#uh i don't have a selfie tag

[hyenaswine]

too hot for vest or jacket so this is the best i can do for the last queeraoke of pride

#uh i don't have a selfie tag #butch

[kiwisbell]

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

[chuuyasheaven]

♡ Everything for you, my love. (pt 2) ♡

Tags: Chuuya Nakahara / afab! Reader, sexting?, sending nudes, Reader's a bit drunk, Husband! Chuuya, EVERYTHING IS CONSENTED, rough sex?, pet names (doll, baby, angel, sweetheart), praising (afab! receiving), spanking (like once), birthday sex, slight teasing, overstimulation?, Reader's wearing lingerie+thighs highs (also has thick thighs), dumbification?, might contain grammar errors, rushed, etc.

Notes: I WANT NEED HIM TO DO THIS TO ME 😔

It really sucked that your husband, Chuuya, had to work, especially on your birthday! He said that he won't have to tomorrow, but you needed him. What's a birthday without him fucking you dumb? You thought about asking him to leave early, but knowing he'll won't. Then you came up with something else. .

You: Hey Chuuya Chuuya: Hey You: I miss you, can't you come home early? :( Chuuya: I wish i could, I'm really sorry, baby. I swear when I come home we can celebrate your birthday You: When will you come home tho? Chuuya: I don't really know, 9pm? You: But that's way too long! Chuuya: I know, I'm sorry I'll try to hurry up okay? You: Alright, let me send something to make it better! ;) *3 attachments sent*

When Chuuya clicked on the photos, his eyes widened. Three photos of you in black laced lingerie with matching thigh highs, all in three different angles. You were lucky he was in his office, anyone could've seen these if he wasn't careful enough!

Chuuya: Are you really gonna do this to me? You: Can't I send you some selfies? Chuuya: I'll be home soon, you better prepare yourself.

You put your phone next to you, waiting for him to arrive. You started feeling excited, thinking about how he would fuck the living daylights out of you. After waiting for two hours, you heard the door open, footsteps making their way to you. Just as you sat up, Chuuya walked through your bedrooms door. He kept on walking until he stood before you, grabbing your chin to make you look at him. "So you could've come home sooner?", you asked in a teasing tone. "It's complicated, but it's not important right now.", Chuuya said, letting go off your chin to pull you on your feet. Chuuya then smashed his lips against yours, his hands now sliding down to your waist.

Separating from eachother, Chuuya continues to speak. "Couldn't my wife wait for me to come home?", he teased, you giggled before responding. "Chuuya, it's my birthday. What kind of birthday would it be if I wasn't spending it with my husband?", Chuuya chuckled before sitting down onto your shared bed, patting his lap as a signal for you to sit down. As you did, he stroked your hair gently, kissing you again. From kissing you deeper, he tasted some light wine in your breath. After the make out session, his hand made it's way to your thighs. "You look so fuckin' beautiful, doll,", he said.

His hand slid down to your black laced panties, playing with your cunt through your panties. Your breath got heavier as he got you wetter than you were before. "You're already wet?", Chuuya asked with a smirk on his face. Your hands made it down to his belt, trying to unbuckle it. When his belt was unbuckled, you then removed everything else in the way until you got his dick out. Before you can fuck yourself on it, he wanted you to beg first. "Nuh uh. You gotta ask nicely first, sweetheart.", you groan in slight frustration before doing what he said. "Please, Chuuya. . I need you so bad right now.", all he did was nod while pushing your panties to the side. You put it inside you and whimpered at the feeling of stretching you out.

Waiting a bit for it to adjust, Chuuya kissed you again. "Now ride me like a good girl, alright, baby?", you nodded, starting to move your hips trying to find a rhythm. His hands on your hips guiding you how to move. As soon you got a steady rhythm, you started to whimper louder while Chuuya was grunting softly. "S–shit, keep going, doll. .",you sped up a little when you suddenly felt a spank on your ass. "Who's a good girl f'me, hm?", you got even more turned on because of the spank when another one was heard. "Answer my question, baby. Who's being a good girl right now?", "Me, I–i am!", you choked out. It wasn't long until you came around him, gushing around his cock as he came inside you.

You were trying to calm down before Chuuya easily picked up and laid you onto the bed. He took off your panties and threw them somewhere. "I can't let the birthday girl do all the work, now can I?", Chuuya slid inside you and waited a few seconds before moving, when you adjusted again, he started to thrust into you. His pace was slow and rough, his grunts becoming more audible. Your whimpers turned into moans now, which were music to Chuuya's ears. He got faster, picking up both of your legs and positioned them on his shoulders, resulting him to fuck into you deeper. You already felt your second orgasm near, chanting his name like an prayer. "You're doin' so good— fuck. . so pretty for me, aren't you, angel?", he praised you again.

"Chuuya, 'm close— ah!", you tried to warn him but he kept on thrusting into you, needing you to gush around his dick once more. "You wanna cum? You wanna cum around my cock again, huh?", at this point you weren't able to talk right now. "Tell me, who was being good tonight?", you tried to really answer but all what left your mouth were only either his name or moans. "C'mon, I know you can say it. I haven't fucked you dumb now, have I, sweetheart?", "N–no,", you managed to respond. "See? Let me ask again, who was my good girl tonight?", you took in some heavy breaths trying to concentrate. "I–it's me. .", you answered him, he smirked before cumming inside you and you came around his cock again.

"Do you want me to continue going or wanna go take a bath? It's up to you, baby."

HOPE YOU ENJOYED BCS THIS TOOK ME A LONGGG TIME !! :)

#chuuya smut #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut #chuuya nakahara smut #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #Rei's writing !! ♡

[luvring]

PHOTO OF YOU

suna x gn!reader | rin comes home and sees the new photo of him you've gotten

note from nia: if anyone does another character w my idea i am humbly asking u to tag me because i think it's fun and silly

“what the hell is that?”

“what do you mean?”

“i mean why is my face on the back of your phone?” suna asks, laughing in disbelief.

you turn your phone to look at its back with the photo of him sitting in a pink photo holder. he’s mid-laugh, head resting on your lap, and plushie under his chin. your aforementioned boyfriend stands above your spot curled up on the couch, and waits with a tilted head for an explanation. “you don’t like it? it’s a photocard.”

“it—” he snorts before reaching for your phone to inspect it. you hand it over and his lips twitch into a smile. “am i a k-idol now?”

“maybe. you tell me.” you shrug. rin carefully takes off your phone case to look at himself, even moving so the light from outside would give him a better view. you gesture to the photocard with an accomplished grin. “i even got a sleeve and decorated it.”

“mhm, i see that, baby,” he replies breathily. you watch as he rubs the different stickers and tilts the holder, letting the sparkly stickers reflect back at him. if he had passed your desk he would have seen the sticker sheets you bought specifically for this, alongside the different layouts you had planned out. “where’d you even get this printed?” he asks.

“i have my ways.”

rin shakes his head, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek before looking at you. “no, i need to know so i can print one of you.”

“what?” he only continues to look at you, a smile growing on his face.

you squint at him in return. "rintarou." he bends down to place your phone and photo on the coffee table, then moves to join you on the couch. if there was something you knew about suna rintarou, it was that he’d always, always go through with a bit. if you didn’t stop him now, he’d start ordering photocards of you and pretend to unbox them, saying something about always managing to pull the rarest ones.

you groan at the new weight on top of you as he shifts to lie down properly. “rin, oh my god, you’re going to smush to me. and also no way are you getting one.”

he hums and wraps his arms around your waist, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his laugh against your skin. “why not? i want a photocard of you.”

