part of him thinks it might just make it all worse. To have some girl under him and hear a voice that isn’t yours. Jack used to do this all the time. The thought of it makes him feel sick now. That’s new.

He downs another shot and passes his leech of a captain off on his problem of a brother, hoping the two of them will keep each other in line. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and gets an Uber.

It’s only when he’s standing at your apartment door that he realizes he probably should’ve called first. You might already be asleep. You might be out. Maybe you have a guy over. His stomach does a somersault at the thought. He raises his hand to knock anyways- he’s come all this way.

You open the door with a smile on your face. “Nico called to ask if I knew where you went. Thought you might be headed here.”

Jack lets his shoulders drop. “They were annoying me.”

That’s not the real reason he left, but he can’t exactly tell you he saw the uncanny valley version of you and decided to leave. That would be… a lot. You seem to take his answer as the truth, because Luke is annoying on a night out, and Nico can be, too. Jack still probably should’ve told them he was leaving. He’ll get an earful about it. Oh well. The way you step aside to let him into your apartment makes it worth it.

He heads for the couch, and you laugh when he flops onto it, facedown. He likes your laugh. It sounds so much like you. He remembers the years when you were in college and he was far, far away from you, when he’d crack jokes on the phone calls just to hear you giggle. He presses his face into a pillow and hopes you don’t see the blush on his cheeks, or that you’ll attribute it to his drunkenness.

“Want food?” You call out, from the kitchen, he thinks. He groans loudly in response. “I have mozz sticks.”

He turns his head to the side and says, “fuck, I love you.”

He can say it here, in the comfort and privacy of your living room, in the relative safeness of the fact that he’s been drinking. You won’t think anything of it. You won’t realize how much he really means it.

The sound of your laugh is music to his ears. “Love you too, Rowdy.”

You don’t mean it the way he wants you to. That’s okay. He came to terms with that a while ago, listening to you say it over staticky phone calls. But you’ll make him mozzarella sticks, and you’re not upset that he’s here, so he’ll take it. He’ll take anything, really.

You come into the living room a few minutes later, plate full of food in hand, and make him roll over. He sits up slightly, leaning against the arm of the couch, and you lift his legs to sit under them. He doesn’t complain when you turn on some stupid reality tv show he hates- there are mozzarella sticks for him to eat, and the warmth of you under him, the weight of your arm where it’s draped across his calves. He can put up with the host’s annoying voice for this.

He falls asleep on your couch, half a mozz stick in his hand. When he wakes up, he’s tucked in with the quilt you’ve had for years now, a pillow under his head, and water waiting for him on the coffee table. You’re probably at work by now. He’ll send you a text to say thank you, later, unless he decides to just wait here until you come home. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, really.

…..

It’s a Saturday, and Luke is out for lunch with some of the other younger players, so Jack’s fending for himself. Trevor, knowing this due to what he would call their cosmic connection, has seen it as an opportunity to talk Jack’s ear off over FaceTime. Jack has his phone propped on the kitchen counter, half listening as he cooks.

He loves Trevor- really, he does, but the guy could talk for hours upon hours and never run out of things to say. Jack lets him, because he knows Trevor likes talking, so he’s not going to be mean. He just chimes in with noises of agreement or disagreement at the right times. Then Trevor says your name, and he zones back in.

“I fucking knew you weren’t listening!” Trevor cackles, wide grin taking up most of the phone screen. “But the second I mention-“

“Shut up,” Jack groans, rolling his eyes. “I’m listening. I’m just also making lunch.”

“Right, right,” Trevor snarks. “Just for you?”

Jack knows what he’s insinuating. Honestly, as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad idea. You’re not working today, and he could probably convince you to come hang out with him in exchange for free food. He’s bored enough to listen to Trevor go on and on. You could save him from it.

“Yeah,” he says, and immediately contradicts himself by picking up his phone and sending you a text.

He tries to listen this time, he really does. He cares about Trevor, he wants to hear what he has to say. He finishes cooking lunch, and then Trevor has to go, shouting something to someone in the background, and he hangs up. Jack sighs at the empty, quiet room. He thinks about texting Luke to see when he’ll be back, but that feels pathetic. Maybe Nico’s not busy.

His heart leaps when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

Lunch sounds good. I’ll be over soon.

He can’t wipe the grin off his face the whole rest of the day. You come over, and eat the rest of the food happily, sitting at the kitchen counter. He watches fondly and tells you all the drama Trevor just told him- screw you, Zegras, he was listening. You smile brightly up at him.

“Got plans for the rest of the day?” He asks, hoping desperately that you don’t.

You shrug. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

God, he wishes.

…..

Jack thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can’t really be blamed when it all comes crashing down on a Wednesday afternoon in April. It’s been coming for a while. He’s had time to prepare. It shouldn’t take him out the way it does, because he’s seen it coming from miles away. It shouldn’t, but it does anyways.

They pull him from the games and finally, finally, ship him off to Colorado to have surgery. He gets an email with the flight information, another with a hotel to stay in the night before, and instructions on how to book his flight back to Jersey after he’s released. They don’t want to book it now, for fear of something going wrong in surgery. Hockey teams are superstitious like that, even their travel management.

There’s another set of emails, too- ones from the surgeon, about his prep and things he needs to do and bring and what to expect from the healing process. He hasn’t bothered to open it. That’ll make it real. He just packs up some of his clothes, shuts himself in his room, and waits. He ignores Luke, then he ignores Nico, who he’s sure Luke has brought over. He ignores Quinn’s phone calls, too, and everyone else’s.

When you show up, though, knocking on his bedroom door and calling out his name, he can’t ignore it. He makes a noise that isn’t a go away, and you take it as an invitation in, which he supposes it was. You make a soft noise of disapproval when you see him, curled up in his bed, hood pulled up around his head to block out the world.

“Hey, J,” you murmur, padding your way across his bedroom. “What’s going on?”

He sniffles and presses his face into the mattress. “The surgery.”

You sigh and sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah.”

Jack’s not afraid of having surgery, really. He’s never been very squeamish, never one to shy away from blood draws or stitches or IVs. You know this. Everyone knows it, which is probably why they’re all so worried about his reaction to this. He doesn’t want to admit it really, but it’s you, so he finds the words slipping past his lips.

“Mom can’t come,” he says, voice raw and scraping. “Or dad. Too short notice. And- and Luke and Nico and Quinn are gonna be busy, obviously, and I just… all this talk about surgery all this time and I didn’t think I’d have to do it alone, you know? It couldn’t wait till after the season so I could-“

He breaks off into an embarrassing, breath stealing sob. You make a soothing little noise and lean down next to him, scooping him up into your arms. It sort of helps and sort of makes it worse. The tears flow freely now. It’s just you. All his walls are down.

“You won’t be by yourself, Jack,” you murmur, and he waits for the reassuring words, that you’ll all be with him in spirit, that he’ll be home in no time, that he’s never alone. Instead, you say, “I took some time off. I’m gonna fly out with you, be there for the surgery.”

He pries one eye open, waiting for the punch line. There isn’t one. Just you, watching him carefully, holding him close. He knows how hard it is for you to get time off right now. It’s your busy season at work. And yet, here you are. Tears start running again. The whole world goes blurry. You just brush them away, one by one.

“Oh, honey,” you soothe, voice low and soft. “You didn’t think I’d let you do it alone, did you?”

God, he loves you. And he thinks this might be the final straw, the last puzzle piece. There’s no denying it now. You brush stray hairs from his face and press warm kisses to his forehead while he admits that he’s scared, not of the surgery but of what comes after, of the healing and the rehab and everything involved in it. You draw soothing patterns on his skin and just listen, because you know him well enough to know he needs to get it off his chest. He thinks about telling you how much he loves you as he starts to drift off, but he thinks better of it. There’ll be a better time than this, tear stained and curled up in his bed like a little kid. For now, it’s enough to know you love him, in any way, shape, or form.

…..

