Last Seen Blogs
ladystrallan
LadyStrallan
robert-c
My Thoughts
axolotine
Axo's Netzone
be-good-to-bugs
Coming home for hugs
raccoonnutella13
and you just see the stars above you
Text
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.
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
truth or dare (joel miller x f!reader) 18+
notification blog | kofi | in honor of my bestie han @swiftispunk who recently celebrated her birthday (and in honor of spooky season starting 🎃) i thought i'd step outside the boundaries of what i usually write and try something new. i'd also like to give a huge shoutout to @toxicanonymity whose entire masterlist greatly influenced my desire to try something like this. please heed the warnings!!! and as i said this is my first time writing anything like this so pls be kind 🫠
summary: a harmless game of truth or dare ends with you tied up in a certain mysterious neighbor's garage.
rating: 18+ explicit
warnings: dubcon (reader is given a choice to leave, but not immediately), dark!joel, age gap (reader is college age, joel is in his fifties), unprotected p in v sex, use of restraints, ropes, spanking, degradation, sir kink, dirty talk (use of 'little girl' as a pet name), face fucking, rough sex, creampie, brief anal play, humiliation, inappropriate use of a household item (he puts a flashlight up her cooch), marking (with a sharpie), size kink (joel is much bigger than reader and can lift her), pls lemme know if i forgot anything
word count: 8.3k
Your palms are sweaty, fingers sticking to your skin as you stand at the edge of the property with goosebumps already blooming along your flesh. The air is chilly, that end of summer evening air flooding your nostrils as a car drives past through streams of leftover rainwater, headlights blurring your vision for a moment. It passes quickly and you're alone again, standing on the street corner with a mixture of anticipation and dread filling your trembling body.
Everything had been fine about twenty minutes ago. A typical party with your hometown friends, one last hurrah before everyone splits off for the third year in a row to go back to their respective colleges, back to long lectures and underwhelming frat boys. It had gone the same way it always does when you get together - shots, secrets, schemes. No end of summer party could ever be complete without a game of truth or dare, not for your crowd anyway.
It had started simple. "Which one of us had the best glow-up this year?" "I dare you to text the last guy you slept with." "What's the kinkiest thing you've done with somebody?" "I dare you to show us the last nude someone sent you." Typical borderline adolescent challenges, things you all still followed through with despite being too old for the game - it's the principle of it, to indulge and pretend, if only for a little while, that life is as simple as it once was.
"Who's the last person you had a sex dream about?"
You'd twisted your hands awkwardly in your lap, felt heat rush to the apples of your cheeks. Usually a question like this wouldn't make you hesitate, but the subject of the answer had been a slightly embarrassing one. As soon as the name Joel Miller had fallen from your lips, you'd been met with screams and squeals and excited chatter from every direction.
"He's so fucking creepy though," one of your friends had said with wide eyes, palm over her mouth, "He gives off serial killer vibes."
"Oh please, he's not that bad," another had chimed in, "He's just a loner, kinda mysterious. I see the vision."
"Are we forgetting the part where he's old as hell? Dude must be in his fifties, at least."
"But that means experience."
"It could also mean limp dick."
"You guys are disgusting," you'd moaned, leaning back on your hands, "It was one dream, let's move on."
And they had. Briefly. Until it was once again your turn and they'd all rounded on you with cheshire cat grins and glinting stares. You should have known what was coming when you chose Dare.
"I dare you to go over to his house."
You'd resisted, of course. The dare itself didn't even make much sense; what were you meant to do? Go over and ding-dong-ditch his front door like a twelve year old boy? But it had only snowballed from there, all five girls tossing in their own thoughts and ideas, talking and giggling over each other. "She should ask him on a date." "She should just flirt a little bit, see how he reacts." "She could see how far she can get with him, maybe?" "Oh shit, that's good."
You could have always said no - there was no way any of them could force you to do it, even if it would have ended the party abruptly with grumbled complaints and a slammed door. But the more they talked the more you found yourself listening, letting the concept sink in, the images of the dream you'd had the other night flooding to the front of your mind. Mysterious and elusive Joel Miller, big hands covered in the motor oil he uses to tinker with his truck, trailing his messy fingers between the swells of your breasts...
They'd managed to convince you just by the reminder alone, though also due to the fact that they'd each tossed in a twenty dollar bill and stated that simply getting a kiss on the cheek would warrant a win. The prospect was intriguing; it would be a testament to your own desirability, your game. How far can you get with your quiet neighbor who probably hasn't touched a woman in years? Who'll probably fold the second he realizes someone as young and beautiful as you is interested in him?
"I'll do it," you'd said with a smirk, rising from the hardwood, "How hard can it be?"
Harder than you thought, apparently. Because now you stand a few feet from Joel Miller's house, loitering soundlessly at the edge of his front lawn, hesitating. The sun has gone down, turning the hedges along the side of his property into frighteningly tall shadows, dark and menacing. A light breeze flows past and you wrap yourself tighter in your well-worn maroon cardigan, shivering, staring at your boots and wondering if you can really bring yourself to do this.
It'll be so humiliating if he rejects your advances. On the other hand, will it somehow be less-so if he returns your flirtatiousness and you then have to reject him once you've gotten what you came for? How will that make you look? You're not even really sure why you care - probably because the man has done nothing to you whatsoever, nothing that would warrant such a foolish prank as this being played on him. It makes you feel bad, in a way. As much as you and your friends make fun of him, he really is just a man who keeps to himself - perhaps this is going too far.
You notice light flickering nearby, a reflection of fluorescents in the puddles of his driveway. You figured he'd be in his garage - it's where he spends most of his time, bent over the exposed hood of the truck he's seemingly been working on ever since he moved in at the beginning of the summer. You've never seen him drive it, never even seen him leave the property, but you've passed by the house on more than one occasion. You've seen the way he rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, forearms splattered black and grey, expression focused on the task at hand while sweat drips from his greying temples.
Having a sex dream about him really shouldn't have been that shocking, now that you think about it. The man is a mystery, sure, but he isn't ugly by any means.
You swallow down your qualms, picturing the faces of your friends more than likely smooshed against the living room window a few houses back, watching. As soon as you turn the corner, you'll disappear from view, obstructed by the hedges and the sudden darkness of night. You take one more deep breath, one last burst of chilly evening air into your lungs, and accept your fate.
--
He doesn't notice you walking up his driveway, taking slow and meager steps as you assess the open garage, the truck with its hood popped as usual, the flickering of the florescent lights hanging from the ceiling. He doesn't notice you, but you notice him. You spot a pair of steel toed boots and long denim clad legs sticking out from underneath the truck, hear the clink and clang of metal against metal while he tinkers with something down there, unseen. As you reach the garage it becomes apparent that you still have one last chance to end this before it begins, turn around and take the loss.
But you don't.
"Excuse me," you offer in a weak voice, teetering nervously at the edge of the garage door, neither inside nor out - neutral ground.
The clinking stops, replaced by the steady pounding of your heart in your chest, the heaviness of your breathing. You try to loosen your hands from their fisted forms and unclench your fingers, focusing on the stretch of flesh and bone while the legs beneath the car slowly begin to inch forward. He's not laying on any type of support, one of those wheeled contraptions you've seen other people use - no, he's simply got his back to the ground, a back and body that's slowly coming into view.
His black and green flannel rides up where he's been laying on it, as well as the grey t-shirt he wears beneath; as he slides out from under the car you spot a bare sliver of skin just above his waistband, a patch of hair that trails down into his jeans. A lump forms in your throat. When he finally peeks his head out, you swallow around it and try to remember to breathe.
Greying hair slicked back behind his ears, cheekbones smeared slightly with something black, scruff lining a strong yet soft jawline, a plump bottom lip, and those eyes... dark brown, almost black. It's the face that's practically been haunting you all summer, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.
His brow furrows as soon as he sees you, "Can I help you?"
It's not the first time you've heard him talk, but it's certainly the first time he's ever spoken directly to you. His accent is stronger than you remember, words slipping smoothly past his lips like butter as he eyes you from the floor of his garage, knees up, hands still hidden in the darkness. A few seconds pass before you realize he's asked you a question.
"Oh, um-" You haven't thought this through very far, that's for sure. What the fuck do you even say? You take a breath and remind yourself that you're good at this, have seduced your fair share of frat boys in the past two years with minimal effort and have never heard the word no. Sure, Joel Miller isn't a frat boy - far from it - but underneath his cold exterior he's still very much a man, and very much capable of falling under the spell of a beautiful woman. You hope, anyway.
"I was just taking a walk," you lie, "Saw your light on, thought I'd come say hi."
He stares at you blankly, like he's unsure exactly how he's supposed to respond - or perhaps he's already seeing through your façade. You take a step into his garage, poised at the edge as you lean casually against the opening.
"Honestly, um-" you push some hair behind your ear and attempt to look shy, though it's not a huge jump from how you're actually feeling, "I've been meaning to talk to you, before I go back to college."
At your words he raises an eyebrow and slowly brings his hands downwards, palms pressing flat against the dark concrete. You watch as he eases himself up and out from under the truck, and god he's tall - tall and broad and huge compared to you, a fact that sends a little flutter into your belly. He takes a step toward the work bench against the wall, eyes still on you as he reaches down and picks up a rag to wipe his hands, big and wide and streaked with oil. You remember your dream and feel a twinge in your underwear.