“no, you don’t deserve my photocard.”

“but we could match, babe. don't you think we’d be cute? i could decorate my sleeve, too.” rin looks up at you with an exaggerated pout. you pinch his cheek and snicker at his unamused frown. “no, you’d pick an awful photo and i’d have to kill you out of principle.”

“uh-huh, just don’t get blood on my picture then,”—he turns his head to bite onto your finger and grins as you pull it away—“it’ll be the one and only copy, worth your rent in just a year.”

“so you admit you’d pick a terrible photo?”

“no, i’d pick a good one,” he says plainly. the look you give him is so obviously mistrusting that rin laughs loudly. he shifts up to plant a kiss to your jaw and counters softly, “i would, it’d be the one i have as my lockscreen. promise.”

his lockscreen had been the same photo of you for months; it was a selfie you had taken on his phone, close up and face smushed against his pillow. the first time you asked about it, rin had told you he’d look at it when he was away and didn’t want to wake you, and imagined you were there beside him.

he looks at you expectantly, waiting for approval. your own expression softens and after a second, you sigh. “god. yeah, okay. i can’t believe we’re going to have photocards of each other.”

“seriously? you did it first.”

“as a joke, and you’re going with it.”

“yeah, ‘cause you’re cute and i love you.” you stutter and he smirks, deciding to give you the small mercy of not commenting on it. “i’m gonna print a bunch and start a collection, y’know.”

the idea makes you groan. “can you just make your own and sell them so we can be rich?”

you feel his laugh before getting his agreement. “i can do both of those things. i'll even get the team on board and spoil you with our incredible profit.”

“oh, wow. will i get credit?”

“yeah. something, something copyright law or whatever.” you're 100% sure that was bullshit, but hum despite it. “m’kay. that’s the plan, then.”

and you think that’s the end of it, and quietly ask rin to hand you your phone again. even if it was as a joke, you spent more time on decorating the sleeve than expected and wanted it back in your case. he manages to grab and pass it to you but the sight of himself gets rin's mind on his own photocard again. he looks at you sheepishly. “...can i seriously take your stuff to decorate the card sleeve, though?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtc @kuroaka @sunaslay @the-midnightskies @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @the-b-u-n-n-y @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt

#haikyuu x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou #x reader #haikyuu fluff

[ashyyslashy]

Call Me: Renfield x GN!Reader

You work at a hotline for people suffering with codependence. You find yourself attracted to an odd guy who frequents the line, and one night, you both let down your guards.

word count: 2,039

warnings: sexual content (orgasm denial, phone sex, praise kink, m! masturbation), language

tags: @kpopgirlbtssvt @karmakaoskk-blog @wrldsapart

You were deeply intrigued the first time you heard his voice. Unmistakably kind yet nervous. Soft, subdued, as if he was making himself smaller even over the phone. You surmised that he was used to being unseen, to shrinking away from others' gaze.

He introduced himself as Robert Montague Renfield, in a British accent permeating with gentle formality. He was instinctively charming, yet there was a certain sorrow you caught lurking in his voice.

He was tight-lipped about his codependent situation for the first few calls, only telling you vague details about his boss' narcissism. Whenever you brought up the subject of what exactly he did for work, however, he was decidedly evasive in his responses. The most you could glean was that he was some sort of assistant, but you couldn't say what for.

You could say that his life revolved around his job. Every time he called you - after the first time you talked he'd always ask to speak to you whenever he called the hotline - he seemed fearful he could be pulled away at any moment. Guilty about taking time to himself.

You tried not to pressure him, allowed him time to become more comfortable. After several calls, he was still secretive about his work, but he slowly started confiding in you. He struggled to develop his own identity under the shadow of his boss. He felt deeply alone, unable to connect with others. He often felt controlled by feelings of hatred and discontent towards himself.

When your shift ended one night, you acted on impulse - you gave him your personal number, telling him to call you any time. You wouldn't normally do something that forward, but you were drawn to him. Your conversations at work never felt long enough. He was hesitant at first, anxious about taking up your free time. But you assured him it was what you wanted.

The two of you exchanged photos, and your attraction multiplied. The selfies he had sent you were hilariously awkward, the angle unflattering and the lighting reminding you of the harsh fluorescents of a hospital room.

But you didn't care. Despite his inability to work a cell phone camera, he was otherworldly. Piercing blue eyes, dark hair against pale skin; exactly how you'd imagine the love interest in a gothic novel. Something inside you craved him with a fervor that you believed had been long dulled by monotony and routine.

This night, you'd brought up the topic of romance. You couldn't let the curiosity eat away at you any longer of whether or not you had any chance with him. He had laughed nervously, before telling you he hadn't pursued someone in years. You knew you shouldn't, but you pressed the subject.

"Well, any short-term relationships, flings?"

"No, no one."

"Not even a one-night stand?" You paused. "I'm not passing any judgement, by the way. Romance in the 21st-century is so shitty, if you can even call it that sometimes."

He laughed again, the uncomfortable edge in his voice increasing.

"Yeah, it's.. strange. But to answer your question, no. Um, I haven't done anything like that in a while."

"I mean, I think hook-up culture is kind of fucked. You're better off."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. Uh, I haven't done anything sexual."

You hesitated. "Like.. ever?"

"No, no, no, I've done it. Just not for a long time. I- I kind of have a mental block."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how I said it kind of feels like my boss is always in my head?"

"Yeah, I remember. Do you want to talk about it more now?"

"No, no, I just don't know how to explain what I'm trying to say. I feel like.. I can't do anything.. like that. Like, uh, sexual. Even if it's just alone. I don't know. I feel like he's there watching me or something, and then that kind of just makes me want to.. you know, stop."

You took a beat, processing his words.

"Are you referring to, uh, pleasuring yourself?"

He swallowed audibly. "Yeah. Sorry, that was.. I shouldn't have brought that up."

"No, that's okay. If this unhealthy relationship with your boss is an issue that's affecting your sense of privacy, and interrupting personal rituals such as, um, masturbation, I think we need to discuss it."

This conversation had certainly not gone where you expected it to, but you attempted to remain somewhat professional as you felt the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Your work is only part of you," you steamrolled on, taking advantage of his embarrassed silence. "We've talked about this - how it, how he, doesn't define your entire identity. This is an example of something in your life that has been deterred by your codependence: your inability to fulfill your own sexual needs."

"Oh. I didn't even think of it that way, but you're completely right. Shit."

"I usually am."

"So, uh, what do you think I should do about it?" he said.

You were completely unable to read his tone. He sounded so utterly earnest despite the fact that he was asking you how he should comfortably fulfill his sexual needs. You decided to test the waters.

"Um, where are you right now?"

"I'm in the apartment I rent. I was scared my boss would overhear our calls if I stayed there."

Your eyebrows shot up involuntarily. "...So you went and rented an apartment?"

"Uh, he has a lot of money."

"Yeah, I guess he does." You cleared your throat. You were trying desperately not to lose your nerve. "You're alone, right?"

"Yes."

"And you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

"I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to only say yes if it's what you want. Okay?"

Fuck, you were really doing this.

"Okay," he replied.

"Um, well... How would you feel if you.. did it? On call with me? I could guide you, make sure you feel comfortable." You held your breath as you heard only silence from the other end.

"Er.. do what, exactly?"

"Um. Touch.. yourself. Shit. I'm sorry. I realize I should not be asking this-"

"Yes. I want to," he cut you off, his words so rapid they blurred together.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I really like you. And like I said, I trust you. I'm also, uh, very, very attracted to you."

"I feel the same about you," you said softly.