Jack wakes up in a hospital bed in Vail, Colorado, utterly disoriented and freezing cold. The ceiling is this ugly grey color, just like the rest of the ceilings in the building have been. He’s spent a lot of time staring at them in the last 24 hours. He blinks, and the tiles blur and swirl, and he hears his name in your voice. He tries to hold on, but he’s so, so sleepy, so he closes his eyes.

He wakes up again with no idea how long he’s been out. He’s warmer now. There’s an extra blanket laid over him, and a hand holding his. Hm. It feels nice. He squeezes his fingers experimentally. He hears movement to his left. A plastic cup appears in his field of vision, and he suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. He turns, slightly, and finds you.

“You’re here,” he says, quietly.

Your face is a little out of focus, but he thinks you smile. “Yeah, of course I am. Told you I would be.”

He knows that. He knows you flew out here with him, eating snacks on the plane before he hit the 12 hours before surgery mark and he had to stop. You checked into the hotel with him, got all the supplies ready for after the surgery, got him here, promised you’d be waiting when he woke up. But now he’s here, post surgery, and you’re holding his hand, and his chest hurts in the best way.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” you murmur, lifting the cup to his lips. He takes a sip. “Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head gingerly. He’s a little achy, but nothing that would make him cry normally. He can’t help it, it’s probably the meds. He remembers crying when he got his wisdom teeth out, too. He tries to tell you as much, but it comes out garbled and teary and raw. You shush him, smoothing your hand over his forehead and pushing his hair out of his face. That feels nice. You’re warm.

“Okay. It’s okay,” you soothe. “Take a breath. It’s alright.”

He does his best. You help him take little sips of water, and eventually the tears dry up. He’s left sitting there, your hand running through his hair, and he suddenly feels so, so sleepy. He turns his head and blinks at you. You’re clear in his vision now, beautiful as ever.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles.

He thinks it all the time, he may as well say it. Nothing’s holding him back now. You laugh, and your face gets blurry again. He sighs.

“You’re pretty,” you say back.

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyways. “Hmm.”

“Are you sleepy?” You ask, thumb brushing against his temple. He nods. “You can go to sleep, okay?”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He asks, feeling a little vulnerable, suddenly.

“Yeah, Jacky,” you murmur, and when he closes his eyes, he thinks he feels your lips against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The third time he wakes up, you’re sitting next to him, eating ice cream out of a little plastic cup with one of the tiny wooden spoons. The tv in the room is playing that same stupid reality show. The host’s voice would piss him off if he wasn’t so focused on how adorable you look. He inches the fingers of his good hand towards you, towards where your knee is pressed against his bed. When he makes contact, you jump nearly a foot in the air. He can’t help but giggle.

“Jesus,” you mutter, shaking your head at him.

“Nah, just Jack,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone’s feeling better.”

If he’s being honest, he still feels a little loopy. Your face is in focus, but everything feels a little softer around the edges. His fingers scramble against your knee, and you laugh, leaning close. You set down the ice cream and reach to tangle your hand up in his. That’s nice. He doesn’t get to do that a lot- hold your hand. Maybe he should have surgery more often. You smooth his hair out of his face again. It’s such a caring motion that it sends his heart stuttering.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, quietly.

You shrug. “What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t?”

And. That’s nice, but it’s not really what he wants to hear. He wants you to be here because you love him. He probably wouldn’t spend hours in a hospital waiting room for Nico, probably wouldn’t sit and wait for him to wake up. He’d bring him food after, when he got home, would help him however he needed. But to fly halfway across the country just to be here? He’d do that for you in a heartbeat, but he’s not sure there are many others he’d do the same for.

You seem to notice the way he’s staring, and you wave the wooden spoon at him. “You want some ice cream? The nurse said to call when you actually woke up. I’m sure she’ll give you one if you turn on the charm.”

He blinks slowly. “I love you, you know that?”

It’s past his lips before he can take it back. It should be terrifying. He should feel sick to his stomach. Maybe it’s the hospital drugs, or maybe it’s just that he’s been holding it in for so long, but it doesn’t feel scary. He sort of just feels relieved.

You smile brightly. “Yeah, I love you, too, Jack.”

He huffs. “No, you don’t get it-“

Before he can get another word out, the nurse comes in. He wonders if you pressed the button when he wasn’t paying attention, or if hospital staff just have comically bad timing. He lets out a groan. You give him an amused smile.

“Welcome back, Jack,” the nurse says. He reads her nametag- Nancy. “I’m just going to do a little checkup, alright?” She turns to you. “If you want, you can step out into the hall.”

By the time he’s squeezing your hand to keep you there, you’re holding onto him tightly, too. Huh. That’s interesting.

“She can stay,” Jack says.

You nod. So does Nancy, a knowing smile on her lips. Jack wonders if she sees this a lot. Guys with friends who sit by their bed, oblivious to the fact that said guy is hopelessly in love with them. Maybe it’s a common thing in hospitals. Maybe it’s not just Jack. That’s a nice thought.

He gets his blood pressure taken, and his pulse, and he gets asked to take a few deep breaths for what seems to be just the fun of it. She asks his pain level- a 3, at which point you break in and tell the nurse that his three is more like a five. She smiles at the two of you. When she goes to leave, Jack speaks up.

“Could I have some ice cream?” He asks, hoping the way his voice cracks on the words makes her sympathetic.

Ice cream does sound good. His throat feels raw, and his mouth is dry. And he’s starving.

Nurse Nancy smiles and looks at you. “What do you think? Has he been well behaved enough?”

Normally, Jack would take a little offense to it. But he turns to you, and you’re smiling bright, lighting up the whole room. His stomach does a somersault. He wonders if the way he feels about you is visible on the heart monitor, if his pulse picks up every time he looks at you.

“He’s the best,” you answer, and he melts. “Give him all the ice cream you’ve got.”

Ten minutes later, you sit there, holding a container of chocolate vanilla swirl. He’d been ready to eat it on his own until he remembered his arm, the surgery, the whole reason he’s here. He’d had to settle for letting you feed it to him. Maybe settle is the wrong word, really. It’s nice to be taken care of, even nicer when you’re the one who’s doing it for him.

He thinks maybe he’s still loopy, because in between bites, he pauses, looks at you, opens his mouth, and puts his foot directly in it. “I meant it, you know. I love you.”

You nod. “I know.”

He’s too far into this to stop now. “No, I-“

You interrupt, dropping the spoon in the cup to place your hand over his. “Jack, honey. Tell me later, when you’re not high off anesthesia, okay?”

Oh. He cocks his head, slightly. His mouth tastes like chocolate and vanilla. You smell like flowers. Like the lilacs in the backyard of his childhood home. There’s a light and warmth in your eyes that makes everything feel a little bit better.

“And if I tell you later,” he says, feeling braver than he ever has before, “are you gonna tell me something back?”

You laugh. It’s still music to his ears. You pick up the spoon again, scooping up a bit of ice cream. His gaze stays locked on you.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “That I mean it the same way you mean it.”

That’s enough for Jack, for now.

He tells you again the next day, waits a full 24 hours because a part of him is worried it was all some sort of drug induced dream. But you’re packing up the suitcases, that same stupid show on the TV, and he turns to you where he sits on the edge of the bed and says it.

“I love you. Like, really love you. As more than a friend.” His heart is in his throat.

You drop the hoodie you’d been holding into the bag, walk across the room to him, and come to stand between his legs. He’s holding his breath. You hook your finger under his chin and pull his face to yours. He thinks he recognizes the look on your face, from the kitchen when you helped him tie his tie, from the living room with a plate of mozzarella sticks in your hand, from every moment he was feeling all his feelings for you.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek. “I really love you too.”

When you kiss him on the lips, soft and sweet and everything he’s wanted for ages now, he thinks that maybe the whole mess has been worth it.

…..