"Talk to me about what?" he asks, massaging the rag against his fingers.
You shrug as nonchalantly as you can, taking another step inside his garage, closer to where he stands at the work bench. You cross your legs in an attempt to show them off, stretching your ankle toward a spare tire on the floor and accentuating the sheerness of your black tights, the little run that splits the material at the inside of your knee, the hint of bare skin that peeks out beneath.
"Nothing in particular," you say, keeping your voice soft and steady but doing your best to keep that shy girlishness present, "Just... wanted to." You peer up at him from under your lashes and bite your lip, then reach out your hand for him to take. You say your name.
He assesses your hand but doesn't take it, brow still furrowed. "Joel," he replies, "And I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment. Don't really have time to talk." His voice is cold and gruff, absolutely no sign of interest or attraction - dammit.
"What're you doing?" you ask, tilting your head.
He continues to stare at you blankly, "What does it look like I'm doin'?"
Okaaaay, then.
You shrug again and take another step, turning to look at the wall next to you. Tools line the shelves, wrenches and screwdrivers and the like dangling rather precariously here and there, smeared in motor oil and dust. It's a mess but you'd be willing to bet that it's organized chaos, that he likes it this way.
"What's this?" you ask, pointing to a particularly large object, something that looks like a mixture between a pair of scissors and a wrench.
"Bolt cutters," he supplies you monotonously.
"Ohh," you say with a nod, leaning a bit into the confused pretty girl stereotype and hoping maybe he's a sucker for it, "And what's that?" You point toward a small cylindrical object, black and tactical, only a few inches long.
"You never seen a flashlight before?"
Oh. Right. "Woops," you giggle, "Sorry."
You turn your face to look at him sheepishly and he's still watching you, big arms now crossed against his broad chest - impatient. Well, this is clearly not working either. He's frowning, eyes so focused on your face that you feel almost naked beneath it, like he's staring into your soul. You clear your throat awkwardly and tug your bottom lip between your teeth, breaking your own gaze away from him and trying to find something else to comment on.
"So you've been working on your truck," you state, gesturing toward the vehicle as if only just noticing it was even there, "What's - uh - what's wrong with it?"
He's clearly not buying into whatever the fuck you're even trying to sell. He remains silent, eyes still on you, and suddenly it's like you've never even interacted with a man before - and to be honest, maybe you haven't. Frat boys are certainly not men by any means, and nowhere near in the same league as Joel Miller by a long shot, probably almost triple their age with a dark and mysterious aura that feels almost suffocating. He just stares at you, slightly unnerving, but also seductive in its own way, almost like he's challenging you.
"What do you want?" he asks blankly.
"I-I told you," your voice is already faltering, losing its flirtatious edge the more you realize how dumb of an idea this was, "I just wanted to talk to you."
"Yeah, I got that," he says stiffly, "Why?"
You've already exhausted the avenues you thought might work, which means you've got one last chance before he sends you packing. With bated breath you take the final few steps toward him and - averting your gaze - you reach your hand out to touch his forearm with your fingertips. It's feather light, but you're suddenly very aware of the goosebumps that rise on his freckled flesh, the way the thick hair on his arms seems to stand on end the second your skin touches his. Okay, now we're getting somewhere.
"I think you're handsome," you murmur softly, feeling warmth rush to your cheeks when you realize that it's not a lie. And it really isn't. As your gaze gradually tilts up you catch a glimpse of the hair on his chest, peeking out from under his grey t-shirt. You spot his pecs beneath the fabric of his flannel, see the throbbing veins in his neck, the coarseness of his scruff, the sharp curve of his nose, and those fucking eyes - looking at you with a darkness, a lust, that wasn't there before.
He's not just handsome; he's fucking gorgeous.
"What're you doin'?" he asks you, that gruffness still present but being taken over by something else, something darker.
"Nothing," you breathe, still trailing your fingers along his forearm until they reach its apex and dip into the soft part behind his elbow, damp with sweat. You swallow, throat going dry as you stroke his skin with your thumb.
"Doesn't feel like nothin'," his voice is quieter, matching yours, and he tilts his head slightly as he continues to stare into your eyes, "Why're you really here, sweetheart?"
Sweetheart. The word sends a burst of warmth to your chest, a smile to your lips. You unlock your eyes from his bashfully, watching your own movements as you trail your fingers back down toward his hand and wrap them around one of his fingers, so thick compared to your own. You squeeze gently, biting your lip again as you peer back up at him. Here it is. Moment of truth. You tilt your head up slightly, eyelashes fluttering as you lean forward to connect your lips with his.
Except, they don't connect.
Instead he pulls his hands away from you, brings them upwards and wraps them around your upper arms, squeezing tightly. Your eyes widen, confusion flooding your features.
"Turn around and bend over."
"W-what?" Shock doesn't even begin to describe the ice cold feeling that now makes its way through your body, edged with something else - something you can't explain.
"Turn around," he repeats, his big hands squeezing your arms even tighter - relentless, firm - as he peers down at you with a dark hunger in his eyes, glinting black beneath the fluorescents, "And bend over."
He does not give you another chance to obey - you're too frozen in surprise and confusion to do anything yourself. Instead, he uses the force of his weight on your arms to spin you on the spot, shoving you against the work bench. You feel one of his hands move from your arm to your back, pushing hard until you fold, warm cheek coming to rest against the cold wood.
"Wh-what are you doing?" your voice is meager, weak, and you feel him wrap one of his hands around both your wrists like it's nothing, pinning them against your back like they're simply twigs in his wide palm.
"What you're clearly fuckin' beggin' for," he replies gruffly, and you feel his other hand at your skirt, feel the brush of his fingertips at the hem as he reaches upward to grip the band of your tights. Your eyes widen and instinctively you pull back, pull away - he just pushes you back down.
"I'm not-" you begin, shock quickly being replaced with fear when you realize how easily overpowered you are, how fluidly he's able to tug down your tights and expose your ass to him, clad in only a black thong already lost between your cheeks.
"Oh, you're not, huh?" his voice is cold and stoic, angry, "You think you can play games with me, little girl?" His hand comes to rest against the swell of your behind and you suddenly feel his breath above you, hot in your ear, "Tell me why you're really here."
You try to lift your head up to look at him better but he just shoves you back down again. Panic floods your body, mixed with the unmistakable burn of arousal. You feel yourself twitch in your underwear, feel a sudden gush of warmth spill inside the fabric as he begins to trail his finger up and down the thin line of black cotton.
"I-I'm..." You're at a complete loss for words, unable to articulate anything, unsure of what exactly is happening - or about to happen. Two minutes ago you'd been sure he was about to tell you to leave, practically kick you out of the garage himself, and now you're not sure leaving is even a possibility.
He pulls his hand back and you cry out when it comes down to slap against one of your cheeks, a sharp sting and burn you hadn't been anticipating.
"Tell me why you're here," he repeats - authoritarian, firm.
Your mouth opens but nothing comes out except a frightened squeak, something which clearly eggs him on even more. He spanks you again, harder this time, palm flat and wide against your pebbled flesh. The sound that slips past your lips is somehow akin to a moan of some sort, guttural and deep.
"I'll just make it harder and harder, sweetheart," he says then, and the pet name no longer contains the warmth it did mere moments ago; instead it's cold and detached, mocking. You're still reeling when his hand comes down to slap against you again, even harder this time, and your hands ball into fists behind your back as you let out another low moan. More slick gushes into your panties and it's impossible to deny that somehow, despite the fear twinging in your heart, you're so fucking turned on.
"M-my friends," you gasp out, and you feel him squeeze your abused ass cheek which you're sure is already dark with his handprint, "They- they dared me to see how far I c-could get with you."
He lets your words sink in for a moment, squeezing again - tighter, so tight that it hurts. You whimper against the wooden top of the work bench, legs shaking.
"So you came here to get fucked," he finally states.
"N-no, I swear, I-"
"Wasn't a question," he interrupts, and you feel his other hand tighten around your wrists, "You came here to get fucked so you're gonna get fucked, end of story."
"But I-"
Without any warning he suddenly pushes himself up against you from behind, the rough denim of his jeans pressing deliciously up against your exposed skin. You gasp, eyes going wide when you feel the long, thick shape of his dick between your cheeks, huge and hard. He holds it there, his free hand coming down to lay flat beside your head against the work bench.
"You feel that?" he asks, voice suddenly quieter but still full of that ice cold malice, "You feel that cock?"
Fuck. "Y-yes," you breathe, "I feel it."
"You have five seconds before i close this door and stuff you full, understand?" Suddenly all you can hear is the heavy sound of his breathing, the panting of your own, the thud of your heart where it presses painfully against the wood. He's giving you an out.
"I- I-" you swallow, brows furrowing when you feel his hand slacken around your wrists. You could pull away now, yank yourself out of his grasp and sprint down his driveway, return to your friends. Forget this ever even happened.
It's your last chance.
"Five," he begins, breath warm against your face.
Run. Just run.
"Four."
But why?
"Three."
Why don't you want to run?
"Two."
Why do you want to stay?
"One."