"Tell me what to do," he responded breathlessly. You could hear him shifting around on the other end of the line.

"I've never done this, before, uh.. are you hard?" You cringed. "I really hated how that sounded. Fuck."

He laughed, quiet and musical. "Yes. I was almost as soon as you brought this up."

"Okay, we should probably, um, establish some ground rules. If you want to tap out, just tell me you're done. We can never speak of it again. And tell me if anything I tell you to do makes you uncomfortable. But, uh, there is one thing I want to do, if you're okay with everything else."

"Yes?"

"I want to be the one who controls when you cum."

"I'm at your service," he breathed.

Your heart skipped a beat. "Don't make me sound like your boss."

"I'm not gonna be hard for much longer now that you brought him up."

"Shit. I'm really bad at this, Renfield," you laughed.

"No, no. Just give me your instructions, please."

It was hard to ignore your own arousal pooling in your stomach, the wetness that was rubbing against you when you moved. "Okay. Uh, remove your clothes."

You heard shuffling for a minute as he complied. "Done."

You braced yourself for the next sentence. "Alright. I want you to start stroking yourself, gently."

"Am I allowed to use some kind of lubricant?" he asked.

You tried to stifle a laugh. "Yes, whatever works. You don't have to ask permission for that."

You heard squelching sounds on the other line, and then the unmistakable sound of him slowly stroking his cock.

"Hey, uh, I have something to ask you," he said softly, stopping.

"What is it?"

"Could you, um.. praise me? You know, tell me I'm doing a good job, and everything? Comfort me, I guess." His voice swelled with hope and maybe something like shame.

You hated that he probably never heard anything like this, that he was looked down upon and berated daily. You desired so strongly to be there with him, to show him how perfect he was with your touch and not simply your words.

"Yeah, of course." You waited a moment until you heard him resume.

"You're so eager to please me, huh? I bet you look so fucking hot right now, stroking yourself to the sound of my voice. You're so good for me, aren't you?" you drawled.

"Yes," he murmured. "I think I should let you pick up the pace, since you're doing so well. What do you think?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay. Faster."

You heard him comply on the other line, the sounds of slapping against skin increasing in intensity and his stifled groans amplified.

"Do you have a TV?"

"What? Oh- u-uh, yeah."

"Stop for a moment. Turn it on and turn up the volume loud enough that anyone walking by can hear."

"Al-alright."

You waited.

"Okay, I did. Can I keep going now, please?"

"Yes, but I don't want you to muffle yourself. I want you to be loud for me. I wanna hear you."

"O- okay." He allowed the moans and grunts to leave his mouth freely, the droning of some news program playing in the background.

"Shit, you sound so beautiful. Don't stop, okay?"

"Mhm," he murmured through the noises of pleasure. You shut your eyes and allowed his exclamations to fill your ears.

"I-I'm close. Can I cum?" His voice was pleading, desperate.

"Not yet. Keep going. Just a little longer, okay, keep being good. You can do that, right? And then I'll let you cum."

"Y-yes," he sputtered, a hungry edge in his voice.

"So fucking good for me. Do you wish it was me getting you off instead of your hand?"

"Yes, s-so badly," he forced out through sighs of pleasure. "I think about you all the time. I-I'm so glad I met you. I didn't think you'd- like me too."

"Of course I do. How could I not?" you whispered affectionately.

He hummed in appreciation. "Fuck, you're so gorgeous."

He grew louder, his noises more strained. You continued your soft words of encouragement, turned on by the effect they had on him.

"Can I cum now? P-please?" He begged.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"Y-yes, I think so. But only if you do too."

"Okay. I think you do. Cum for me."

He let out a loud moan, pumping in rapid succession until he slowed and stopped, breathing heavy. The two of you sat in silence for a few seconds as he came down from his high, his panting slowing.

"You did so well, Robert. It felt good, didn't it?" you prompted.

"So good. And you- you were perfect."

"I wish I could see you right now."

"I want to see you too. I don't want this to only happen once. I loved it, doing this for you. Thank you." His voice was full of adoration.

"It was for yourself, too. But I can't pretend I wouldn't enjoy if you thought about me every time you jerked off."

"Who else would I want to think about? It's you, always."

You flushed, smiling at his words. You wanted to talk longer, but there was an urgent problem that you didn't think you could delay any further. "Hey, I'm really glad we did this. Are you good for the night? Do you need me to stay on the line while you clean yourself up?"

"No, it's alright. We'll talk soon, beautiful. I appreciate you so much. Good night."

"Good night, Robert. Sleep well."

You hung up the phone, finally free to attend to your own situation. You laid back on your bed with your hand working its way beneath your unzipped pants, Renfield's noises of pleasure playing over again in your head.

author's note: renfield is so baby girl <3 and thank you for the continued support my #1 fan (you know who you are)

#renfield movie #renfield 2023 #renfield x reader #nicholas hoult #rm renfield #renfield smut #renfield x reader smut #smut

[analog-kidd]

If Digimon Had Tumblr

🤖goin-ballistiac Follow

Hey guys so uh,, it turns out that @/donedevidan is an x-antiphobe, especially towards those who naturally carry it (screenshots under the cut)

Keep reading

😺guts-but-lion-x Follow

always hated that dude, guess I have another reason to hate him more

#dude was always a prick #and he loved making leomon dying jokes #those arent fucking funny #leomons dying arnt fucking funny

(103 notes)

👽s-n-a-t-c-h-e-d Follow

she evolved on my digi till I shinka

🥶️frostybirb Follow

bro wtf is this

👽s-n-a-t-c-h-e-d Follow

me trying to be funny😔

#i thought this webbed site would be easy #it isnt

(128 notes)

⚡️pulsingheart Follow

I think I'm going to evolve soon!

🦴️mean-and-green Follow

Runnermon is just Lighdramon but green and white

Go Bulkmon

🐺lycangaruthrope Follow

First of all, its Raidramon.

Second, whats wrong with Raidramon and Runnermon???

🦴️mean-and-green Follow

Oh of course the FRIENDSHIP WOLF DIGIMON is gonna vouch for the OTHER FRIENDSHIP WOLF DIGIMON

Bulkmon is so much more stronger than both digimon combined

🐺lycangaruthrope Follow

Strength isnt everything!!! But wrong tho, bulkmon is just some meaty digimon who is obviously compensating for something with those "muscles"

raidramon would def beat bulkmon anyways, so would runnermon

(374 notes)

💗extra-extra-big-dragon☑️☑️☑️ Follow

Windows 98 trying run me without exploding

(3,941 notes)

🌺hydrangeavenom Follow

Can digiblr stop flagging my selfies as nsfw????

I SWEAR I dont have a "hydrussy"

It's just a mouth!!!

(13,112 notes)

🥬️snivelingsni Follow

honestly I've been deathly afraid of spider digimon for most of my life and idk why

🌐not-a-spider-woman Follow

oh? why don't you come and meet with me so we discuss this fear further.

🥬️snivelingsni Follow

Sure! I really want to dig deep and see why I am so afraid of spiders

🥬️snivelingsni Follow

Good News! I now know why I'm afraid of spider digimon!

Bad News! I was almost eaten by a spider digimon today!

(691 notes)

❌alphaxxxxxx☑️☑️☑️ Follow

Fuck everyone on this hellsite

except you ouryumon

you're cool

🔥ouryuken Follow

THANKS FATHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#omg!!!! #he loves me!!!!!!