He sits in a wooden chair on the back deck of the lake house. It’s mid summer, the week of the 4th of July. The heat is nearly unbearable, heavy and sticky and inescapable. Trevor and Luke are on the grass, throwing a football back and forth. Jack’s trying not to check the time obsessively.

Quinn, who’s sitting next to him, gives him a look when he picks up his phone again. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”

Jack rolls his eyes and sinks further into his seat. “You’re a dick.”

“Jesus, I know she’s your friend but…” Quinn is shaking his head. “You’re being obsessive.”

He hasn’t told any of them. Not about the hospital bed confession, or the kiss, or anything that came after it. The flight back to Jersey, his head on your shoulder. The way you took care of him before he flew to Michigan for the off season. The late night calls the two of you have shared since then. He’s itching to see you. It’s been far too long. He’s been scared to tell them because he’s scared you’ll get here and it won’t be real. He’s being ridiculous, he knows it, but he can’t help it. It’s you.

He hears it when your car pulls up in the driveway. He stands up, ignoring the look Quinn gives him. He’s not quick enough- you must’ve parked and ran inside immediately. You come racing out onto the back porch, eyes wide, smile even wider, and he could melt into a puddle right there in the hot summer sun. You’re brighter than all of it.

He pulls you into a kiss right there, in front of everyone, earning a series of surprised yelps and gasps and cheers. He doesn’t care about anything else. You’re here, and you’re kissing him back, and that’s more than enough.

“Fucking called it!” Trevor yells, and Jack laughs.

“We all did,” Quinn says. “Glad you two finally figured it out.”

You won’t be here forever. You have work, and a life in the city. But for now, for this little slice of time, he gets to have everything he’s always wanted. That’ll hold him over for the rest of the off season. Or, more likely, until he caves in and gets an early flight back to Jersey to spend more time with you. From the way you smile when you stare up at him, he thinks it probably won’t be long.

a/n: thanks for reading! have been wanting to write about Jack for a bit & he’s just so best friends to lovers coded. so here we go!

#jack hughes x reader #jack Hughes x you #Jack Hughes fic #jack Hughes fanfic #Jack Hughes fluff #Jack Hughes fanfiction #jack Hughes imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #hockey fic #honey writes #jh86

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mickyschumacher · 11 months

Text

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: charles leclerc, at the end of the day, is a simple man. so of course, when you show up to the annual f1 dinner dressed like a goddess, it becomes impossibly hard for charles to keep his hands to himself.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors DNI), established bf/gf relation, reader has a vagina, semi-public fingering, breeding kink (?), cum fetish, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks!), edging, orgasm denial

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x gf!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k+

𝐀/𝐍: first post ahhhh... this was proof read but i wouldn't put it past me to have a few errors. hope you like it! ♡︎

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆

"Merde (shit)," Charles swore under his breath as he caught you finishing up.

You raised a brow at him through the mirror of your bedroom. Putting on your earrings, you asked, "What's wrong, Charles?"

You watched through the mirror as Charles walked up behind you. He gave a small smile to you, resting his shin on your bare shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist. You returned a warm smile, leaning into him and resting your hands over his.

He pinched the silk fabric in his hands. "Can I convince you to change dresses?"

A small frown made its way onto your face while you mended your brows together. "Why? You don't like it?" You queried while eyeing yourself in the mirror. You thought you looked quite good.

It was a silk dress in pure white. It had its spaghetti straps that connected to the bunch of white silk hanging around your chest as the rest of the silk clung to you body, fitting each on of your curves snuggly. On the right side of your body, the dress had a slit for your leg to peak through. On the back, the spaghetti straps cross over each other as the fabric hung loose around your lower back.

You had paired it with a necklace Charles had got you for your anniversary: a thin gold chain with a small gold plated heart-shaped ruby. Your hair was also down and styled with a few soft curls that complimented your face.

Altogether, it was simple yet beautiful.

Your eyes snapped to your boyfriend who released a soft chuckle. Charles' eyes twinkled in the light. "Quite the opposite. I love it too much," he whispered into your ear as he rubbed the side of the your hip.

Your felt your breath slow incredibly fast, feeling his lips trail up your neck with small kisses. "Charles," you softly warned. You weren't necessarily complaining. You and Charles often had your hands on each other to the point where one might even say it was sickening. You didn't even have a bra on under the dress. But you both had somewhere to be.

Charles let out a small hum, meeting your eyes in the mirror. He bought his hand out, tracing your lips with his thumb. "Yes, mon amour (my love)?" He asked with feigned innocence.

Your eyes narrowed. "You can't start now. We're going to be late if you keep this up."

Charles pursed his lips, pouting as he turned you around to face him. He pushed your hair behind your ears. "Who cares? We can have dinner here. Just you and me. Doesn't that sound nice, amour (love)? I even know what I want for dessert."

You felt him pull you closer into him, his lips hovering over yours as his hand trailed up and down your leg.

You felt a grin play onto your face. You leaned closer, feeling impossibly close to him. "Oh Charles," You trailed you finger over his lip, in which he clearly invited the gesture as he bought your finger into his mouth. "In your dreams," you deadpanned, abruptly taking your finger out of his mouth and placing a kiss on his cheek.

You let out a sigh, pushing aside your own arousal. "Now come on. We need to leave."

━━━━━━━━━━━

Charles was not a happy man, to say the least. You had practically blueballed him and despite being thirty minutes into dinner, plus the twenty minute drive to the restaurant, all he could think of is you.

You were sat next to him, conversing with Lily, Alex's girlfriend, about her job as a professional golfer. A job that required a lot more training and thought than you had previously thought. Honestly, you were having a such great time that you hadn't realised you were even neglecting your on-the-edge boyfriend until you felt a hand on your right leg.

"Charles, you good?" You asked.

Charles wanted to laugh because you had asked in so much earnest. Like you had genuinely forgot. Of course, he wasn't one to let you forget.

You felt him tug your chair both closer to the table, so the laced table drapes covered you, and to him. His hand moved from your leg to receive the the warmth of your inner upper thigh.

You looked at him almost dumbfounded. "Charles, amour, no," you said through gritted teeth as you gave him a fake smile. It's not that you didn't want to, but how were you supposed to act normal for the whole dinner? Especially when you and Charles both knew what his fingers did to you.

Charles only sported a grin on his face. His fingers continued to creep up your thigh, nearing your white laced underwear, which you had worn for the sole purpose of matching your dress, of course.

Your breathed hitched as you felt his fingers skim over your underwear. Your skin, he could tell, was beginning to burn with heat as it glistened with small traces of sweat. Whether it was out of embarrassment or arousal, hell, or both, Charles didn't care. Whatever was going on, he enjoyed it.

His fingers slid under your panties and found themselves in the heats of your soft lips of your pussy. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip. You were soaked down there. His two fingers already felt drenched. Charles knew that this hadn't just appeared out of nowhere. "Ma belle (my beautiful), be honest with me. You've been wet since you teased me in your bedroom, right? All of this... for me..."

If the slight quiver of your walls near his fingers didn't give you the answer, you sure did with a curt nod. How were you supposed to feel nothing for this blue-eyed, dimpled man who looked good in everything, but especially a suit?

Charles smiled. "That's what I thought. Thank you for being so honest, ma belle. I think that deserves an award," he whispered.

You felt yourself still at his voice as his fingers trailed over your clit a few times before he pushed them into your pussy. You pressed your lips together, suppressing the moan that so desperately wanted to escape your throat.

Charles couldn't help but grin further, darting his eyes from the conversation he was partially in with Carlos and Lando and to the glorious sight underneath the table. He couldn't entirely see your pussy but god could he imagine. You enveloping his fingers entirely as he thrusted back and forth. The trickles of your body running down his fingers.

He cleared his throat, taking a sip of his champagne as he adjusted himself. He was growing hard as every second passed. As much as he loved teasing you and fingering you... he wanted to fuck you. He wanted to watch as his cock entered you... the ring of white you made around him... your hips bucking for more... fuck.