He pulls his hand up from the work bench and hits a button on the wall, eliciting a loud mechanical noise to your left as the garage door starts to close. You watch with wide eyes as your chance to leave slowly vanishes inch by inch until it's gone completely, and yet no part of you itches to run, to escape. There's nothing to escape from, you realize. You want to be here. You want him to fuck you.
As the reality of your situation starts to settle, his grip around your wrists tightens once again. You sense him reaching up somewhere above you, and you suddenly feel the harsh texture of what feels like thickly braided rope wrapping around your wrists. The realization that he's restraining you sends another pool of release into your panties, another faint squeak past your lips.
"You gonna stay still for me?" he asks, voice dark and clearer now in the silence of his garage, no sounds of rain or cars to disrupt you, "Huh? You gonna be a good girl?"
"Yes," you breathe, nodding against the wood.
"Say it."
"I'm gonna stay still," you promise, "I'm gonna be a good girl."
He finishes knotting the rope around your wrists, tight and uncomfortable against your skin. He pushes his groin up against your ass again, brings his now free hands downward to reach through your cardigan and squeeze your breasts. Your nipples are hard beneath the soft cotton of your shirt, no bra between the layer of material and your bare skin; he tweaks them in his fingers and you shudder.
"These are mine," he whispers in your ear, scruff nuzzling against the side of your face, "These tits, this ass," he drops his hands from your breasts to squeeze your cheeks again, "and this pussy." His hand drops to the puffy shape of your lips beneath your thong and you whimper. "Understand?"
"Y-yes."
"Yes, what?"
You're not sure what he's asking for, what he wants you to say. You take a guess. "Yes, sir," you whisper, and you feel him smile against your ear. Bingo.
He doesn't bother to pull your tights down the rest of the way; instead, he rips them, pulling them apart in his big hands and reaching inside to curl his index finger around the thin strip of your thong. He pulls it - hard - and it rips from you with a rough tearing sound and a painful sting, eliciting a loud gasp from you which he rewards with another spank.
You feel his finger slip between your lips for a moment, gathering some of your release before he pulls it away. "Juicy fuckin' pussy," he mutters, and you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone, vulgar in the quiet room. You have no time to ask about protection, no time to even really process how quickly this is already happening, before you feel the warm tip of his cock pushing against your twitching hole. You gasp again, hands furling under the ropes.
"Shh," he quiets you, stilling for a second, "Don't squirm."
"Sorry," you whisper, tears pricking in your eyes, "I'm sorry."
"What're you sorry for?" he murmurs, feeding his cock to you in small increments, reveling in the noises falling past your lips. It's so fucking big, bigger than you'd anticipated - it feels like he's spearing you, splitting you in half, especially without much preparation. It stretches and burns, but the warmth of it, the way it pulses as it invades your body, just makes you gush even more. "Hm?" he continues, "What're you sorry for? You sorry for squirmin' or sorry you pissed me off?"
Your eyes roll back as he bottoms out, his pubic hair pressing coarsely against your pussy lips, heavy balls firm to your ass. You try to speak but it's hard to get the words out when you're so full, the wide tip of him pushing into your cervix.
"You a virgin?" he asks you then, voice changing for a moment, like for the briefest of seconds he's wondering whether he should have gone slower.
You shake your head quickly, "N-no," you manage to gasp out.
"Feel like a fuckin' virgin," he grunts, pulling out and then immediately slamming back inside. Your head bumps against the work bench, a groan falling from your mouth as he makes a home inside you. "Christ," he mutters, "Tight little thing. You feel me in your stomach, baby?"
You're not sure he wants you to answer, but it becomes clear when his hand slaps down on your ass cheek again and you cry out.
"Yes," you moan, then quickly amend, "Yes, sir."
"S'what happens when you come in here, actin' like a little slut," he suddenly reaches for your cardigan and yanks it off - it catches on your restrained hands and he simply rips it and tosses it to the floor, "But then again, you're not actin', are you? Huh? What's a slut like you doin' wearin' all these fuckin' layers?"
"I'm s-sorry," you repeat, already mourning the loss of your favorite sweater, now ripped to shreds at your feet.
"Sorry's not good enough, little girl," he breathes, thrusting into you again so hard that you yelp, cheek still pressed into the splintered wood of the work bench, "That's it, fuckin' take it."
He fucks you without any reservations, any inhibitions. Your legs shake and you can hear the slap of his hairy thighs against yours as he pounds into you relentlessly. You have no choice but to take it, the stretch of his huge cock becoming less painful the more he gives it to you over and over, the room full of the wet squelch of your pussy gripping him. He grabs your hips, fingertips digging into your bare flesh as he takes and takes; you wish you could see his face, wish you could see how he looks when he's fucking you, getting his pleasure. The thought makes you whine, tears streaming down your face as your body moves back and forth against the work bench.
It feels fucking amazing. You've never had a cock as big as his before, never been fucked so deep and so hard, like he doesn't care if he breaks you, makes you cry. He hasn't touched your clit and yet you already feel you could come from just this, just the relentless push and pull of his dick inside you. Unfortunately, just as soon as you feel your orgasm starting to build, he pulls out. Your brow furrows.
"Stand up," he orders, "and turn around."
You obey, relief overtaking you as soon as you're no longer bent at such an awkward angle. The moment you turn to face him you barely get a look at his face before he's reaching down and tearing your shirt in half - easily, like it's nothing. You don't even have time to wonder how the hell you're gonna get home with all your clothes ripped to shreds when his mouth is suddenly wrapped around your left nipple, and you whine at the sensation. You peer down at him, biting your lip and watching his wet lips suckle around the hard bud, beard scratching deliciously against your skin. Your hand aches to cup the back of his head but it's still pinned behind your back, tied tight beneath the rope.
"Fuck," you whimper, and his dark gaze flashes up to meet yours as he sucks, the hint of a smirk on his lips when he pulls away.
"Feels good, does it?" he asks, and seeing the words come out of his mouth is somehow more sinful than when you could only hear them, "You like bein' used?"
You nod almost immediately despite never having experienced anything like this in your life - though admittedly you've undeniably wanted to experience this, ached to have somebody take control, tell you what to do, make you do things. It's like you've somehow known subconsciously all summer that Joel Miller could be that person for you, despite never having said two words to him. It was just a feeling, an instinct, and that dream...
"Yeah?" he continues, and suddenly his hand comes up to cup your pussy, thumb finally pressing against your clit. You cry out, tears still trickling down your cheeks. "Said you were in college, right? You take any college dick up here? Be honest now."
You nod again, "Y-yes."
"How many?"
"I... I don't know," you breathe. It's the truth, and you can tell as soon as the words leave your mouth that it does something to him. He presses his thumb harder against your clit, two fingers slipping up inside of you.
"'Course you don't know," he murmurs, pushing them as deep inside as he can, making you whimper, "You wouldn't know, would you?"
Your thighs tighten together - squeezing his hand - and he just smirks again, curving his fingers and making you moan. Your lower back digs into the work bench as he stands, pushes you up against it and peers down into your eyes again with a hunger that's only getting worse. You assess his expression, the pout of his lips as he fucks you with his fingers, the focused lines creased into his forehead. So fucking handsome.
"You're not a good girl," he breathes, nose brushing yours, "Knew it from the day I saw you. You're just made for takin' cock. Am I right?"
"Yes," you whisper, nodding shakily and bumping your lips up toward his - he pulls away again and you can't help but feel disappointed, aching to feel his lips against yours.
"Tonight you're made to take my cock, that clear?" he continues, and you watch as his other hand travels downward to wrap around it - just out of your periphery. He's too close to you, crowded so much in your space that you know he won't like it if you break eye contact. You can tell by his arm movements that he's pumping himself at the same speed he's fucking you with his fingers, inhaling deeply, "I'm gonna ruin you, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not."
"Y-yes sir," you whisper, voice squeaking when he speeds up his fingers and pumps them in and out with fervor, thumb rubbing furiously against your clit. Yet again he brings you almost to the edge and then removes his hand completely, stepping back with a low chuckle when you whimper pathetically.
Your disappointment only lasts a moment because now you can see him, see the girthy length of him that's already been inside of you hanging out of his zipper, glistening with your slick. He's huge, tip dark and intrusive, beads of his own arousal dripping from the slit; your mouth waters. His eyes cast down to where you're looking and he smiles, dark and mocking.
"Never gonna see another dick like this, darlin'," he breathes, "So you better start showin' your appreciation." His eyes glint. "Kneel."
You're practically already on your way to kneeling before he says it, in awe of the sheer girth and shape of him. The second your bare knees hit the cold floor he's crowding you again, hand coming around to hold the back of your head.
"Open wide, baby," he murmurs.
Your jaw drops and he plunges inside your mouth quickly and seamlessly, making you gasp around his length as your eyes widen. You can't breathe, looking up at him with more tears already fogging your vision as he immediately slips into the depths of your throat with no hesitation. You gag, eyes bulging as you attempt to swallow around the intrusion, find your breath, but it's impossible.
"Yeah," he breathes, both of his hands cradling your face and holding you still as he lets his cock sit unmoving in your throat, "Yeah, that's it. That's what you're made for."
He only holds it there for a few seconds but by the time he pulls it out you're gasping for air, coughing and spluttering as tears stream relentlessly down your cheeks. He keeps cradling your face, tuts to himself as you try to get your breath back. The head of his cock bumps softly against your bottom lip.