(56,884 notes)

👼the-top-angle☑️ Follow

Tamer forgot to take me to the toilet now there's shit on the floor

🕊piddy-piddo-pid Follow

Can't believe I serve this dude

#can i digivolve into an icedevimon #please yggdrasil

(44,529 notes)

🖤botablack Follow

just hatched😊

☯️silvertdao Follow

Arent you a little young for digiblr

🖤botablack Follow

kys

☯️silvertdao Follow

nvm you fit right in perfectly

(1,227 notes)

👿donedevidan Follow

I hope every Appmon gets deleted

Fuck them useless mfs

😇lady-of-the-light Follow

How tf are you still here??????

@digiblr-staff can you ban this bigot?????

😇lady-of-the-light Follow

Fuck it, I'm tagging all of the staff's personal blogs cause this is ridiculous

@extra-extra-big-dragon @alphaxxxxxx @duftycat @do-the-wyvern @omega-delete @pinkknightfab @thegallantdukedom @useurcranium @the-bara-hero @i-am-not-jc @ultra-vvv @goldenarmorv @sixlegsandabow

staff, ban this asshole

(102,333 notes)

#digimon #dashboard simulator #unreality #digimon world #digimon tcg #digimon adventure #digimon 02 #digimon tamers #digimon story #digimon cyber sleuth #digimon vpet #digimon xros wars #digimon ghost game #digimon world 3 #digimon survive #digimon world next order #digimon vital bracelet

[callibones]

HAVE A BEAUTIFUL DAY!!!!

hello to the beautiful people of the internet. my name is Callie Callibones! i make Post's about blaseball and Being a robot and Being a computer (different) and Wario and Blaseball and mutuals do this to me. sometimes these posts can b "Suggestive," so watch out for that! but they're usually not and i have like two other blogs for when they Really are.

i stream at twitch.tv/callibones! sporadically.

i also do post selfie's sometime's. like (almost) every tuesday! this is because i am Extremely transgender and it is fun for me when people like my selfies. BUT! i am utterly impossible to fluster don't check. Don't check

i make Art some times. a lot of it is at @callibones-art! one of my biggest Art was constitution, an object character i made for the beautiful Camp GNC. its whole doc is available here, and i loooove answering questions about it and my other Handful of Transgender OCs! i don't know if i have any cis ones. except dr clock

i love polls so much that i put one right here in my pinned post.

oh speaking of! i'm running a mutuals do this to me tournament. the url is @mutualsdothistome and it's a tournament of terrible horrible no-good very bad fates that also should definitely happen to you if mutuals are doing them. you can submit entries to it here!

blease feel free to pull up an anon ask and say howdy if youre scared of me. i LOVE the haters.

my tags are:

#callie.txt.exe - my original posts, like this one! #callie.png.vbs - my selfies. if u browse this tag u HAVE to call me pretty. whether u believe it or not. or else theyll dry up and nobody will be able to see me anymore #mutuals tournament - stuff related 2 the mutuals tournament #anon.zip.pif - asks i receive that people send to try to make me blush. because people do that some times. u still cant fluster me though its impossible still dont check #polls - u will never guess what this one is for. #fav - the best posts #fav fav fav - the bestestest posts #all time fav - the all time best posts #final fav - the best post, singular #gender - the gender posts #gender gender gender - the genderenderender posts #genders of all time - the all time gender posts #final gender - the gender post

#callie.txt.exe #pinned post #ill miss u have a beautiful day #polls #<- 99% of gamblers give up before they get to the lesbian poll in the pinned post under the readmore

[trashmuis]

I had SUCH a good time this weekend!!!!

This was my first ever horror convention, and I left SO happy!!!

Bill Moseley was sooo chill and so nice! I can't believe I actually got to meet him and pose with him and get a selfie and an 2 autographs! I got a signed Chop Top headshot personalized for me, plus I got a Cornbugs CD (Celebrity Psychos) signed, and a selfie with him holding it <3 !!

it was pretty cool because he couldn't get the plastic off of the CD case so he pulled out a pocket knife with a dramatic flourish and sliced it open, but he accidentally cut into the case but I was like "no that's fine thank u omg" so I have a slightly knife-cut version of the CD case i guess, with his name on the CD itself and honestly I'm happy about it. for the photo, he asked me my name and shook my hand and was really kind, and he asked what i wanted for the quote and i just. i panicked. i froze. i forgot every line of dialog in the movie. i said "um there are too many, uh, i don't know um-" and then he proceeded to rattle off like every quote at me in the voice with the intonation and- that was. that was great. i settled with the classic "lick my plate, you dog dick" line bc it's iconic and also feels like he is insulting me with his quote on the picture which is just too goddamn funny to pass up.

Bill Johnson was a sweetheart and it just was obvious. like i can tell even from his demeanor that he was so patient and kind. i got a headshot of Leatherface signed (which goddamn he has beautiful handwriting and it was amazing to watch him make sure it looked as good as possible) and I also got a selfie with him too :D !!

I bought a crap ton of stuff and WON the silent auction being held in the main autograph room, so even if I never meet Edwin Neal (I hope one day....) I DO have an autograph from him that I got from that! It's a picture of the hitchhiker cutting himself and it's signed by him, and it's verified and that's so dope

I wore my costume all day on Saturday, and got some professional pics with both Bills, all in costume. So. That was cool! I got some photos with other people, and my costume is probably floating around there somewhere on Facebook, according to one guy. But. That's ok. I'm basically unrecognizable in that outfit lmao

Bill Moseley complimented my Chop Top costume tho at the photoshoot, and then again when he was leaving! That was great

That night, I went to see the TCM2 showing with live commentary and it basically was just watching the movie with Bill Moseley and Tom Morga. Bill just drank a Dr. Pepper (I know because he declared that before the movie started) and ate popcorn and kind of laughed at parts, and gave a few facts I wasn't aware of, and Tom mostly bounced off of Bill. some of these details are in the tags of my other posts but i do mean it when I say, it is incredible to be in an actual full-sized theater watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 and hearing Bill Moseley chuckle at the movie every now and then

and then in the morning today, I went around for the last time, bought a few more Leatherface items, and sadly had to go home

but I ABSOLUTELY want to go to a horror convention again, and if I get the opportunity to meet Bill Moseley again I probably will and I'll gift him something next time bc I just. I want to. I wasn't expecting Bill Johnson to be there tbh (it was much more last minute on the website?) but if I see him again too, I'll do the same :)

#these are just some highlights #it was a whirlwind of stuff and emotion #im still on a high over it and i just. im so thrilled <3 #ive been so goddamn depressed lately and this just rewired my brain briefly #my life #Chop Top Sawyer #Bill Moseley #Leatherface #Bill Johnson #Creature Feature Weekend

[hyenaswine]

me & marissa & our son whom we birthed

#marissa paternoster #uh i don't have a selfie tag

[writing-and-rebloging]

Who is your favourite so far in what in hell is bad?

And Opinions and thoughts on the four Kings?

Uh... Hi! And thanks for asking! (did you ask every blog that posts about WHB? It's fun seeing the difference in opinions, tbh) anyway! This isn't going to be short, but I hope it's fun!

Let's see... Out of the Ars' it's probably Eligos, easily. I mean, look at him, he's cute, clingy, wants to be loved, easy to bully. An all around pretty boy. What else can I ask? That he also likes being roughed up? Sitri, Leraye and Bael come as close seconds too

As for the kings... Let's start with Satan!