You clenched around his fingers, feeling a pit at your stomach grow. You let out the shakiest and quietest sigh known to Earth. There was no way Charles was about to let cum with some of your closest friends around you... surely...

The answer to that qualm was a 'no' as Charles' fingers started to speed up. Jesus.

You must've been flushed to the max as you had to awkwardly laugh off Pierre's comment to "lay off the champagne". Honestly, that was your limit.

Before you could get any closer to your climax and risk losing it in front of everybody, you placed a hand on Charles' crotch, making him still his fingers and flicker his eyes to you.

His eyes hardened as you slowly rubbed him through his pants. "Charles, if you continue any further, I swear to god, I will blueball you till the end of the week. Let's be patient, okay, sweetie?" The sickly sweet smile on your face was in a hard contrast compared to the harsh whispers falling from your lips.

Charles' tongue darted out his lips and fell to the side. He rested his hand on yours and patted it gently. Although, to anyone, such a promise sounded empty. He was sure you would do it. It happened all the time even unintentionally. He placed a small kiss to your cheek. With a calm composure and through gritted teeth, he murmured, "Okay, mon amour."

━━━━━━━━━━━

The ride back home was impossibly and scarily quiet. There was a lot of tension in the car. The both of you were still hooked on the adrenaline of risking yourselves in public and still horny as ever. Evident as Charles had applied more pressure to the accelerator and the cars nearby went from blurs to dashing streaks.

You were opening the door to your house as you felt Charles’ arms wrap around you. "Faster, mon amour, I can't keep my hands to myself," he whispered, starting kiss your neck.

You felt your heart pick up its pace when you heard the door click closed. Soon enough, both of your shoes were off, Charles' lips were crashing into yours, and your hands were in his hair. The fire between you two had reached a new height as Charles relished the moan that had fallen from your mouth. God, he had been waiting to hear that the entire dinner.

Bringing you back into your bedroom, Charles left kisses everywhere he could as he peeled back the straps of your dress, and gently removed the attired off your body, leaving you only clothed in your soaked panties and his necklace.

"Fuck," he groaned, hovering over you to hold the necklace between his fingers. "You look so good, mon amour."

The smile on your lips made his heart race once again. He smiled, planting a firm kiss on your lips before his hands started to trail down to your chest. Your breasts were what he considered a global treasure in his world, you. He loved everything about them; their softness, their plumpness... but especially, their sensitivity.

Charles latched his mouth around one nipple, leaving his hand to the other. His tongue swirled around the pebbled mound as his fingers circled the other.

You let out a sigh of pleasure, arching your back and raising your hand to feel his hair to push more of yourself into him. The obscene slurps of your breasts went straight to your core as Charles released your nipple with a slick pop.

"Ma belle," Charles breathed out, his fingers reaching your soaked panties. He pulled the drenched material away from your heated pussy. "I need to taste you," he spoke, himself drenched in desperation.

He pulled down the panties, revealing in all its glory, the pussy he had been thirsting over at dinner. He let out a moan as he prodded at your engorged lips.

You feel a shiver come over your body when his breath hit your pussy. His tongue took one long strip at your folds. His blues eyes averted back to yours, holding your gaze and blossoming an indescribable feeling within the both of you. "Look at me, love, while I devour you."

You managed to give a small nod as he returned his attention to your folds, all while maintaining eye contact. "Fuck," you moaned out, trying hard to not throw your head back as he dipped his mouth into you. It seemed that was still hungry from the dinner as he was true to his promise.

Charles was devouring you almost as if he were some sort of animal. He groaned in pleasure, sending a sort of vibrations through your core. He continuously lapped at your folds, drunk on the taste of you. "You taste so good," he grunted, bringing his lips around your clit.

You arched your back into the bed, toes curling at the sheets beneath you. "Fuck, Charles!" You bucked your hips into his mouth, giving into the need to roll your head back. When you looked back up, Charles was a sight to behold. His tongue traveled in circles around your sensitive nub. His stubble was soaked in your juices. He somehow even managed a smirk while eating you out.

"Charles... I'm gonna-" you began before cutting out as his tongue darted further into your folds. "God," you moaned out, your grip on his hair tightening.

"Don't say my name in vain, mon amour," Charles quipped, feeling a slight convulsion of your body as he thumbed your clit.

If Charles wasn't about to make you cum, you would've smacked that grin right off his face. But you were so close...

Charles placed a light kiss to your clit, removing his face from your pussy. He felt a sense of enjoyment follow him as a familiar terror spread over your face.

"No. Charles. Please. God, I want to cum," You whined out.

Charles looked at your flushed face, pushing your hair behind your ears like he did earlier this evening. Somehow, you had become even more beautiful. On the verge of a climax, fucked out, skin flushed and doused in arousal and sweat.

"I need to be in you... fuck, to fill you up, Y/N," Charles hissed in pleasure as he thought about his cum oozing from your hole.

"Hurry, Charles. I need you."

That was all you had to said as Charles rushed to finally take off his clothes.

You watched his thick cock hit his toned stomach and let out a small moan. Charles hovered over you, bringing you into a deep kiss. You could feel his cock nudge the sides of the pussy. Purposely, he dragged himself up and down your folds, intoxicated off the edging feeling.

"Fuck, Charles."

God, he loved the way you moaned his name. It was one of those other things that sent him overboard. Knowing that he was making you feel like that. That it was his cock teasing you. His fingers you clenched around. His voice that made you wet.

Charles looked down to your pussy, aligning his cock. He let out a ridiculously low grunt as he watched your folds cover his cock. You fit him so perfectly, it drove him crazy. His cock was snug and tight in you. It felt like one move in you would send him off.

You let out another moan, feeling his thick cock fill you up. His hands gripped your hips, turning you around so you sat on him. "Ride me, love."

There was nothing Charles wanted more than to see you ride his cock, tits bouncing up and down in sync with his your necklace. And you were happy to comply.

You began to move your hips, hearing the room begin to fill with groans.

"Y/N," Charles moaned, hips bucking to dive deeper into you.

You continued to ride at a semi-fast pace. Lewd sounds of your skin slapping and sticking against one another filled the air. You could feel his cock reach into the deepest parts of you.

Charles sunk his teeth into his lips, watching a white ring form around his cock. The twinkle of your necklace shone in his eyes, occasionally hitting your nipples as it swung around. It was all so much.

You could feel Charles' cock twitch in you, telling you he was close. You grabbed his hands and placed on them on your hips. Your own hands latched onto your breast and the other to your clit.

Charles tightened his grip on your hips before starting to thrust at an immense speed. "Merde," he swore, feeling you clench and take even more of him in you. He could catch the slight shake of your hands as you also neared your climax.

"Come with me, amour. Let me fill you with my cum," he groaned.

That dirty mouth of his and his rousing cock... it was enough to send you over the edge. You let out a high-pitched moan, the end almost silent as your orgasm hit you in hard waves. "Fuck, Charles!"

Charles followed you soon. He moaned, bring you down and holding you tightly. This new angle sent you both into a new spiral. His hips stuttered at an abnormal pace, feeling his cum paint your walls. He let out a string of colourful words, letting his orgasm take any extra drops of his cum into you.

Charles smiled, kissing the side of your forehead. "You did well, mon armour."

You gave him a tired smile. "You too, my love," you murmured before bringing him into a soft and lazy kiss.

Charles watched as you removed yourself from his cock. Only resulting him in a moan from the both of you as his cum trailed out of you.

"God," Charles gulped, feeling his cock harden once again.

You smirked. "I thought you were God, Charles," you teased.

Charles narrowed his eyes at you. "I guess I'm going to have to show you again, ma belle."

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc #f1 x you #f1 x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc one shot #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 imagine

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merchen-aeravellae · 1 year

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Little Princess

Yandere Royal Family x Fake Princess!Reader

Part 2

Warning: possessiveness, platonic yandere, my english is horrible

You grew up as the youngest princess of the Lichen Empire, being the youngest of 4 siblings, you grew up too protected and pampered. Even so, you were always kind to everyone, everyone considers you the light of the empire.