"Not off to a great start, are we?" he murmurs, "Let's try again."
He pushes his cock past your lips again and you try your hardest not to gag, a little more prepared this time. The pulsing head of his cock situates itself firmly in your throat, the pubic hair at the base tickling your nose while his balls bounce against your chin. You look up at him with pleading eyes, watch as he stares down at you with nothing but malice in his expression, contempt. You're just a hole to him, nothing more.
He pulls out and lets you gasp another breath before he's shoving himself back in, hands moving back to hold your head firmly as he fucks your face. You don't move - you don't need to; he does all the work as he drags your head back and forth along his cock, hitting the back of your throat over and over again until you're gagging and practically sobbing for air. Your knees ache against the concrete floor and you know you'll have bruises tomorrow, know that you probably won't be able to swallow properly for a few days either. Somehow, you don't really care.
When he's gotten his fill he yanks himself out and allows you to catch your breath for a few seconds, throat constricting around nothing while you choke and gasp.
"Stand up," he orders, and even though you're still gasping for air you manage to bring yourself back up, legs shaking. Saliva drips down your chin, drooling from your mouth in long strands, but with your hands tied you can't make any attempt to clean yourself up - he probably wouldn't want you to anyway.
His wide palms are suddenly on your hips, and he picks you up and places you on top of the work bench with minimal effort, arms bulging. You're completely naked now save for your ripped tights while he's still fully clothed, dripping cock still peeking out past his zipper, covered in your saliva. He steps between your legs and pushes your thighs open, then slips inside of you once again in one short push, making you yelp.
"Oh, please," he grumbles, gripping your hips tightly and pulling your bare body taut against him, head hitting his chest, "We both know you can take it."
It's not like you have any other choice at this point. He fucks you harder than he had before, now that he has easier access, can pull you so firmly against him that his entire length is continuously swallowed up entirely by your dripping pussy. His nails dig into your skin as his cock fucks up against your cervix over and over, so relentless it's almost painful. It's overwhelming how huge he is, not just his cock but his body in general, the way he towers over you and watches your expressions as he takes what's now his.
"Poor little thing," he mumbles, bringing one of his hands up to thumb the tears on your face, "Never been so full, huh? It's okay, shhh," his finger finds your lips and pushes against them almost mockingly, like he's chastising you, "Shhh, this is what you asked for, remember? S'what you wanted." You shake your head but he just nods, "Yeah, it is. You wanted that cock and now you're gettin' it."
Suddenly you're being lifted from the workbench, carried in his embrace with his cock still buried deep inside. You cry out, wrists straining against the ropes, itching to wrap your arms around his neck and hold yourself up with more stability. His arms come up to stretch along the expanse of your back, holding you still and pulling you even closer. As if on instinct your legs bend upwards to wrap around his waist, curling around his lower back while he pistons inside of you without restraint, without mercy.
"Fuck," you almost scream, feeling the rough denim of his jeans scratching against your ass, the heaviness of his balls slapping against you over and over again, "Fuckfuckfuck!"
"Yeah, there she is, there's that little slut," he says, a smile spreading across his face, voice somehow calm despite the fact that he's pounding into you over and over, "Nothin' like gettin' fucked stupid to sort ya out, huh? Needed to be punished, didn't you, sweetheart?"
You don't answer, can't answer, eyes rolling back as he fucks you with abandon. Of course it's not a surprise when he lands a hard spank against your ass, grips your cheek tightly in his palm and growls roughly in your ear, "Answer me, little girl."
"Yes," you force yourself to gasp out, head tilting back, "Yes sir, yes."
"S'right," he mutters, and you suddenly feel the pads of his fingers against your clit, rubbing at an aggressively fast pace that sends depraved noises spitting past your lips, "Come on that cock, tighten up that little pussy even more for me, baby, come on."
It only takes seconds for him to make you come, your eyes rolling back as your body shakes and writhes in his grasp. He doesn't slow his movements, keeps fucking you deep and hard as your legs loosen at his waist and you flop like a ragdoll in his arms.
"Chokin' that dick," he murmurs, "Had so many cocks in this little hole and you're still the tightest thing I've fucked," his brow furrows as he watches your face, watches as your eyes flutter open and your jaw slackens, "And what about your other hole, baby?" You feel one of his fingers prod against your asshole, circle the rim as he continues to bounce you up and down, "Ever had a cock in there?"
You tense up a little in his embrace, eyes widening. At your reaction he slows his movements, still holding you upright and allowing you to just sit on his cock for a moment while he continues to prod your asshole, "I'll take that as a no," he mutters, "Think my cock'll fit up there?"
"It won't," you whisper immediately, shaking your head.
He assesses your expression, eyes trailing up and down your face calculatingly, like he's weighing the pros and cons. Your heart stutters in your chest and you feel that fear from earlier slowly begin to creep back into your psyche, hands shaking under the rope.
"I won't," he states, and relief floods through your body; you relax in his embrace, becoming aware again of his cock still buried deep inside you. He very carefully prods the tip of his index finger inside your asshole and your eyes go wide again, mouth opening in protest. "Yet," he amends, smiling coldly at you, "I won't yet. Not today."
He pulls his finger out and walks with you to the work bench again, places you down gentler than before and peers at you with something in his gaze that you can't place, a curiosity that wasn't there before. It's gone in an instant though, and then he's fucking into you again without warning, gripping tight to your hips and slamming back and forth until you see stars.
"You thought this'd be so funny, didn't you?" he growls, looking at you again with that detached contempt, black eyes locked with yours. He brings his hand down and starts rubbing your clit again, not caring that you only just came a moment ago. "Thought you'd come here, have your fun, and leave again. But it's not so funny anymore, is it? Huh? Is it funny?"
"N-no," you gasp out, overstimulated to the point of even more tears as you squirm and writhe on the work bench, pussy aching from the insistent way he's pounding you and the relentless rubbing of his fingers against your clit.
"S'the last time you show up here tellin' lies," he mutters, "Understand me? Any time you come into my house from now on you're gettin' fucked, got it?"
"Y-yes," you cry, hands futilely attempting to ball into fists behind your back, and he shakes his head.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir!" you scream it, and just as the words pass your lips he stills inside of you, cock twitching as he starts to come. Your eyes go wide, mouth dropping open as his hand sends you into another climax just as he reaches his. Your head falls against his chest and you hear him groan above you, feel the way his cock pulsates and throbs and spits his cum in long and heavy spurts. Your thighs twitch and you feel his hand at your back, pulling you in close as he cups the back of your head.
You stay like that for a moment without speaking, your heavy breaths the only sound in the garage other than the rain now pelting heavily against the door. You swear you can hear his heartbeat.
"Good little girl, warmin' my cock," he murmurs in your ear, and you're still catching your breath, eyes closed, sobs wracking from your throat repeatedly. "Full o'me, huh? You feel all that, baby?"
You can only nod against his chest, wrists still straining against the rope as your toes curl somewhere below you and your body continues to shake. His cum settles warmly deep inside and your eyes roll back a bit when he pushes in further, like he's trying to keep it inside for as long as he can.
"Guess I found a new little cum dumpster, huh?" he whispers, carding his fingers through your hair, "I'll have to say thank you to your friends, or -" he pauses thoughtfully for a moment, "maybe I'll just have to send 'em a little message back with you."
You pull your face back from his chest, peering up at him with tired confusion. He reaches down and pulls out one of the drawers of the work bench, coming back up with a sharpie. You watch with fluttering lashes, unable to stop him - and not really wanting to - as he uncaps the marker and pushes your hair out of the way to write something across your chest, the cold tip making you jolt slightly.
"Shh," he murmurs, "It's okay, I'll untie ya in a sec."
It doesn't take him very long to finish writing whatever it is on your skin, and then he's slowly pulling his cock out of you. You whimper at the loss, thighs twitching as you peer down and watch his softening length slip past your hole, followed by a steady stream of his cum. He quickly reaches up and pushes what he can back inside, thumbing it back in carefully while the reality of what's just happened really begins to settle. You just let a man in his fifties tie you up, use you, come inside you, and write on your chest.
"Can't have all that slippin' out yet," he mutters, "Now, what can we use?" His eyes dart up to the shelves above you and he reaches up to grab something; when his hand comes back down you see the pocket flashlight from earlier, see the slightly flared base and know almost immediately what he's planning on using it for.
For some reason - whatever reason it is that you stayed here after he gave you an out, whatever reason you really came here in the first place - you don't protest.
He brings the flashlight downwards and quickly removes his hand from your pussy to replace it with the wide end, slipping it inside with only minimal resistance. You whimper and he hushes you, brushing his nose against yours as he assesses his handiwork.
"That should do it," he murmurs, then peers back up at you and pushes some stray hair out of your face "You keep that in there 'til you get home, okay?" His eyes have softened a bit, looking more similar to the way they did when you first showed up - is this the real him? You honestly have no idea.
You don't say anything, just nod slowly, feeling the anxiety from earlier begin to sink in yet again. How are you going to get home when you have no clothes? How are you going to explain to your friends what happened? How can you tell them - or show them - what you let him do to you?
These questions are clearly none of his concern. You watch as he backs up and gestures for you to stand with him; you do, with beyond shaky legs and the cold metal of the flashlight between your thighs.
"Turn around," he orders.