Fluffy. Hair. I just love how it makes him looks like a lamb. And I completely agree with what someone said about the contrast between the suits of the nobles and his funky track suit, and the fact that he looks like the most approachable of the kings. He seems to be a more relaxed, easygoing one considering the "drinks with lesser demons" and the few snaps of him and Sitri. I think we will see four distinct sides of him: the respectable, dutiful king; the easygoing dude you can have a tea beer with; the scary, threatening demon who will remind us not to get too cozy and finally, the most intimate, "dude is Depressed" side, the part of him that lashes out to prevent tears, the part of him that can't quite gather the strength to get out of bed, the one that will gather a collective "I can fix him" reaction.

He's capable of blood manipulation, too, which is a very interesting, creativity oriented power and fits his overall theme to a T. AND, he is canonically a switch (likes both giving and receiving spankings)! His bath card, too. He looks really pretty and delicate in that one.

All in all, I love his design, and I think I'm going to like him a lot once the game is published.

Mammon! Now, I have a few gripes about him. Starting from Obey Me!Mammon, who kinda fits on every other thing I absolutely love to see, minus the financial irresponsibility. So the bar is kinda high, because I keep comparing how much I like OM!Mamms. There's also the fact that Mammon is huge. It's an artist choice, yes, we see that with how narrow Satan's shoulders are in his cards, and the fact that Leviathan should have a more princely figure instead of really really broad shoulders. It makes sense, with Mammon, because he is pure muscle, but it's just not my type in general, and he is specially broad, as seen on his cards, past the point of the usual buff characters I like. So yeah, high expectations + too much muscle is a rough start. And then there's the feet, but I'm pretending I do not see, because that seem like something that will show up a lot.

On a more positive note, I like how they went a different route with him. He's not consumed by the need to have it all, because everything already belongs to him, and he is "generous" and "benevolent" instead, "letting" people have this and that. He could come across as a douchy, entitled ass instead of a dorky, soft idiot, so that's to be seen. Hopefully it's the second 9/10 times. He sounds like a ruthless fighter, too. Not my fav, but I don't hate him either. 7/10 ig? His tits are massive tough, and I love that. Hope he's as dumb as his tits are big.

Oh! I like his design, too. The way he creates gold from his own body, how regal his clothes look, the claws and rings, the gold and black, broken horn, really pretty! And gives a little variety. You can appreciate the twinks better with a massive dude like him around. The mirror selfie is so far my favorite card of his so far.

Levi time! He's pretty. Really pretty. He looks like a prince, and I dare say he likes degradation. Once again, the Obey Me thoughts stike, but they feel vastly different as well. He's not a shut in otaku, but he is canonically agoraphobic (afraid of open/crowded spaces), and likes shutting himself in his coffin. He has a coffin, too! He sleeps on a coffin! And he likes getting choked of all things! Which, someone pointed out in the whb tags, is actually a risky practice, but it fits him perfectly.

I like Leviathan, probably my favorite king of the four, but I do have to say that his horns remind me of a deer more than a coral reef, and his overall look doesn't help with that. Still, the suits, the dignified demeanor, his gloves... I like the style, and I want to ruin him because of it, which fits with the overall vibe we get of him so far. He wants that. Craves it, even. And I know there's a lot of self hatred (and love, in a twisted way, which someone else kindly pointed out) there to play with. The fact that he has a harem, and probably indulges in it to some degree or the other is fantastic too. And I love me a summoner.

The free (play store) pre register bathroom card is definitely my favorite of his, but the selfie one is also beautiful. I'd say his are the prettiest cards so far, but I'm biased. Hope he has some snake things going on, since the Leviathan was a biblical sea snake/dragon/creature, and envy is often represented by the snake as well. Wouldn't complain if we can call him a doe though.

Last but not least... Beelzebub.

His purple gems things on his pants need to go. Asap. It's just... No. The shoes are not my cup of tea either, and the pants could use a tear or two on the other leg to balance things out. The rest of Beel is actually really pretty. I like the whole tattoo and piercing thing he seems to have going on, and his horn is a favorite of mine. I love how it's implied that his food is Not Edible by anyone but him, too. It's fun that he's probably a terrible cook, considering the main outlet for gluttony is food.

He is described as "lovely", although he looks more like a little shit (positive) and I can't picture him as someone kind, yet, but definitely someone fun in one way or the other. He seems to be craving the happy chems that traveling give him, and in a loop of tossing things at his brain until one sticks for long enough to stop the Shitty Feeling. He is also the embodiment of gluttony, so it's likely that he never gets enough of it, too, and that he just wants more and more. Seeing different places, meeting new people, trying different things, doing new things, even when everything moves at a neck-break pace that he can't keep up anymore until he burns out, and then rinse and repeat. He and Satan probably struggle with their own heads a lot, too. I don't quite like his fetish, though (ironic, given that Bael has the same and he is in the top 5).

He's... Not my favorite, really, and it probably shows. But he's not terrible, and I appreciate him a little bit more after this. My favorite card of his is probably going to be the one where he has to get a shot. He looks pretty when he cries.

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad? #What in hell is bad satan #What in hell is bad Mammon #What in hell is bad Leviathan #What in hell is bad beelzebub

[longeyelashedtragedy]

I was tagged by @eddietheeagleeriksens !! thank you kindly!!

Tagging: @mwrieke @purefractals @echthr0s @lamperry4ever @bsaka7 (on whichever blog if u want) @colorsofmyseason note: i say if any of you don't want to post a selfie you can post your pet or your Fav Person or idk anything you find cool!

Last Song: guajira guantanamera - compay segundo

Favourite Colour: pink, black

Currently watching: ...absolutely nothing. when i feel like watching something i either watch football commentary videos or get seriously trashy and look up youtubers talking about youtube drama. i have 10/29/2011 chelsea vs. arsenal game queued up to watch when i'm in the mood

Last movie: sincerely have no idea. if memory serves, i think i watched "the golden compass" on my flight to amsterdam in june. (the book was worlds better.)

Sweet/Spicy/Savoury: savo(u)ry!

Current Obsession: well, football! i've been into it for quite some time now, which feels so nice. more specifically, well, uh. i think you guys already know 🙈🙊

Last thing I googled: "retro DOS games online." wow, my cool levels are off the charts

Selfie: below the cut! i finally got my hair re-straightened after a year so i look...different. (this is why i had the braids and hat on sunday. the situation was dire.) apologies for the tits; if only they were as nice as Lampsy's.

#about me #Treasured Mutuals #the grey hairs...ugh the fuckin horror of it all

[mondstalgia]

🌠 people i want to get to know better: the game

tagged by @bunnakit ♡ tagging @nibupei @morathicain @jourquet @berniedette @palebrowneyes @bunni-bun @affiesque @otpshipper93 @primacatcher and literally anyone coming across this!

🌙 last song: 19 by Xana, been obsessed with her ever since I found her like last week

"God damn She's got herself a girlfriend now Well I guess she finally came out Wish I coulda waited around Maybe it coulda been me"

- like fuck how could I not love it

🌙 favorite color: medium to dark green, the leafy grassy rich kind yess

🌙 currently watching: surprisingly little compared to the last months. I finished a few things that are bingable in a day or two like A Killer Paradox, The Fall of The House of Usher and A Shop for Killers. And things that are airing that I am watching are Dead Friend Forever and Playboyy. A few more things are on my watchlist I just have to get to them.

🌙 last movie: I watched Dogman (2023) a few days ago and it was perfection. Queer, traumatic, ruthless, revenge, action- perfection, really. All that I need in a good movie!

🌙 sweet, spicy or savory: I love savoury food over anything, I could spicy food to that since I used to love it especially spicy rice snacks but due to health issues I can't have spicy food anymore. Sweet is lovely but not my preference if I have the choice.