°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●

Yandere family! that pampers you too much, you once stared for more than 0.1 second at a blue diamond necklace (very rare and expensive on the mainland) and the next day it was in your room with matching earrings.

Yandere family! that overprotects you too much, you can walk on the castle grounds but one of your brothers has to always be with you and if you want to go beyond the castle walls, only the most experienced and loyal guards can be your escort.

Yandere Family! when your nephews were born, you became very protective of them growing up and instead you became their favorite aunt and in a way they turning yandere is your fault compared to the rest of your family.

Yandere family! when you escaped to take a closer look at the town, the royal family almost did a massacre thinking that a neighboring kingdom had kidnapped you, you rushed back to the castle when you heard the news of a possible war.

Yandere family! that after this event, they hired spies to watch you without you realizing it, you always feel eyes on you but you consider it paranoia and you just ignore it.

Yandere Family! that they are not the only platonic yanderes for you, the townspeople adore you very much and would be willing to sacrifice themselves for your happiness and safety.

Yandere Family! they were surprised when one day a young woman arrived saying that she was the true princess of Lichen and that a few minutes after she was born, she was exchanged for the daughter of a peasant who gave birth on the same day as the Empress.

Yandere family! they didn't believe her and called her crazy, they almost beheaded her for telling lies about their little princess but the royal council stopped them from doing so. Instead they used magic to check the blood types and your blood came out 0% related.

Yandere family! that when they discover that you are not the real princess, they feel hurt and devastated by not having any blood relationship with you but that does not prevent them from continuing to treat you as before, on the contrary, they fill you with more love, jewels and gold.

Yandere family! that they never told you that you were not of royal blood, for fear that you would try to leave, they also threatened the servants and guards so that they would never talk about it again.

Yandere Family! that they made up a story of a lost sister who had returned to her home after recovering her "lost" memories, you were surprised but glad to have another sister.

Yandere family! that they were surprised that the real princess has also turned yandere for you in the short time that she was with you being Yandere for you runs in their blood.

Yandere father! who consents to all your whims without hesitation, would invade kingdoms if you asked him to. "Everything my little princess wants will be hers"

Yandere mother! that she buys you all the jewels and dresses you want, she poisons the other noble ladies if they speak ill of you. "Talking ill of the princess is a sin punishable by death"

Yandere siblings! that they would make an alliance with the new princess to keep away all the people who get too close to you. "They don't deserve to be in your presence, we better drink tea together"

Yandere nephews! they would be the little spies of their parents to know what you are doing all the time without suspecting and you are their most trusted person. "aunt, let's play in the garden, aunt, you would never leave us would you?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere ocs x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere family #yandere family x reader #yandere platonic #yandere platonic x reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #x reader #female reader #fem reader #margo #merchen

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ipseitydelrey · 5 months

Text

all zipped up ☆ s. reid

ship virgin!sub!spencer reid x dom!fem!reader

warnings shameless smut, loss of virginity, handjob/oral (m receiving), p in v penetration, consent! (cuz it’s sexy!!), slight dacryphilia? idk, spence needs guidance lol, you also let him play w/ ur boobs hehe, pet names (honey & babe), riding

word count 3.0k (went a lil overboard oops)

summary a few months into your and spencer’s relationship, you’re both invited to one of rossi’s dinner parties. the dress you decided to wear was simple, but you needed help getting the zipper all the way up…luckily your boyfriend is there to help.

You and Spencer had only been officially dating for six months when you had gotten an invitation to one of Rossi’s dinner parties.

According to your boyfriend, the older agent would typically host one every couple of months and always after a really good end to a BAU case. Of course, loved ones can be brought along as plus ones, but Spencer would always go alone.

Since you had both declared your relationship official, there hasn’t been a dinner in a couple of months, until the one day Spencer came home and asked if you wanted to go with him. That day is today.

You only have a couple of hours to get ready, and there is this lovely dress you’re planning on wearing. Brand new; you haven’t even worn it yet. Your boyfriend opted to change in the bathroom so while he’s in there, you unzip your new black dress.

As you slip into the dress, you see in the mirror — that is mostly just for decoration — that the tight material accentuates your curves. You run your hands over your sides and hips, smoothing out the fabric, and you reach for the zipper. You pull it up about halfway until you’re unable to reach and zip it up completely.

“Oh, come on,” you silently groan, at which point you hear the bathroom door open. You look over your shoulder. “Hey, Spence?”

Around the corner, he pops into the room while fixing his tie. “Yeah, honey?” he responds, still looking down as he tightens the knot.

You turn your back towards him and you bring your hands up to bring the zipper edges together. “Could you?” you ask.

At your request, he finally looks up. You can feel him staring at your back as it’s been a few seconds since you asked. Well, you can’t really blame him; you’re not even wearing a bra.

You look back at him, “Spence?”

He snaps out of his trance. “Right, sorry,” he stammers as his cheeks flush pink. He approaches you from behind and timidly, yet gently, places his hand between your exposed shoulder blades while his other hand trails down to the zipper. His fingers dip slightly in between the zipper tracks and his touch grazes your spine; you aren’t entirely sure whether that was intentional or not, but you aren’t complaining. No, not at all.

He grabs a hold on the zipper between his fingers and slowly starts to pull upward. You feel the dress hug your figure, as well as seeing in the mirror how the dress is quite tight on you. The bottom of it rides up on your thighs slightly so you drop your hands to tug it down. In the mirror, you can see how Spencer’s gaze trails down to where your hands are situated. The sound of the zipper moving ceases, but his hands remain on your back.

“Anything else?”

“Actually, yeah.” You lean forward towards the dresser — not intentionally showing off your ass right in front of your boyfriend. The necklace you had picked out is adorned with small pearls, complimenting your skin tone and your black dress perfectly.

When you stand up straight, you hand the necklace to Spencer over your shoulder. You look at him in the mirror, “Please?”

He takes the necklace and runs his thumb along the pearls. The rocks are slightly cold when he places it along your exposed collarbone. While doing so, he lightly drags his fingers across your flesh, and you start to think he might have ulterior motives. Then again, a couple weeks earlier he had confessed that he was a virgin…so is he trying to give it up to you tonight?

He clasps the necklace together and brings his hands to grasp your shoulders, rubbing them softly. You look at yourself, how the pearls sit perfectly against your collarbone and subtly brings attention to your breasts. You are definitely aware of the second part of that claim because after he puts his chin on top of your head, Spencer isn’t exactly subtle about him staring at your chest. Surely he must be aware of where he is looking…

“Spence?” you call, but to no response. You try again. “Babe?”

“Hm?” That pet name seems to get his attention.

You bring a hand up to fidget with the pearl necklace. “Is something wrong?” you ask. Of course, you know nothing’s wrong but you know a bit about the effect you have on him, especially in this state.

At your question, he lifts his chin up and he stops rubbing your shoulders. “No!” he says, a little too loud. He clears his throat awkwardly. “No, no, sorry. Nothing’s wrong.”

“So,” you start as you bring your hand down to smooth out any wild wrinkles in the fabric, “is this dress okay? Do I look good?”

He digs his fingers into the soft skin of your biceps; not too harshly, however. “You look beautiful,” he says softly, then his voice drops down to a timid whisper. “You always do.”

Still not getting the message, you think to yourself. So, you decide to take initiative by taking his hands from their place on your arms and moving them down to hold your waist. You try to suppress a small smirk as you ask, “Is it tight enough?”

The question makes his eyes grow wide as his trail of thought derails to something else that could be tight; you yourself aren’t too sure if you were talking about the dress or your growing heat. But hey, if a misunderstanding gets him going, you aren’t complaining.

The placement of his hands on your waist also gives you the opportunity to push your back to his chest and your ass to his crotch, which you gladly take after feeling his erection pushing up against your backside. You hear him whine next to your ear at the friction making his pants tighter.