You feel him untie the rope from your wrists, essentially ending your time here - whatever it even was. It somehow doesn't feel real. You let them hang limply at your sides, feeling embarrassment flood your cheeks as you turn back around to look at him. He's watching you with a smirk, arms crossed - his dick is back in his jeans. He looks no different than he had when you arrived.
"Now get the fuck out," he says, dark eyes glinting once again under the flickering fluorescents, "before I change my mind."
--
The air is still chilly. The road is still wet. But thankfully, there are no cars.
You don't know how you manage to get home without anyone seeing you - hunched over, naked in the darkness, avoiding the streetlights, trying to ignore the ache between your legs and the icy intrusiveness of the flashlight still lodged inside of you - but you do. Your palms are sweaty again, heart pounding at the thought of your friends coming to greet you at the door, for the shock and confusion and screaming to begin - but that doesn't happen.
The moment you're back in the house you pull a jacket down from the coat rack and cover yourself, tiptoeing past the living room and waiting to be accosted by the friends who put you in this situation to begin with. Instead, they're nowhere to be seen. You hear the faint echo of laughter from the kitchen, hear the sounds of glass clattering and a fridge being shut. It's like they've already forgotten you even left, like the game meant nothing, and they've already found something new to entertain them, something better.
As if your futile attempt at getting a kiss on the cheek from Joel Miller is already something lost in the past.
And, you think, as you shakily climb the stairs and creep into the bathroom, tear the jacket from your shoulders and stare at your bare chest in the bathroom mirror, see the dark permanent lines that read TRUTH OR DARE...
Maybe that's how it should be.
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
My mate Paul went to the desert for a while and tried some really wacky drugs out there. When he came back he had a cult the size of a planet following him as their leader. He said he'd had to ride a giant worm to get to where he was. So those are the dangers of studying ecology they don't tell you about.
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Spider DNA 🕷️
————————————————
(red: Miguel)
(summary: you caught Miguel in his office rutting, and he asks for help. only for you to find out another defect of his spider DNA)
CW: monster fucking, aggressive sex, biting, clawing, licking, uses of degrading names, 2 dicks, slight choking if you squint, edging, anal.
————————————————
12:46 PM.
You just had gotten done on a mission with Peter B, walking down the lobby halls and squeezing past a couple of the other members with an empanada in your hand.
You'd popped into the cafeteria, grabbing two empanadas (one of which you'd already eaten by then) and the second one for Miguel.
Miguel and you have never really spoken since you first were recruited, but sometimes he'd make small talk that surprised you considering he'd never really talk to anyone. So you thought it would be nice to bring him some lunch as he's locked up in his lab as usual.
You make your way down Sector 4, getting in the elevator as it goes up and you keep your hands around the empanada container, making sure it stays warm.
The large doors finally open as you get to the top, walking down the hall and past several big machines from Miguels projects, the lights dark as usual.
The closer you got to the main part, the heavier the buzzing sound in your head became, your spider senses tingling but you ignored it, assuming nothing could possibly happen.
But then you get to the end of the hall, leading to the main part of the lab and you see Miguel hunched over his desk, helplessly and aimlessly humping the side of a table.
His face was a flushed mess, biting his bottom lip with his eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to have some sort of relief underneath his suit.
His grunts and whimpers fill the lab, as he claws and bites at the desk, humping repeatedly.
Your eyes widened, an unexplainable knot twisting in your stomach but in a... good way?
You go to take a step back but by the time your heel had lifted off of the ground he was already standing up and glaring at you.
"what are you doing here.?" he snapped
You didn't know what to say, so you just held up the empanada in the small cardboard container.
"... empanada." you mumbled, your eyes still wide.
His platform was already on the ground, so he was in front of you within seconds. His eyebrows scrunched together and with every breath he took he let it out in a small growl.
"um... here." you say shakily, putting it to his chest as if you expect him to take it.
but instead he grabs your wrist, the empanada falling out of your hand and he yanks you closer, absolutely staring into your soul.
"don't want it." he says in a low voice and tilts his head, leaning closer and he... sniffs?
your eyes widen and you feel his breath behind your ear as he smelled you.
"help me." he whispers, his tone making you wanna get on your knees right then and there.
"with what?" you say trying to keep your voice less shaky than before.
"what season is it cariño?" he mumbles, his other hand moving around you to the small of your back as his other hand keeps hold of both of your wrists.
"summer?" your tone is confused and he sniffs the crook of your neck.
"breeding. breeding season." he grumbled. oh. he was rutting. it all made sense now, the behavior change, humping his desk, smelling you, you must've forgotten he was 50% spider. but now it made sense and you were horny just from watching him for those 15 seconds of the humping so how could you say no?
"what if we get caught?" he took that as a yes, immediately biting slightly into your neck and ripping the crotch out of your spider suit.
"h-hey!" you said and he got on his knees, ignoring you and pulling your legs apart as he stuck his tongue in between your folds.
you almost fell backwards, and he held you by the waist and aggressively moved you over to the wall, pressing you back against it and he pulled your legs over his shoulders and stayed on his knees. his tongue desperately lapping at your clit, sucking and slobbering all over your already wet pussy.
"you're gonna be so good to my cock." he mumbled into you, the vibrations making you whimper and put your hands in his hair.
his hands clawed into your thighs, digging into the skin slightly and the longer he desperately ate you out, the tighter the familiar knot got in your stomach.
"f-fuck Miguel I'm gonna-" damn it.
the knot painfully faded away, Miguel had already stood you back up and was cleaning his face off with his tongue after denying you to cum.
"you're here for ME hermosa." he hissed, grabbing your chin and hunching over you.
you just nodded, and he turned you around and pushed you against the wall
he buried his face into your neck, inhaling your scent.
then he pulled down the neck of your spider suit, revealing your skin and he licked from the crook of your neck to the back of your ear.
your eyes widened and you looked at him, his eyes were closed and his face was flushed but still buried into your skin.
it was... cute. but that cute thought immediately was yeeted to another side of your head when he opened his eyes and grabbed you, hoisting you over his shoulder and he walked back to his platform and slammed you onto the desk.
before you could even say anything his suit dissipated, revealing his toned body and muscles which were even hotter underneath the suit but further down, two rock-hard (at least 10 inch) dicks were staring right at you.
"I'm gonna fuckin ruin you." he growled, grabbing your chin and making you look up at him.
"tw- how- huh?" you couldn't even get the words out, looking down at his monster cocks.
he rolled his eyes and squoze your chin harder
"it's a defect. 50% spider dna. remember? spiders have two reproductive organs, so I get two dicks." he snapped
you looked up at him, wide eyed and you didn't even know how he was gonna fuck you.
"and you're gonna take it like the whore you are."
you didn't know what to say, but the thought of two dicks absolutely ruining you like that sounded like the best thing ever.
you nodded, and he flipped you onto your stomach and positioned himself behind you, arching your back with one arm under your hips and the other arm around your neck with his face in your shoulder.
you whimpered, the two heads of his cocks poking against your entrance and your anus.
he stuck his fingers in your mouth, still not putting his dick in.
"suck." he commanded, and you wrapped your tongue around his thick fingers and started sucking.
the position was uncomfortable, bent like a pretzel but that's how he liked it. that's how you liked it.
without warning, he bottomed out. a loud squelch followed by a shriek from you and a groan from him entering the air.
you squeeze your eyes shut, your hand reaching up and grabbing onto his arm that was around your neck.
"god you're so tight..." he groaned, thrusting in and out without giving you time to even adjust to the monster cocks filling both of your holes.
"you were made for me. you're my whore." he whispered in your ear, licking your jaw as he thrusted mercilessly into your holes.
you moaned loudly, your hand clawing at his arm and your mouth sucking harder on his fingers.
the sounds of skin slapping, squelching, groaning, whimpering, and moaning were the only things you could hear. the occasional degrading things or sweet nothings Miguel would whisper into your ear made your brain go foggy.
you could feel him everywhere. he was all over you, and inside you. you swore you could feel every single vein on both of his cocks.
next thing you knew you'd came 4 times and he had 3. he was a whimpering mess, biting your shoulder and fucking you at the same relentless pace as he was before even if the overstimulation was killing him.
"I'm gonna get you so fucking pregnant baby.." he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and biting into your neck.
"you wanna have my kids? Yeah baby?" he cooed, even if he knew you couldn't answer.
your jaw was slack, eyes rolled into the back of your head and your pussy and anus still milked his cock for more cum.
"mm you're so good to me cariño." he muttered, both of your guys cum dripping out of your holes.
"so so so good. God I love this pussy... I'm gonna make you a mama and use you like a whore everyday." he ranted, his face red and his eyebrows scrunched in concentration of cumming just one more time.
his hips stuttered, his pace faltering and it was a familiar thing by now.
"fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-" then his 4th load of warm seed was shot into your holes, making you moan and he pulled out with a squelch.
he collapsed onto you, his arm slipping out from underneath your hips and out from around your neck and the only sound you could hear now was his soft breathing.
you'd thought you'd died, the white stars fading away from your vision and you laid your head on the table.
"fuck..." you sighed, and he slowly sat up and covered himself with his suit.
"I'll make note to call you next time." he muttered, helping you off of the table and he just tossed you a tissue.
you stood up, cleaning yourself off with the tissue but with the amount of cum coming out of you it wasn't enough and you could barely even stand.
he looked at you, then walked past you to his holographic screens.