🌙 last thing you googled: BL Love Is Better The Second Time Around manga - Hasegawa Makoto from The Rampage my sweet baby is gonna be one of the leads in a BL! Please give it a watch in March!

🌙 relationship status: single, we don't talk about it because I will spiral

🌙 current obsession: Kiseki: Dear to me still...Jiang Dian STILL and of course fitting to that NatLouis. Also Pajeon, nothing better than savoury pancake, also THE best texture.

🌙 selfie/another picture you took: I uh haven't taken a selfie since 2021 and I don't really take photos but uhm..have the last picture I took anyway which is a bad picture of my fake tree from ikea because a colleague wanted to see it 😂

[canirove]

Red & Blue | Chapter 1

Summary: She wears red, he wears blue. She plays for Arsenal, he plays for Chelsea. They both are considered the present and future of English football. And according to her friends, Leah Williamson and Aaron Ramsdale, he also is the perfect man for her. But are they right? Is Mason Mount the man of her dreams?

Author’s note: Another story based on one of my dreams 😅 Mason wasn’t my main character, but it was easier to write it with him, I had more ideas. Besides happening in present day (though on a different universe), on some chapters I’ve also added text messages edits to make it a bit different. Hope you like it, and thank you for reading! 💜

Next chapter

Masterlist

"I can't believe you left your phone on your locker. You basically live glued to it!" I say, looking for a spot where we can turn around.

"I know, I know. I was just thinking about other things" Leah says.

"Yeah, other things. The tall brunette from the other day, perhaps?

"Perhaps..." she says. "Can I borrow your phone to text Kate? Let her know we are running late for dinner?"

"Sure" I say.

"Uh, Mr. Benjamin White just liked your photo."

"Leah, I let you borrow my phone to text Kate, not to go on my Instagram account and gossip."

"And what am I supposed to do while you drive? Look out of the window as if we were on a car ad?"

"It's an option."

"Nah. This is more interesting. Look, Aaron also liked your photo. I'm sure they are together."

"It's very likely" I say, finally finding a good place to manoeuvre.

"What is this account that just tagged you on a photo? Ramsd... Is this his last name mixed with yours?"

"It's a fan account of both Aaron and I."

"People are shipping you?"

"They are just fans of both of us, not shippers."

"If you say so... But this person looks like a shipper. And I don't blame them. Since Aaron signed for us, you've basically been behaving like a married couple."

"We are friends since we were kids and are excited to play for the same club. Just that."

"But you could do it without constantly posting about each other."

"Jealous?" I say, arching a brow.

"Of him? Please. He may be taller and have a very pleasing smile, but I have better hair."

"He would agree on that" I laugh.

"Oh, look. Your other Benjamin just posted a selfie. Should I give it a like?" she says, showing me the phone now that we have stopped at a red light.

"Nah. Not his best photo."

"Is the Chilwell charm disappearing?"

"The Chilwell charm" I chuckle. "It's just a bad photo. I'm not blinded by love or whatever it is you are thinking."

"I'm thinking you wouldn't mind sleeping with him despite my disapproval. Bad photo and all."

"True."

"I know things haven't worked out with random guys, he-who-must-not-be-named is the best example. And I know I've told you that maybe with someone who understands your career and what you go through it will work. But Chilly?"

"It's just a crush, Leah. I'm not planning on marrying him and have five kids."

"You better not" she says, back to scrolling on my phone.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━  

"What about Rice?" Leah asks once we've retrieved her phone and finally are on our way back to our friend Kate's house.

"What about him?" I ask.

"You follow each other, he likes your photos, and he seems to be proper boyfriend material. Looks included. Whoever convinced him to let his hair grow, deserves the world."

"He has a girlfriend."

"All the good ones always do" she sighs, going back to her research. And still on my phone.

"Mount?"

"Uh?" I ask.

"Mason Mount. He just liked your photo."

"What about him?"

"Is he single?"

"And mingling according to what I've seen."

"Have you been stalking him?"

"What? No!" I say, definitely blushing. "But since I started following him, his fan accounts keep popping up on my explore page. His and Grealish's for some reason."

"Yikes" Leah says. " Mason seems to be a great guy, tho. I met him during the last international break, and my alarm didn't start ringing."

"Your alarm?"

"Yeah. It's like a sixth sense. It tells me if a guy is a good or bad match for you, and so far it hasn't been wrong."

"And why am I just hearing about it?"

"I don't know" she shrugs. "But I think you should give Mason a chance. You would look really hot together. And they also call him the future of English football. Though I don't know how he will deal with the fact that you are a better player than he is, and have also won more things than him."

"I haven't. He has a Champions League, and I don't."

"But when it comes to individual awards... I mean, you were third on the Ballon d'Or last year. He was..."

"19."

"And you tell me you haven't been stalking him?"

"I just know it because it's his number."

"You also know his number? Girl..."

"I don't like him, Leah. Not the way you are thinking" I say, starting to get annoyed.

"Keep telling yourself that. But the more I see of him, the more I think you'll be perfect for each other. He also likes kids, though this kid looks like they want to run away from him."

"That's his niece, Summer."

"See? Stalker."

"Whatever" I say, rolling my eyes.

"He has nice arms too. Imagine those arms around you, one to each side, while he f..."

"Leah!"

"What? Can't I write my own spicy fanfic with my ship?"

"Your ship?"

"Yup. I've decided to ship you with Mount. He's the perfect man for you."

"Perfect men haven't worked out for me before. And you know it."

"I said perfect for you, not that he was perfect. When you get to meet him during the next international break, you'll see how right I am."

"Looking forward to it" I sigh.

I missed the last one because of an injury, and I still haven’t experienced how things work now. They’ve decided that both the men and women’s World Cup will happen at the same time, mixing the games so people will always have something to watch and hopefully pay more attention to both, and the FA has decided to make us train at the same time at St. George’s Park. Which means that we share all the common areas during our free time, from the canteen to the games room.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━  

“Leah has decided to ship me with Mount” I say to Aaron while we have lunch.

“Where?”

“What?” I ask.

“Where is she shipping you?”

“Aaron… you don’t know what shipping means? As in shipping two people?”

He just shrugs, focused on his food.

“Shipping two people means wanting them to be romantically involved, wanting them to be a couple. Many people do it with characters from tv shows or books.”

“Wait, like Jon and Daenerys?”

“You couldn’t find a better example?”

Again, another shrug as an answer.

“But yes, it’s like that” I say.

“Wait, wait, wait… Are you telling me that Leah also thinks that you and Mason would make a good couple? Just like I told you during and after the last camp?”

“Yeah” I say with a big sigh. “You should see the audios and long ass texts she sends me with all the scenarios she is imagining us in. Our first meeting, our first kiss, our first argument… Even our first time!”

“She’s writing fanfic about you and Mason?” Aaron laughs.

“You know what fanfic is, but not shipping? Do I want to ask?”

“The internet is dark and full of terrors.”

“Did you just quote Melisandre?”

“Who?” he asks.

“Nevermind” I say.

“But you know” he says after a few minutes of silence. “I think you should listen to Leah and I. We only agree on important things, and if we both agree about you and Mason…”

#mason mount #mason mount fanfic #mason mount imagine #mason mount x reader #football fanfic #football imagine

[cyborg-franky]

Heard you were having bad brain times and wanted some silly fun stuff, i gotchu.

How about some stereotypicallly basic white girl things op characters do?