“Wait…wait, please.” He pulls away a little, leaving you a little cold.

You turn around but his hands remain frozen on your waist. “You don’t want to?”

“No, I do, I do. It’s just, ah…”

Your mouth moves faster than your brain. “Do you want me to guide you?” You move your hands on top of his, gently caressing the back of one of his hands with your thumb.

His breaths are shaky, but after a few seconds he nods.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Please,” he begs, squeezing your waist softly in need. “Tell me what to do.”

His consent brings a smile to your face and you bring your hands up to his neck. Then your lips collide with his, at first soft and loving, but then grows hungrier. His lips gape open to moan, allowing your tongue to enter in a heated kiss. You gently push him towards the nearby bed and he falls to a seated position on the mattress.

When you break the kiss, he looks up at you with his red lips and unkempt hair. You place one leg on each side of him, straddling his hips, but your attention goes to his neck for the time being.

“First,” you state, as your hand pulls on his tie a bit, “is it okay if I take this off?”

Instead of letting you do the honors, he eagerly unties it. While his hands are preoccupied with that, yours starts to unbutton his dress shirt. The tie hangs loose around Spencer’s neck when he goes to help you unbutton by starting at the bottom. He lets you unfasten the last button and slide the shirt off of his torso.

“Help me unzip?” Ironic how you’re already getting out of your dress mere minutes after slipping into it. But he’s fast to undo the zipper and let the top part of the dress fall, revealing your breasts to him.

His hands remain on your back, unsure of where you want him to touch, and he simply stares. Not out of judgment, as you can tell by the way his dick twitches in his pants, but out of the need to memorize every blemish on your soft and plush skin.

“Go ahead,” you say as you push your chest out a little. “Feel them.”

A wandering hand belonging to him cautiously makes its way from the small of your back to the side of your tit. Nervously, he outlines the curves with his fingers before eventually grasping ahold a little harshly; it’s obvious that the poor man hasn’t even fondled a woman’s boobs before this.

“Too tight. Let go a little,” you advise softly.

“Got it. Sorry.” He softens his hold on your chest and starts to squeeze your breast gently.

With your other boob feeling neglected, you suggest, “While you’re doing that, you can use your other hand, or maybe your mouth.”

He seems a little taken aback by the suggestion of using his mouth, but he continues to fondle your tit, even running his finger over your hardened nipple. “How so?”

“Oh, with your tongue. Maybe even teeth.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Wouldn’t that be painful?”

You laugh a bit at his cute concern. “Well you don’t have to bite, you can just nibble.”

Continuing to play with your breast, his head leans forward against your other tit. He runs his tongue lightly across your nipple, which rips out a velvet moan from your throat. Now that he knows what to do for you to make those sounds, he works on your breasts, using his fingers to lightly pinch one nipple and swirling his tongue around the other. The stimulation makes you grind your thinly clothed cunt against the tent in his pants, making him shudder and whine against your breast.

Your hand snakes to the back of his head and you grab onto his curly hair, which elicits a moan from him. After a few more seconds, you pull his head back and make him look at you with his drool dribbling down his chin and his lips all red.

“Why did you pull back?”

The way he asked was keen, like he wanted to have his tongue run across your flesh again. And while you would also enjoy that, you don’t have a lot of time.

You get off of his lap, letting the undone dress and your panties pool around your ankles and you step out of it. You get on your knees in front of Spencer and you start to unbuckle his belt. “I wanna make you feel good.”

His hips slide closer to you. “Are you sure?” he asks innocently.

You take off his belt and he lifts his hips, allowing you to slide his pants down. You look up at him, “Is this okay?”

He nods his head feverishly. “Yes. Definitely,” he says with a meek smile. His pants completely slip off, leaving him in his boxers. You palm him and his hips uncontrollably buck up to meet your touch.

“Is this all because of the dress?” you question, referring to his hard-on, and you smile smugly. Your hand goes past the waistband of his boxers and you wrap it around his dick.

He mewls at your touch and you start to stroke him. “Y-You looked so good in it,” he sputters out, bucking his hips up to fuck your fist. “Please, I couldn’t help it!”

His little whimpers and pleas as you massage his member sends jolts of excitement straight to your already throbbing clit. Your other hand goes to pull down his boxers and free his cock, letting the precum seep out and lubricate the handjob you’re giving him better. You massage a finger over the tip and he moans at the sensation.

“More, more,” he pleads breathlessly, his head thrown back while his hand makes its way to your head and he grabs a fistful of hair.

Understanding what he means, you bend your head down and kiss the tip teasingly. Spencer groans when you start to wrap your lips around his cock, taking him in slowly. He’s big in your mouth, so you use your hand to take in what your mouth can’t.

He tries not to jerk his hips up and fuck your mouth but as you continue to suck him off, it’s getting harder to control his movements. When he looks down at you, you look up at him — eyes glossy and tears filling the brims, drool running down your chin and his cock, your cheeks puffed out — and he feels a heat coiling in his stomach.

“T’much, s’too much- I’m gonna-” and with no warning, he bucks into your mouth and hot splurts of cum hit the back of your throat. You’re not complaining, as you try to swallow as much as you can, even though a bit dribbles out of your mouth and runs down his softening dick.

Your lips leave him with a ‘pop.’ A bit of his cum remains on your chin so taking the opportunity to tease him, you swipe it with your index and lick it off. The sight of you enjoying the taste of him already makes his dick semi-hard again.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly, “I’m sorry; it felt so good and I didn’t—”

You get off your knees and shut him up with a kiss. He can taste himself on your tongue and while normally he would be slightly grossed out, in the moment he finds it arousing. After a moment, he pulls away from the kiss. “Can…can I return the favor? Please?”

The adorable way he asks makes you smile sweetly, and you place your hands on his chest. “As much as I would love that,” you say while you push him slightly, “I just want you inside me. Is that okay, Spence?”

He slides backwards to allow you to have more room when you straddle his hips again, this time with no fabrics between the two of you. One of your hands holds onto his shoulder while the other goes down to hold his cock and line it up with your wet pussy. As a precaution, you state, “Just tell me if you don’t want this, okay?”

His hands go to grasp your waist. “I want it, I want it so much, please…”

With his approval, you start to sink down on his cock. Although you’re experienced with plenty of other guys, you’ve never had a dick this big inside you before. You can feel it split you open, and while it’s a bit uncomfortable, it’s overtaken by the pleasure it brings you. Spencer whimpers with every inch you’re taking and every couple inches, you stop to let yourself get used to his girth and size. Thankfully, he isn’t one of those guys who pushes you down even though it hurts, because his hands remain on your waist, gripping it tightly.

Eventually, he bottoms out and you sit against him with his cock in you for a minute or two. One of his hands presses your belly to feel where he is inside you and that action is what makes you start to lift your hips up. You start off at a slow pace, mostly for Spencer’s sake since he’s already moaning like a porn star, making your walls clench around him.

“S-So good,” he groans, and he begins to help you ride him by moving his hands to cup your ass and lifting you up and down, still maintaining your slow speed. “Y’feel so good around me.”

You let him dictate the pace. “Are you okay with going faster?” you ask. You weren’t expecting him to immediately quicken the pace, but it’s a pleasant surprise since it’s apparent how much pleasure it’s bringing him. His jaw is slack, not even attempting to block his wanton moans, and his eyes are half-lidded so prettily.

He looks down to see how you’re connecting, his cock sliding in and out of you with apparent ease. The way your cunt takes him so well makes him feel another low coil in his stomach, signifying another orgasm close to erupting.

“Where…where do I…” he tries to ask, but his question keeps getting interrupted by his moans.

“In me. In me, fuck, you can cum in me,” you groan, letting your head hang back slack while your pleasure envelops you.

He quickens the pace again, the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs and your moans echoing through the room. The coil snaps and he cries out your name. His cum paints your walls while his eyes roll up from the overwhelming pleasure.