"take a plan b." he said without even looking at you.
"um... okay."
"and I'll have Lyla make you a new suit."
you nodded, then left and got in the elevator. hoping that you would be able to run fast enough so nobody saw your ass and pussy hanging out, but the idea wasn't that bad, leaving the empanada long gone and forgotten about, cold in it's box.
————————————————
THIS IS MY FIRST WRITING PIECE 🥳🥳
I hope you all appreciate it, I hope it's good 😭
but thank you to @pissjuicencumballz for the idea.
SEE YOU ALL OCT. 2!!!
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Joel Miller Masterlist - NSFW
And other Pedro characters
Version 12/9/23 (new: sweet little mess - miller bros)
Blog FAQ
A reblog of this post will not stay up-to-date. You can always find this list in my profile header. Follow @toxicfics if you want notifs and @toxicrecs for fic recs.
Check warnings. 18+. x f!reader unless labeled otherwise. Darkness ratings (D - Darkish to Dark, DD - Extra Dark, DDD - ultra dark) are subjective. Dark does NOT automatically mean it has dubcon (DC) or noncon (NC). The NC I write is physically enjoyed by reader. DC is often situations that diminish your ability to truly consent. Like drinking, drugs, manipulation, being in captivity (even if he's hot), pressure, or your superior. This is why in many DC fics, reader is willing or even enthusiastic.
I do not give permission for any of my work to be copied, reposted, translated without permission, made into bots, put into AI, etc.
🍒 innocent reader | 💤 somnophilia | 👴/🧔♂️ explicit age gap
MASTERLISTS - AUs, Collections, and Series
Silence can never be bought (dbf, AU)👴⭐ Joel is a family friend. You catch him in a compromising position and hold it over him.
Night walks (AU) 👴 dark (D), DC (at first / drugs) Joel is your hot, older pothead neighbor who talks dirty.
Raider Joel DD. NC (at first, via implicit threat), DC (stockholm syndrome). Joel "saves" you but claims you as his own and takes you with him. This is a big AU with lots of lore and interaction.
Left in Lincoln (dbf x virgin) 👴🍒 DD He's a neighbor your dads trust to look in on you while they seek treatment for Frank.
Stepdad 🧔♂️D You come for an unannounced visit and catch him perving on your insta and start toying with & seducing him.
Speakeasy (Collection, no plot) - Exhibitionist one shots and drabbles all with the same horny couple, post-outbreak.
Thighs out (bf's dad) - When your bf strays on vacation, his hot, slutty dad makes you feel better, and better, and better.
Slasher Joel DD DC - he's a tow truck driver, you're stranded. you're DTF but end up fcking for your life when you offend him.
Miller Bros
Tommy's hard day (MFM 🗼) D
Leopard print skeezy vibes, public, sharing
✨stuffing (11/18) D sharing / mfm/ dvp
✨sweet little mess (12/8) (stuffing pt. 2)
for survival (2003)
For Survival (1.4k) - Joel, a stranger, saves your life, you fuck during evacuation.
For Survival 2 (1.4k) - fucking in your sleeping bag trying to be silent.
free use!Joel 👫
Making dinner (free use of you)
Picnic table (manhandling) D, DC (the public aspect)
Bail run (asleep but consensual) 💤
dark mode!Joel ULTRA dark - DDD, 👫
Dark mode (knife)You activate Joel's dark mode for your own enjoyment.
Clicking (horny! joel -> dark mode) He won't stop when a clicker appears. Later you try to punish him but it backfires.
just the tip D, DC (power imbalance) 🧔♂️🍒
Just the tip 🍒 (v loss), he coaxes you into more.
surveillance (imagine) he watches you.
Just the tip (really) you've been trying not to fuck him and this time it's really just the tip.
VIRGINS
Aches; thoughts; ✨needs Post-outbreak, you're sharing a sleeping bag and your body starts needing Joel's.
Night Talks (v loss) 🧔♂️🍒 D, DC (drugs) you're Sarah's best friend. When she ditches you he gets you high.
Patrol - pt. 1; virgin patrol (v loss) 👴🍒 DD, DC (manipulation)
Virgin sex worker (v loss) D 🍒
See also, Lincoln series and Just the Tip above.
⬇️ ONE SHOTS, miniseries, misc⬇️
Post-outbreak
you almost die then get used D, NC, 👫 Joel takes you aggressively in the heat of the moment
Possessive cum play D, 👫
Secret breeder!Joel Refuses to pull out D, 👫
Jealous of you/Tess (degradation) D, DC mean
Bone broth (consensual noncon) 👫
non-con while you sleep D, NC 💤 on a hunting trip when you have a boyfriend at home.
Caught DDD very mean Joel, you escaped captivity, ✨At the table
Lazaretto (NC. sex pollen)👴, PART 2, DC quarantined together
caught masturbating (300) D
the old fashioned way (1k) D Joel breeds you
movie night (in public) 👫 under a blanket
Pre/Non-oubreak/AUs
the special one (VAMPIRE!joel) D, DC
pawn shop (GILF Joel) ��D
canopy, part 2 ��🧔♂️ dbf in your parents' house, caught
Fucking Joel at your dad's house 👴one-off dbf
Breeding couple ; Pregnant , 👫
in the ass like a good girl anal drabble
Watching you; pt.2 date next door D peeping tom neighbor
caught Drinking ( DDDNE) 🧔♂️DDD, NC sarah's friend is punished
sleeping Beauty 👴💤, 👫 (via night walks) CNC.
that's the spot (masseur!Joel) you're the aggressor
gas station skeeze (300) 👴
packing: butcher!Joel DD, DC
personal trainer , part 2 D, DC
daddy Joel ��🧔♂️, a day in the filth
jalbird - cellmate's nephew, ✨collect calls, parole
dark nurse!Joel (sex pollen imagines)
HCs, imagines, other
Free Use / Objectification HCs - you can put Joel in different modes for your enjoyment.
Your Dirty Little Mouth - talking dirty in Spanish in public to get Joel all riled up.
random hot things from HBO canon
Therapist (Dr. Rock), pt 2 D - META 1st person
Dick HCs - size, appearance, and more
Brothel Reality Show
Multi-Joel Art & Misc
Lmk if yours is missing, ✨section in progress✨
JOELS AS CATS by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog
Joel's as cats pt. 2 not-a-unique-snowflake-blog
Joelkémon astrology by @wannab-urs
Joelkémon cards by @gasolinerainbowpuddles
BuzzFeed quiZ: which Joel are you most compatible with? missannwinchester and not-a-unique-snowflake-blog
BuzzFeed quiz: which Joel are you? missannwinchester and not-a-unique-snowflake-blog
Mood board of different joels by @milla-frenchy
joels as texts by @iamasaddie
Other pedro characters
Javi G. - Watch you watch him fuck his wife. Depicts the hypothetical scenario Nick and his agent mused about in the movie.
Ezra - Sleep time: pt. one (250), two 💤(850) D You bait Ezra into having his way with you. pt.3 Ezra strikes back. DC
Javi P. - hunt and peck (2.7k) 6/30
Dark Javi P - the raid (2.7k) 10/18
---
Writing something isn't condoning it IRL.
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲
the content below contains writings, asks and moodboards about eddie munson. some posts contain smut and possibly dark themes.
𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬
how perv!eddie thinks about you
eddie being utterly in love with you he can’t contain himself
eddie having a rideable face
eddie’s addicted to making you squirt
feeding eddie at a cookout
eddie fucks his teacher for extra credit
eddie finds your porn magazine
you fuck eddie in a bathroom
eddie’s a biter
you get fucked by mechanic!eddie
perv!eddie loves when you suck him off with lipgloss on
falling asleep on eddie’s chest
eddie before prom
you find his bloody face sexy
you’re desperately trying to get eddie’s attention
eddie fingering you on the couch
mechanic!eddie fingering you
eddie being a sexual menace
you love taking advantage of eddie’s perverted ways
eddie loves getting his face fucked
kissing eddie on new years
how eddie fucks himself
watching eddie cum
eddie loves when you ride him
eddie’s flirtatious when high
eddie loves a plus size babe
eddie tying his hair with your panties
eddie helps you with your hair
𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬
perv!eddie hc’s
stoned!eddie hc’s
𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬
eddie and his hyperfem gf!
mechanic!eddie x farmer!reader
𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
perv st hc’s
how the st boys eat you out
steve can’t get your hair in a ponytail
steve’s a titty fucker
poly with argyle & eddie
steve eating soul food for the first time
more poly with argyle and eddie
steve eating you out
689 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒
a/n: all my works are listed in here! i’ve got a library ( @bloodstheink ) and a backup account ( @hemlockhearts ) in case i get shadowbanned again lol.