Some ideas(feel free to add your own): loves pumpkin spice everything, says shit like "totes ma goats", lives for drama filled "real tv" shows, wears a pink tracksuit, watches Mean Girls religiously(the movie title is very literal,you don't need to have seen it), listens to Taylor Swift all the time, loves Twilight, eats a bagel for breakfast everyday, planned their outfit based on a white suburban mom's pinterest board

Just some ideas, hopefully this is fun and I hope you feel better soon💜💜💜

With love,

-Zell

May darling <3 I love this idea and I feel better and sorry this took a second.

I hope no one takes offence, I'm white as hell so like.. yes. [also we are all a little white woman aren't we, deep down there's a Beccy and a Karen lurking]

Marco  He’s the bitch that can’t wait for pumpkin spice to come around. He also showed up to Wano 20 minutes late with Starbucks which is pretty white girl of him. His Sphinx outfit looks like a mom coming back from yoga.

Ace Spends too long looking at TikTok. Daddy issues.

Thatch Drinks wine and writes smut.

Izou Goes and gets his nails did but spends the entire time gossiping about the bitch down the street and her shit haircut.

Law Is a huge twilight fan and spends hours online fighting about whose better looking that one guy or the other one guy. 

Rayleigh All around his home is ‘wine o'clock’ -  ‘everything is better with prosecco’ and has those bowls that say ‘bowl ‘plate’ and so on. ‘Live Laugh Love’

Buggy Would murder someone if they messed up his $80 extensions.

Hawkins I can imagine him telling Kaido he can’t go out and kill people because ‘uh don’t you know Mercury is in retrograde? I just can’t babes’

Boa ‘R U OKAY HUN?’ at every vague sounding Facebook post that's like : ( or ‘ugh’

Nami Is the person who posts : ( vague on facebook. Also, she’s a huge Karen, fight me. She would walk up to God himself and ask to see his manager. 

Thatch, Killer, Sanji Could spend hours watching episode after episode of ‘Real housewives of Dressrosa’ and ‘teen mom Grandline’ 

Zoro, Kid Post gym selfies on insta making sure you can see their protein shakes.

Nami, Vivi, Boa, Rebecca Do ‘Zumba’ and won’t shut the fuck up about it and makes it their entire personality for the three months they attend.

Perona ‘This car is powered by fairy dust!’  ‘princess onboard!’ ‘my other ride is a broom’ bumper stickers.

Whitebeard ‘My children are my world’ and the stickers that are stick figure families along the back of his van. Fighting a salesperson who gets paid minimum wage over 10 cents.

Hawkins, Drake, Izou Won’t leave the house before checking their horoscopes. 

Mihawk INSANELY LONG COMPLICATED COFFEE ORDER and will make you make it again if that milk is full fat.

Shanks Woo girl 

Sabo Sticks gum in someone's hair if they even mildly piss him off. Spends $400 on boots and never wears them. Oh, watches you make his drink like a hawk and before you make his second one 'Um excuse me, I ordered TWO drinks' while your still making it.

Queen, Black Maria At a restaurant ordering dessert ‘Oh I shouldn’t’ ‘Oh no babe, you deserve it’ ‘okay, I’ll be a devil and have a piece of that cheesecake’ BOTH GIGGLE

Doffy, Kaido Pink tracksuit bottoms and small dogs in their handbags. Shades and purses that cost more than your house. Roger Takes one sip of a beer  and acts drunk ‘I’m sooooo wasted guys omg’

Franky, Sanji, Roger, Thatch Crying over movies like  ‘Dirty Dancing’ and wishing they could be the girl and the lead guy is so hot omg.

Corazon "I'll just have ONE glass of wine" and the glass is the side of his head. or runs a bubble bath and drinks three bottles but it's not a problem it's self care.

Tag yourselves, I'm Marco with a dash of Thatch.

#marco #marco the phoenix #fushichou marco #one piece #sfw #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #trafalgar law #fire fist ace #thatch #izou #izo #vivi nefertari #boa hancock #queen the plague #gol d. roger #buggy the clown #nami #perona #massacre soldier killer #eustass kid #law #zoro #sanji #kaido #hawkins #hawkins op #shanks #red haired shanks #silvers rayleigh

[bteezxyewriter12]

Take My Picture~ Kihyun 1

Pairing- Kihyun x Named Reader

Word count- 1.5k

Includes- public sex, car sex, cock riding, multiple orgasms, slight Dom Kihyun, multiple orgasms, fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxxmine

@yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana

@tannie13 @itsshaydeekaydee @seokwoosmole @marsstarxhwa

@wisejudgedragonhairdo @y00nzin0

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Take My Picture Masterlist

📝 Masterlists 📝Monsta X Masterlist

Couple for this series is from Epiphany

Kihyun POV

Waiting in my car for my girlfriend, I take out my phone to take a few selfies

Holding the phone out, I take a few as the door to my car open as she gets in

"Hi baby", she says, leaning in and kissing my cheek

I smile and take a picture at the same time

I love having pictures with her in them with me

I don't post them because I can't announce us yet but I love looking at them

"More selfies?", she teases

"Always baby", I answer, handing her my phone

I know she wants to see them and send the ones she wants to her phone

The past few months with her have been amazing

She makes me so happy, makes me feel so loved

Going to her apartment and confessing to her was the best move of my life

I'm totally whipped for her, wanting to do anything to make her smile, make her laugh

I'd do anything for her

"This is so cute!", she squeals, showing me one selfie, "Post this one"

"Yeah?", I ask, glancing at the picture as I start the car

If we leave now we'll be right on time for the shoot

I glance over at her in the passenger

seat as she scrolls through my pictures and my mouth drops when I notice what she's wearing

How she looks

So hot in a black and white lacy short dress I bought her a week ago with her Nike sneakers I also bought for her

Sexy

She's fucking sexy

She's always gorgeous, stunning, hot

But this dress is showing all the right things but still keeping everything covered

Since I've seen her naked I just keep imagining what's under the dress

How I'm going to go through this photo shoot without fucking her in front of the photographer, I don't know

I'm getting hard and it's pressing against my jeans uncomfortably

Also making it hard to drive

I keep glancing over at her, seeing the exposed skin of her thighs and getting more and more horny until I can't take it anymore

I pull the car over by some trees that hide us slightly and turn it off

"Uh what are we doing Ki?", she asks confused

I don't answer her, contemplating on if anyone could see us here

I don't think so

"Ki?", she asks looking over at me

Even if people can see, I don't care

"Take you're panties off", I tell her, taking the phone from her hand throwing it into the back seat

"Wait what?"

"Take them off", I order

I know she likes it when I'm rough and tell her what to do

And right now I want her

So I have no problem telling her what I want

"Uh ok", she says and she lifts her ass off the seat and pulls them down

"Give it to me"

She hands them over and I see that it's some lacy thong thing that can cover absolutely none of her

"You better be wearing this for me", I growl

"Of course I am Ki. Who else would it be for?", she says

"It better only be for me"

"It is."

I toss it in the back seat with my phone then move the driver seat back and take off my seat belt

"Ki what are you doing? We're going to be late. The guys are going to start calling you nonstop"

I pull at my belt, undoing it and open my pants

I'm already so hard and she hasn't even touched me yet

The things she does to my body are crazy

But I love it

I pull my pants and boxers to my knees then lean back

I look over at her, her eyes wide and say, "Get on"

"Wha...what?"

"Get on my cock", I repeat

"But Ki-"

"Joanne, I will not move this car until you get your pussy on my cock and ride me"

Her mouth drops open but she says, "Ok"

She climbs over the cup holders and gets right on top of me

She hovers over me smirking

"This is what you want Kihyun?" she asks innocently

"Yes. I want you to take my cock like a good girl and slide up and down. I want you to make me cum. I want you to make yourself cum using my cock because I'm not moving. You are."