The pace slows and you start to take control of it again. “Please, Spence, I’m so close,” you say. “Hold out f’me, okay?”

He nods lazily and he wraps an arm around your waist. His hand goes down to where you two meet and he finds your clit with ease, rubbing it hard with the soft pad of his thumb.

The extra stimulation is just what you need because soon enough, your orgasm rushes through you like a waterfall. The orgasm lasts a while and eventually you start to come down. You rest on his lap, cockwarming him while you kiss his neck wearily.

“Was…was it okay?” you ask when you pull back.

Even Spencer knows how absurd that question is, how you’re focusing on whether you performed well and not on your own pleasure. “It was amazing.” He kisses you, soft and tenderly. “You’re amazing,” he whispers in between kisses.

When you next take a breather, you glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand, showing an analog ‘7:52 PM.’

“Y’know,” you start, brushing the hair out of his eyes with your fingers, “if we leave now, we would only be fifteen minutes late.”

“It’s that late?” He looks back at the clock to double-check.

You get off of him, his cock slipping out of you with a groan. “What are we going to say if they ask why we’re late?”

He stands up and pulls his boxers up. “We’ll say you were helping me with something,” he says with a smile.

hope y’all enjoyed !! <3

#★ sei’s fanfics #★ spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #fanfic #spencer reid fandom #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #mdni

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introloves · 9 months

Text

𝐎𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

money tied to love shouldn’t feel this good.

old money! gojo x reader + dom! gojo + petnames (angel + princess) + reader gets doted on + reader also gets spoiled with money and gifts + heavy petting + messy sex + kinda public sex + size kink + praise + overstimulation + breeding + frotting + embarrassment + slight, very slight humiliation + slight degradation + squirting + f! reader

— word count; approx 3.2k

gojo knew the promise of his immense amount of wealth was what drew people in. knew that his name carried weight- and the look of his face itself was enough to get him out of most conflict, but it felt different with you.

he knew you were not as interested in the circle of opulence that he was born into- but that didn’t mean you didn't dislike it.

he figured it out ten months in, decided to indulge in a restaurant that had been bought out for the night and settled you right in front of him- sparkling in the dim candlelight with jewels he had dropped off right before picking you up. watching with crescent eyes as you squirmed in your seat, lips pouty and propped open to let just a sliver of warm exhale through before tucking your bottom lip into your teeth. wondering if you knew he could see the subtle shift of your thighs- tugging the satin dress across the swell of your thighs.

“you like it?” satoru wondered, sitting back in his seat while your trembling fingers reached and curled against the stem of the wine glass- knowing you tried so hard to keep an air of nonchalance against his always watching eyes.

“it’s… beautiful.” you finally giggled, letting the sweet liquid inside your mouth- making the already expensive wine look just that much more delicious against your lips.

it pleased him, knowing you were enjoying yourself, knowing how much you fought against his incessant push to throw gifts your direction left and right, a feeling of guilt twisting in your stomach that made you feel like maybe he thought you were using him. but he knew different, the slight frown on your lips when he first gave you a necklace that looked like it could pay for your rent for a couple of years was dropped off at your doorstep with no further pretense or condition to let him know this was different.

he simply thought it would look good on you- and his expenses were explained to no one but him alone as the only heir to his family wealth, it's not like it would make a dent in money that sat there unused and was older than both of you two put together. it looked better draped around your neck, or hugging the curves he could seemingly long for forever, felt better when the simmering heat in your stomach was worn on your cheeks- liked leaning down and feeling the warmth painted on the curve of your face, nearly burning against his lips.

sitting back, he let his knees fall apart- spreading his legs open, crossed his arms over his body to look at you from the glint of his lower lashes. a stance that at first glance would look like it was him getting comfortable, but the way his lips kept a small upturn at the corners- the way he really looked at you felt like there was a crushing weight pinning you down right in front of him. his chin tilting up to ask without a word being said if you felt it too, if the weight of his cock in his silk pants was reciprocated by the thrumming of want nestled between your legs. silence that had you shakily press the crystal back down against the table to bring a hand up and shield another small giggle from your lips, and it took everything in him to not reach over the table and tug your hand away. his own heart thumping heavy in his chest, a lowly mumble of ‘cute’ that sounded mean falling from his lips before keeping quiet once again.

broken only by the sound of the music changing- the slow whine of a sleepy note seeping off into a moving waltz, seemingly snapping out of his stupor for a second- wondering if he could keep his hands to himself for the entirety of the meal. giving you a wink before straightening back up, elbows placed on the table to close the distance just a little bit.

“beautiful, huh.” he repeated, wondering how to proceed with the delicate swing of want that was tipped back and forth between the two.

“how hungry are you, angel?” gojo breathed, sighing something heavy out of his lungs. letting your answer pick for the both of you, eyes caught against the delicate glimmer of diamonds reflected back with every rise and fall of your chest. luring him in even further with just the way you sat there, trying not to groan at the singular thought that he had brought them for you- that it was from his own hand that placed the delicate metal and diamonds fasted against your skin right there. wondering if you would wear his name just as pretty right there.

the question struck a chord in your stomach- tingling with the thought, with the offhand chance that he was just as desperate for you as you were him, food be damned. there were always other nights, and the events leading up to this whole show of glamor and wealth were already way too much for you to bear.

“hungry?” you wondered out loud, “not very hungry.” you shrugged, truthful and shy. knowing you were wanting something else, but finding it hard to really vocalize just what you wanted in fear of reading the signs wrong.

“but it’s not about the food, is it?” you sighed, motioning with a small circle of your hand to the environment you found yourself in- finally letting your finger rest against your newly found tennis necklace resting along your collarbone.

and gojo laughed, knowing you were going to say something in regards to this whole show. because you were right.

“no princess, it's not about the food, but i am a gentleman and thought i'd ask before i do this-” satoru nearly keens before sitting up straight, and with a wave of his hand ushered over the waiter. motioning for the man to lean into him, whispering words lost to you no matter how much you strained to hear before handing him a black card, rimmed with silver trimming. smile still plastered on his face even when he turned to look at you, before finally standing and extending a hand out towards you, bowing his head to avert his eyes to the floor like the so-called ‘gentleman’ he claimed to be.

it made it so easy to lean into the grandeur that he was cloaked in, giggling before letting a hand reach for his arm, traveling up the softness of his button up shirt (with too many of them undone to realistically be called one) before looping your other arm around his bicep, shivering with the feel of muscle taught and so big against your body; expecting him to tug you to the front door, but instead took long steps to the back, dimmed lights only illuminated sparsely by satoru’s request. walking past leather seats and heavy oak counters, his eyes glued to the doors of the bathrooms nestled away in the back even when you tipped your head up to look at him as he tugged you away.

“gojo?” you whispered, even though there was no need to.

“hm?” was all that was responded back to you, hand pushing the door open and finally grabbing you. hands shaky while they pressed against the warm curve of your body, barely letting the door shut closed before leaning down to kiss you, sighing like he was tasting the sweetest thing hed ever had- and with every pass of his tongue against your glossy lips it might as well had been.

rendered speechless, too busy trying to guess where the path of his hand was finally going to land against you, your own hands reaching up to anchor themselves into the fabric of his shirt- fisting the material like it was the only thing keeping you standing.

“satoru!” you cried, in between a kiss that didn’t feel all consuming, letting you think for just a second.

pulling away with the slight urgency to his name, finally paying attention to the way you shook against him, wondering if he took it just a little too far.

picking up your chin with a curled finger on one hand, the other prying your shaking fist from his shirt before kissing the back of it. wondering how you had gotten so sweet.

“angel.” he sighed, finally thinking straight now that the heat he had felt all night was satiated just a tiny bit, finally attentive to what you wanted.

“i dont want kisses.” you breathed, blinking back tears for the sake of the time it took to get ready, wondering if it was any use granted just what you wanted.