PLEASE READ BEFORE INTERACTING
↑ tl;dr — please comment, reblog, or give feedback on my posts and don’t simply just like them. it helps alot <3
𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐗𝐄 (DRABBLES)
NAVIGATION
SIDE A:
𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆
𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑
𝐁𝐔𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐘
SIDE B:
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃
𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐈
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑
𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇
guides: spiderling - mcu peter/ movie star - tom holland/ bug boy - tasm peter/ the banished - eddie munson/ martini - joseph quinn/ the hair - steve harrington/ ruth - nancy wheeler
874 notes
·
View notes
Note
It would be really hot if you wrote about Eddie in the shower, maybe start all innocent (with intent of just having a shower together) and then turns out to full smut.
shower thoughts
(eddie munson x female!reader)
summary: REQUEST!! 🤩🤩🥳🥳
word count: around 1,074
it had been a long night. eddie had just gotten back to his trailer after his latest campaign with the crew. safe to say he was quite riled up. that's why as soon as he reached his dark room that you loved so much, he stripped down and hopped in the shower.
it was a friday night. your parents thought you were going to nancy's house for a sleepover because she was in great distress over her sichuationship. what they didn't know is that you planned to spend the next 72-ish hours in your boyfriend's trailer.
you arrived and let yourself in using the key eddie had given you on your five-month anniversary. you knew his uncle wouldn't be back to the trailer until wednesday, off on some "business trip". you heard the shower running and knew eddie must have just arrived from the trail of clothing leading to the steamy bathroom.
you began to slowly strip your clothes at the thought of seeing the man you loved so much after not having seen him since helping him set up for hellfire. then quickly leaving to go clean up your room one final time before you return on sunday. getting all your laundry done, vacuuming, etc...
because the bathroom door was open, eddie didn't hear the sound of you entering with nothing but your silver star choker covering you.
despite not knowing you were there and having his back turned to the side of the shower you entered on, eddie wasn't frightened when you slowly slid the curtain open and stepped into the warm water.
you reached your arms out and wrapped them around his slender torso, pressing your chest against his firm back. he covered your forearms with him as he leaned back into your touch, letting out a content sigh. "hey bunny" he mumbled.
"hi love, how was the campaign?" you quipped as you began to apply gentle kisses all over the surface area of his back. he quickly turned around and took your face firmly in his calloused hands, "i don't wanna talk about that," he kissed you softly on your temple. "well what do you want to talk about e?" you asked as you looked up at him.
"boo thangggg i don't wanna talk at all" he groaned out lazily as he moved his hands from his hands to your waist. you couldn't help but laugh, "did you just call me boo thang?" your face almost hurt from how big your smile was. you wrapped your arms around his neck as you pulled him closer. eddie moved his head to your shoulder, "you know you love me" he whispered in your ear as he nipped at your lower lobe gently, moving his arms so he rubbed your lower back.
you giggled as you pulled your face back to look him in the eyes "what can i say? im a sucker for the bad boys," you pulled him close and quickly unified your lips. the makeout didn't last long as eddie began trailing his lips lower and lower until he dropped to his knees. what a fucking sight. he pushed you back against the wall and brought one of your legs over his shoulder, the other placed firmly on the shower floor. he placed wet, fast kisses all over your precious thighs until he finally made it to his favorite part of your whole body.
he moved his head closer until he was hovering right before your sopping cunt, "hey baby, i missed you," you let out a loud laugh, "you’re such a dick, munson". he looked up at you and put on an offended face then quickly turned his head and took a playful bite of your thigh. "eddie-" your body jerked as you laughed, "that tickles,"
"then stop interrupting my kitten time!" he told you sternly as you chuckled one final time, "ok, ok, fine, go ahead, i'll stop". he sighed dramatically, "thank god". after that, he finally began
“i missed this…” he murmured as he let one finger slowly trace from your entrance to your clit, making you moan softly. lightning shot through your body as eddie pressed his fat tongue to your clit, rolling over it gently, over and over again. a deep moan left your lips and you grabbed at his long, dark hair, tugging on it with no mercy.
“you're fucking amazing” you moaned out as he let his tongue circle your entrance, making the pressure in your abdomen increase as each second passed. you could feel him smirk as he asked, “more, dollface?”. he was teasing you, and you loved it, barely managing to whimper a small “please” between sharp moans and squirms.
at your begging, eddie slipped two long fingers into your tight, throbbing cunt, causing you to moan the way that only he could make you. his fingers worked slowly at first, before increasing their speed to match the tempo of his rapid tongue. he curled his girthy fingers into your most sensitive spot, making your hips jerk at the contact, but his other hand quickly pressed your hips firmly into the cold shower tile, causing you to shiver. “i know you’re close, sweet girl. i always know…”
you nodded, biting your lip to keep from moaning like the movies you and eddie would rent every time you wanted to spice things up. His strong tounge flicked against your clit at the exact moment that he inserted a third finger inside you. The sensation was almost too much, and all it took was one more strong curl of his fingers for you to completely fall apart.
eddies fingers were unstoppable as your orgasm fell over you. you opened your eyes, dizzy from the aftershocks as he let his tongue flick at your clit a few more times before removing your leg from his shoulder and placing it gently on the ground.
"god, i love you," you leaned your head against the cool tile, trying to cool down. "ok sweet girl," he spoke out as he stood, "let's get all clean, then we can cuddle, get high, maybe order some mexican food, fuck a little, and watch a movie?" you had never loved anyone liked you loved eddie munson. "how did i ever get so lucky?" you pulled your boyfriend into a tight hug. "trust me boo thang, i'm the lucky one,".
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
like a book - tom holland
A/N: new post bc its rosh hashana and im blessing u bitches <3 ALSOOOO not tom not saying he loves y/n back...🤚 anyways pt 2?
(tom holland x actress!reader)
summary: why y/n loves tom
word count: over 1000
the day started off normal. well, as normal as your days could possibly be. with the new thor movie coming out, you had a lot of interviews to do. your career took off after being cast as the winter soldiers long lost daughter, created to continue the HYDRA empire. after your “villain era” as you liked to call it, you worked with the heros and became a prime member of “the revengers”. that's actually where you met your best friend and longtime fuck-buddy, tom holland.
you were in your last interview of the day when you heard the stupid interns from “vogue” talking about you.
“i just don’t get it, she's obviously using him”
“you don’t know that”
“come on its tom holland. who wouldn’t want a relationship with him. i know you’ve seen the pictures”
“what if it’s him?”
“what does he have to gain from being with a girl like that? I mean he could have Zendaya if she wasn’t a heartless which”
you quickly finished the interview and rushed out of the building as fast as possible. you found yourself falling into a deep depression. did tom think you were using him? you loved tom. in fact, you were in love with him.
wait.
hold the phone.
you were in love with tom holland.
as if fate was on your side, you heard your phone buzz.
hey
the text plain and simple, yet, effective. with those three letters you knew that he wanted you. he craved you. he needed his fill. at least, you told yourself if was him who needed the fill. even though no other human, man or woman, could touch you like he did. could feel you like he did.
hi
you responded so quick you almost felt desperate. you knew he liked you, god everyone on the planet knew, not only because both of your lives basically belonged to the public domain. No, it was because of the way he talked about you, the way looked at you, posted about you in front of millions of fans, the names he called you, tom holland was head over heels.
too bad, so sad, you thought to yourself.
a psychiatrist would call you delusional. so would all your friends. they could tell you wanted him, they could tell he wanted you, so what were you waiting for exactly...
can you come over?
tom loved the way your words made his heart squeeze. he knew that you didn’t truly realize how deep your own feelings ran. tom knows how your brain works, because he had been paying far too close attention to you, for far to long. you thought he only knew how your body worked but he knew it all. body. mind. soul. he had memorized you like a book.
he would wait forever. he would play a million of your stupid little games if that made you believe you were control of the situationship that you both had found yourselves in. he would do anything for you. and that unconditional love was something you were never ready to accept.
until today.
already on my way. chinese or mexican?
chills ran down your spine as you saw his response. you hated the way your heart clenched. the way you could feel an endless amount of goosebumps take over your long, exposed legs.
this was where everything started to feel a bit more... fuzzy. you could fuck any guy you wanted. lord knows you’d experimented with your fair share of teenage heartthrobs as soon as your acting career launched. but no one, ever, treated you like tom did.
tom wasn’t the first person to make you cum, but lord he had to be the best. sometimes he would torture you with orgasm after orgasm. other days, he’ll deny you of that remarkable finish until you’ve almost passed out. but, the innumerable amount of “finales” he’d oh, so, generously provide, were not the problem.
the problem was that he cared. tom holland cared to stick around after the sex was done. he stuck around through everything. the sicknesses and health. the forplay and the aftercare. the awkward fan questions to your first award show. tom holland was always there.
fucking dick.
mexican please
tom thought he knew what you were doing. if he had known you were contemplating your entire life simply because he asked you if he should bring over mexican or chinese food, he would have gotten the food and b-lined to a ring shop. because, of course, tom holland knew your ring size. if it would ever come up, he would simply say something stupid like, “it’s better to be prepared” with a wink and a smirk.
you heard the three loud knocks on your wooden door and immediately ran to great the young spiderman.
“hi,” you couldn’t contain your grin as you saw the brunette standing in your doorway with a big brown bag in one hand and a huge smile on his face.
“hey sweetheart, how you been?” he greeted you as he kissed you on the cheek and made his way into your giant kitchen. as he placed the bag down onto your dinner table and began unpacking the delicious cuisine that you would be eating very soon, you found yourself with the undeniable urge to hug him.
you quickly wrapped your arms around his muscular torso. you could feel him instantly relax as he let you hold him. you rested your face in between his back muscles and let out a content sigh.
he reached his arms up to cover yours and quickly turned around so you two could be face to face. he pulled you in close. he was worried about you. to be fair, he always worried about you. but this... this was different. In the past, you’d denied any physical intimacy other then sex. now, here you are holding on to tom like he would disappear if you let go. “what's wrong darling?”