I feel her getting wetter at my words as she drips all over me

"You're not going to move?"

I shake my head, "No. You're going to use me to make yourself cum. I'm not going to touch you. If you want to cum, work for it."

"Ok I will."

She sinks herself down on me, bottoming me out and I gasp at the contact

"Fuck Ki. Love you're huge cock", she whimpers

"Mmm love your pussy baby. Nice and tight and wet"

She's seriously soaking my cock and my lap

It's great

She lift herself until just my tip is in her, then she tightens her pussy and slides back down my shaft

It feels so tight as she slides down and I moan

She starts moving faster, bouncing hard on me, holding her dress up

I have a good view of everything, because the car seat is not all the way down

I can see my cock going in and out of her, her leaving me soaked and slick with her cream

The sight makes me harder and closer to coming

But I don't want to yet, so I hold myself back

I want her to cum first, using me however she wants

I can't help but tell her, "Fuck baby, you know how to ride me so well"

"Hmmmmm", she says

I look up at her and I almost cum at the sight but stop myself in time

Her back is arched and her head is tilted back a little, eyes closes

Sweat is pouring down her cleavage and making that fucking tiny dress cling to her in all the right spots

I just watch her as she moves up and down and I feel my mouth hanging open

I feel her pussy start to tighten on me and I know she's close

She starts breathing harder and harder, getting tighter and tighter

I feel her cum coat my cock as she screams my name, pulsing around my length, orgasming beautifully

"Kihyun! Kihyun!"

God it feels so fucking good

I look back at where she's still bouncing on me and every time she goes up, I see my cock covered with her cum

"One more baby. Cum on my cock one more time"

She leans over me more, her hands on my shoulders, fingers twisting my shirt so much

Her mouth crashes to mine in a fiery kiss and my hands in her hair, shoving my tongue in her mouth, moaning

She fucks me desperately and I know I said I'm not going to touch her but I am

Pressing my thumb to her clit, I rub in circles, making her moan in my mouth

Her cunt pulls me inside her over and over, throbbing so fast

She shakes in my arms, her hand sliding in my hair, pulling hard as she orgasms

The ecstacy that hits me drives me over the edge and I yell her name as I cum inside her

"Joanne! Fuck baby girl! So good baby"

After a minute she stops bouncing as I finish and I pull her mouth back to mine in a kiss

The feeling of her arms around my neck is my favorite feeling in the world

"I love you", I tell her

"I love you", she answers, kissing my cheek then climbing back to the passenger seat

I just lie there and close my eyes for a minute, getting my breathing back to normal

"Damn baby you know how to work me up", I say when I can breathe

"Of course Ki. I know your body baby. I know what you like. I'll always do whatever you want to make you feel good. Just for you", she answers

My god, I was so lucky to land her

I sit up and pull her to me in a heated kiss, savoring the feel of her mouth, lips and tongue against mine

She's my everything and I love her so much

When the kiss ends she smiles then says, "We should clean up. We don't want any stains showing or the guys will never let you forget it

I laugh

She always knows how to make me laugh

"There's tissues or napkins in the glove compartment"

She opens it, grabs napkins and hands me some, both of us cleaning up

I fix my pants and move the car seat backup, then turn the car on

"Hey! My underwear!", she says

I smirk at her, "No. I want you bare and free in case I wanna fuck you at the shoot"

She gapes at me, "Really Ki?"

I nod, starting to drive, "So make sure that dress is down, covering your pussy until I pull it up"

She rolls her eyes, "Ok Ki"

Smiling, I take her hand, kiss the back of it then hold it tightly as we drive to the shoot

#take my picture #kihyun smut #kihyun fanfic #kihyun fanfiction #Kihyun fic #yoo kihyun smut #monsta x kihyun smut #monsta x fanfic #monsta x fic #monsta x smut #monsta x fanfiction

[greaterspawnislands]

(This is the separate ask I would genuinely love to hear your thoughts on how other stream sub groups operate differently it's just so fascinating to me)

YEAH!!! Also it's so very cute to me how supportive and patient he was with Kristen when she was first considering streaming <333

At first she just kinda popped into chat and on stream rarely and he never forced her to stay if she didn't. Over time she just got used to and wanted to interact with chat more! Until she started streaming herself and he's been 100% supportive the entire time. Literal A+ husband material you can tell how much he loves her and its so sweet,,,,

YEAH ok so about the kristin thing at first so recently i've been watching all of phil's s4 videos and i'm getting to the end of 2019 aka they're preparing for their wedding and phil's in the process of getting a visa and it's so :))

i currently have two kristin stream vods in my watch later (bc i've been busy) and im so excited to get to themm it's been awesome to see kristin get more confident in streaming bc she is so funny!! i really love tuning into her streams they are such nice spaces :) also i miss parents sdv i hope they play again

ANYWAYS ok so my ramblings about phil's community is just. hold on i need to put this under cut because the more i write out the more it feels like inane bullshit but whatever we're here now

i feel like out of all of the streamers who have grown their communities in the boom of 2020/dsmp era phil's has been the most interesting to me. obviously biased here bc this is my community but ok. I'm not going to say that phil's fanbase is "the best" because that's obviously a subjective take but i think part of what makes it stand out to me is that it skews significantly older than any of the other streamers fanbases. routinely, we've heard from donos that there are teachers or people with full jobs who are donating to phil's streams. now, obviously we've heard plenty from high school age and younger, but for the most part those people tend to be sbi fans, or crimeboys fans who also enjoy phil - totally valid, etc, but they're not who i'm talking about.

the people who main phil tend to be older, which shapes a pretty different community that has a much less active presence on places like twitter. Those who are on twitter tend to not have nearly as much of a drive for clout as other subtwts - obviously there are exceptions, there always are, im trying not to speak as a total generalization - but i can't think of too many c!phil mains with thousands upon thousands of followers compared to other subtwts. And i think that again mostly comes down to like . it's just an older fanbase so they don't care abt that stuff as much.

oh and also! early gang as a central hub for most people who main phil i think helps a lot because, similar to tumblr, no character limit directly correlates to like. more critical thinking being used and less automatic aggression towards other people in the way twitter pushes to the forefront of every interaction. so as a whole the community comes across as far more chill than other subtwts/etc bc they aren't using twitter as their primary hub of communication

but i also think phil has had a direct impact on how his fans act on twitter regardless of age. the example that immediately comes to mind is when uh. ok. so idk if u were on twitter at all circa late 2020-early 2021, but subtwt selfie days were Alllll the rage back then, there was basically one or multiple every single day of the month for various ccs and duos/groups/etc. and i remember when it started popping off, phil got asked about it on stream and he very seriously talked about how he wasn't comfortable having a selfie day tagged after him, because he didn't like the fact that so many people, many who were high school age/teenagers, were putting their face on the internet for literally anyone to look at. i think he was the only cc who really spoke out about the ramifications of having your face online like that, and i know for me it was the first time i took a step back and went "yeah wait this is kind of fucking weird". it obviously didn't stop the selfie days for any other ccs, or the sbi selfie day, but his fans listened, and there was no phil selfie day ever again, and i think it's that kind of communication between phil and his audience that sort of helped develop his community in that direction, being mindful of internet bullshit and all that jazz. it's that kind of way he looks out for fans and the like that makes me really appreciate him and his community all the more. i just really like telling that bit of his history bc it was important to me in that time

again i don't know if this makes . too much sense. i sort of just started rambling and didn't stop to think if i was making any real points. this is all just to say that i love early gang, love philza, loveposting hours are so real i love this old man

#speaking #philza #thebleedingeffect #ask