“no? ah, baby.” satoru sighed, leaning in to lick your cheek like it was the most normal thing- like it was something to do when trying to soothe someone, ready to apologize, to let you know that he really was a gentleman and there was no excuse for tugging you along for the sake of calming down the throbbing in his pants.

“no, i-i want more.” you finally cried, thankful for the fact that his piercing eyes weren’t staring directly into yours, finding it hard to think when they were pinning you down.

and in a second, it felt like he could finally breathe. tilting his head back to stare at the lights illuminating the bathroom, thankful that they were not generic fluorescent lights- it was much softer, painting you in a color that made you look worth more than anything he could think up.

“more? what’s more, baby. tell me- i’d give you anything.” gojo murmured, shaking with the painted restraint that didn’t come easy, too indulgent, wanting to hear what you had been pining for the whole night. with what he knew you wanted from him, finally letting yourself be indulgent with the grandiosity he could so easily give you.

but it felt too real, all of the courage you had seconds ago wasted away with the way he held you in place- thumb and pointer finger pressed on either side of your face while he leaned down into you, breathing hot and heavy into your open mouth, just waiting for the words like he was going to eat them up. draped in expensive fabric thanks to him, jewelry clasped around your neck and wrists thanks to him, propped up against the cool wall in the restaurant you could never get into by yourself thanks to him. and all you could do in return was cry and shake like a baby against his ever imposing stature. breaking into the mess he wanted you in.

“c-cant. i can’t.” you finally breathed, closing your eyes and letting the tears that had clung so desperately against your lashes fall down your cheeks, nestling against the dip of your cheek his fingers made.

and he shouldn't have felt so good about this, shouldn’t have; so ardently burned with lust at the way you gave it all to him, but he was a creature of lust and opulence- and there wasn’t anything as tempting and delicate as you.

“oh, angel- it’s okay, i’ll take care of it, it’s my fault- isn’t it?” he reassured with a lilting voice that felt like licks of stinging heat against you, letting go of your face in favor of reaching down lower- pressing against the pulse point of your neck instead, making you even dizzier than you had been already.

and he supposes the reason why he liked you like this, dizzy and dependent on him, was because it made it so easy to turn you around- letting you miss his touch for just a second before entangling his fingers against the back of your head and pushing you forward- silently apologizing for his heavy hand before swallowing it all back when your mouth popped open and you whined a sound so raring it made him blink before returning fullforce.

leaning to search for the cheek that hadn't been plastered against the cool marble to bite into the softness there, while his free hand wandered down to the crux of your legs. prying your soaked underwear to the side and sinking just the tips of his fingers against your slit, openly groaning at how hot and wet you were. his cock straining against his pants, throbbing and swelling with every shaky breath you panted, pressing it against the thinly clad curve of your ass, letting his hips rut desperately against you, fingers sinking further into your cunt when the feel of him against you like that had another wave of wetness make a mess right there while he touched you.

“youre so, fucking- wet.” he murmured, making it sound like a complaint, before leaving the grip of your head in favor of reaching down between the two of you- fisting at his cock for just seconds until the heavy press of his body against your own waned in the want and need to have you made him dizzy too. finally letting the heaviness of his swollen cock free, letting it rest against your lower back, nestled like it belonged against the swell of your ass, painting your pretty dress in a messy string of precum.

normally, he'd shown more restraint, would have strung you along until you couldn’t take it anymore and then give it all to you- but the singular thought of you finally basking in what he had to offer, in what came with his name made him already too weak.

“too fucking cute, i really have it all.” he breathed, prying his messy fingers from your cunt before grabbing the equally soaked piece of fabric hiding you away from him and pulling, tugging until the lace and cotton gave way, falling down onto the floor between your feet- not even bothering to move your dress, shifting his hips away from you in order to guide the thickness of his head into your heat. too hard to need a guiding hand, and finally letting out a strained groan when the mushroomed tip of his cock popped inside.

open mouth panting once the initial churn of his stomach went away, heavy balls constricting with the need to dump a heavy load of thick cum inside you.

a slave to this singular thought- chasing it with closed eyes, reaching for it before it left the forefront of his mind. towering body bowing down to meet you, to hiss expletives against your ear, wanting you to know what was racing through his mind the second his cock finally sheathed itself right where it belonged.

“i’ll give it all to you.” gojo whined, hiccuped in desperation while his hips twitched to give you one good thrust, pushing a mirrored sound of utter shock from your own pouty lips.

“the money, clothes, anything you want-“ he grunted, working to lessen the clutch of your tight pussy around his throbbing cock, barely able to move, to fuck you. “you won’t have to work a single day in your life, princess.” satoru murmured, words clipped short, his pet names for you spat between gritted teeth when his hips finally found a frantic rhythm, balls slapping against your clit so hard it felt like pads of fingertips tapping the swollen bud there- only further adding onto the searing pleasure.

trying so hard not to completely collapse, your hands found his forearms, wrapped tightly around your stomach to keep you there- close and unmoving while he humped away, letting you know in his own way to let go, he had you in the midst of dirty, filthy words.

“just give me a baby, yeah?” gojo finally breathed. pitching forward to nestle his nose into the space between your shoulder blades, arms keeping you so close you could hardly breathe.

the singular sentence making you dizzy, thighs squeezing together in the sudden heat wracking your body at the implication of it all- at the fact that you wanted it more than anything.

knees snapping shut, barely keeping any weight of your body against your toes, putting all your faith in his arms before seizing up. stomach clenching so hard it ran on the precipice of hurting, cunt closing down around his dick so hard he fought to keep it inside- knowing that’s where it belonged. wishing more than anything he could turn you around to see you cum, wanting to watch your pretty eyes roll and head tip back- but the sharp sound of liquid splashing down along the glistening floor was enough.

an exasperated laugh knocking the wind out of him with the realization that you just came all over the front of his expensive pants and the floor.

head tilting back to laugh out against the vacant room, wondering why you were so cute, why even in the midst of cumming you mewled and pleaded with him to cum inside- pushing past the overwhelming exhaustion from it all.

and it only takes seconds longer for satoru to oblige, wanting to do right by his part- to give you anything you wanted, finally pressing against the curve of your ass, shivering with the final constrict of his stomach before relenting.

cock swelling, spilling inside of you with a fervor that makes him loose any semblance of composure he has left, letting himself picture you tied to his side, happy and content- smiling and asking him for things he’s more than happy to oblige with, wanting you to be selfish and greedy with him, just like he is you.

“ah, messy.” he finally breathes, like it’s your fault- snickering when you whine and throw back a mean look at him, smile bitten back just a little when the final pulse of his cock hits him. trying to let the lowly groans simmering in the back of his throat lessen just a little, wishing he didn’t have to leave you, wanting to stay in the heat of your creamed cunt, dick surrounded by the mess he made there.

but the shake in your legs doesn’t let up- and he knows you’re tired, and with a small sigh, he leans down and kisses your cheek sweetly, sliding his spent cock out and furrowing his eyebrows at the wetness coating it, a pearlescent string of mixed cum falling down onto his already ruined pants- huffing with just the slightest tinge of pride.

reaching to gently shift the crumbled up seat of your dress down back where it belonged, seeing the ruined state your attire was in too- rolling his shoulders back to soothe the strain of being bent down around you just a little.

“satoru.” you whine like he wasn’t already doing everything for you, but you couldn’t help it- he’d made you like this, always wanting more.

and he comes down like the singular ring from his name from your lips pulled him itself- pressing kiss after kiss along your heated cheek, shushing whines when he lets you try and stand by yourself, wanting to make it home to properly give you everything.

smiling like he wasn’t about to pull you out of the bathroom with cum soaked thighs and expensive silk that made everything shine so elegantly despite what was wetting the material- but he only assured you it was okay. there was no one here after all, he’d paid everyone out to sit in the back and enjoy a break on him.

further stoked by the way you simmered even more at the realization that with money like his, he could do anything.

he could do anything for you.

#gojo #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #jjk smut #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk #jjk.txt #smut

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