“nothing.” you responded shortly as you hid your face in his chest. squeezing him tighter, trying your best to avoid eye contact. tom could feel his hands becoming clammy as his worry grew. he looked down at you as he removed one hand from around your waist to gently grab your face. he squeezed your cheeks as he moved your head up to look at him, you loved when he pinched your cheeks.
“don’t lie to me y/n” he spoke sternly. you pressed your lips together. you finally looked him in the eye as you felt the adrenaline begin to fill your body. why did he have to be so goddamn sexy.
“i love you” he let out a chuckle as you frowned. he noticed your pouty face as he let out a dramatic sigh, “baby i love you too, you know that” he explained. you pushed him away dramatically as you let out a sigh. “tom, listen to me-” you walked back over to him and grabbed his face in your small palms.
you looked him in the eyes as you chose your next few words very carefully,
“tom fucking holland, i’m in love with you”
he stopped. the world stopped.
“what?”
it was as if the world had finally been rightfully been put on its axis for the first time ever. as if the colors became a little bit brighter, simply because these two soulmates had finally interconnected.
ty for reading!
#tomholland#tom holland smut#tom holland x reader smut#tom holland x reader#tom holland x actress!reader#tom holland fluff#tom holland x reader fluff
296 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝟏.𝟑𝐤 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
thank you for 1.3k followers. i love all of you so so much. thank you for all the support, it means the world !! kinda copying cinta with this celebration ngl 😗
harry potter recs
masterlist by @marcela6malfoy
masterlist by @dr4cking
masterlist by @sarahisslytherin
masterlist by @lilithcromwell
masterlist by @pottahishotasf
masterlist by @queen-asteria04
masterlist by @mellifluousart
masterlist by @electriclocean
masterlist by @electriclocean
masterlist by @electriclocean
masterlist by @jackys-stuff-blog
masterlist by @cupids-crystals
masterlist by @wolfstar-lb
masterlist by @selenesheart
masterlist by @acosmis-t
masterlist by @moonlitmeeks
masterlist by @fantqsha
masterlist by @dulcet-lover
masterlist by @evesbiggestf4n
masterlist by @elysian-bxg
masterlist by @indigoh4ze
masterlist by @angel4you
masterlist by @yelenalovegood
masterlist by @harryssmommy
masterlist by @lonelyhe4rts
masterlist by @thatoneguitargirl
marvel recs
masterlist by @queen-asteria04
masterlist by @peppers-analytics
masterlist by @avengershumanresources
masterlist by @mendesxruel
masterlist by @itsallyscorner
masterlist by @jedi-valkyrie
masterlist by @sapphireplums
masterlist by @ohbuckie
masterlist by @cupids-crystals
masterlist by @welldonebeca
masterlist by @queen-of-the-avengers
masterlist by @padme-parker
masterlist by @velvetcloxds
masterlist by @eloquenceflores
masterlist by @fantqsha
masterlist by @alwaysmarveling
masterlist by @yelenalovegood
masterlist by @harryssmommy
star wars recs
masterlist by @jedi-valkyrie
masterlist by @itsmentalillness
masterlist by @padme-parker
masterlist by @calummss
twilight recs
masterlist by @fantqsha
masterlist by @ameliora-j
there are so many more i wanted to include on this list, but it only lets me tag 50, so maybe i’ll do another list for a future celebration <33
10K notes
·
View notes
Text
middle child // steve harrington
(steve harrington x fem!wheeler!reader)
(billy hargrove x fem!wheeler!reader)
A/N: this starts from season one and progresses on to four. in chronological order! does this make sence? i dont even know. basically its steve and your relationship through the seasons. you get it. i’ll go.
Summery: nancy’s little sister has been, and always will be in love with steve harrington.
Word Count: over 1000
Warnings: jealousy, semi-public sex scenes, overall roughness, controlling!steve, etc...
steve harrington. you had been in love with him for as long as you could remember. well... since your sister started dating him during 10th grade. being introduced to steve harrington was like a light finally shinning in your life. he was the first person ever to treat you like you were your own person. being the middle child of the wheeler family, you really were only known as nancy's younger sister or mike’s older sister. steve always called you by your name. no matter who he was talking to. he never made you feel like a failed varient of someone else. steve harrington was a breath of fresh air.
in some fucked up way, he made you whole. sadly, your sister felt the same way. thats why for years you kept quiet, listening to the golden child of the wheeler family complain about him, fight with him, cry to him. it didn’t stop there, because nancy was only one year older than you, you were a freshman when she was a sophomore. that basically meant that not only did you have to wake up to steve sneaking in the window to “study” with nancy, but you had to see them all throughout the school.
one thing you love about steve is that he always made sure you felt included. always invited you to the parties, always let you tag along as the third wheel(er)(lol). steve was always good to you. kind to you. made you feel special on your darkest days. until sadly, one day steve stopped coming around. and nancy got more uptight. you loved your sister, you did. but part of you never forgave fate for nancy meeting steve first. when you finally asked your sister what had happened, she just cried into your arms. you held her as she sobbed, and you kept quiet.
you and steve just kinda...stopped talking after that. your friendship was gone. you never saw him anymore. it was like a wall had been put up. every time you saw him the two of you could even make small talk without a cloud of awkwardness floating over.
frankly, because you two stopped talking, you were quite surprised to see how upset steve got when he saw you and billy kissing in the alleyway behind the gym after the “big game”.in fact, he got really upset. so upset he pulled you off of billy as soon as he saw the “traumatizing” sight. he dragged you by your arm all the way to the empty girls locker room and fucked you over and over again until you both finally got your whits about you, quickly got dressed, and drove to his house. let’s just say you did not make it home that night.
you two were in love immediately. nancy was fine with it because she didnt love steve. not like you would. not like you always did. the world was finally back on its axis. y/n wheeler and steve harrington were soulmates. everyone knew it. as people came and left her life, and steve graduated and she became a junior, as the school year passed, and you were both still more in love than ever.
even with steve working at scoops ahoy and you life-guarding at the local pool all day, your relationship thrived. well, it was thriving until billy started working at the pool and steve got jealous. he would come visit you on the weekends with the kids, (mike, dustin, lucas, eleven, and will), and if he saw billy standing too close, a screaming match would begin. although you loved how each argument ended in angry sex, you resented how jealous he got. it kind of hurt your feelings, i mean, he was your first... everything. did he really not trust you at all? when you confronted him about your feelings, he completely understood. he tried to explain how he did trust you, it was billy. billy could be a snake, steve knew that. he just wanted to protect you.
until he lost you. he was on his way to pick you up after work, as he does most friday’s. he was horrified when he didn’t see you waiting in the usual spot. he immediately parked the car and began to look around, calling your name. he couldn't loose you, not with everything that was about to go down in hawkins. he swore he almost died as he saw you and billy making out in the alleyway between the shed and the fence.
“y/n?” he called to you, his tone almost at a whisper. you and billy didn’t hear as billy reached his hands under your t-shirt. steve called out to you louder as his face turned to a pained expression and his eyes began to tear, “y/n?”
you finally took notice of the boy standing on the grass, looking at you like you had killed his puppy. you turned to him, “what?” you truly had just ripped his heard out and took a bite. steve didn’t understand. all he could do was stand there as you looked at him. he could physically feel his heart breaking deep inside of his chest. as his tears poured down like an april rain shower, he spoke up, “n-nothing.” he let out a dry chuckle, turned, and left.
if only he had known what he knew now. if he had known that you were going to die in the slimy tentacles of the mind-flayer. if he had known that it wasn’t really you making out with billy that night. if he had known that you hadn’t actually been you for a long time, maybe you would be alive right now. maybe you two would be cuddled up watching “top gun” and laughing as you both tried to imitate the stupid volleyball scene.
he couldn’t even say goodbye. he didn’t even get to hold you in his arms as you passed. he couldn’t tell you he loved you. you couldn’t tell him that you knew, and even though you weren’t yourself, you were always with him one way or another. he couldn’t even see your body. the police didn’t find it. it was like you had upped and disappeared into purgatory.
if only he knew the truth. if only he knew where your body went. if only he could tell you those three words, eight letters, and three syllables, just one more time. who knows? maybe, one day, he will...
AUTHORS NOTE: omgggg another postttt!!! i came up with this idea at like 5 in the morning and wrote it down in my drafts. i’ve been working on this all day and i hope yall liked it!
*not my gif
#steve harrington#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x wheeler!reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader smut
614 notes
·
View notes
Text
!!UPDATED MASTERLIST!!
𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀:
ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜɴsᴏɴ - ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɴᴇᴇs (ɴsꜰᴡ)
eddie is not as sneaky as he thinks he is...
eddie munson- shower thoughts (nsfw)
request!
sᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ - ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ (sᴏᴍᴇ ɴsꜰᴡ ᴛᴏᴘɪᴄs)
nancy’s little sister has been, and always will be in love with steve harrington...
𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹:
peter parker - like a book (some nsfw topics)
reader realizing they love tom ft. bitchy vogue interns
1 note
·
View note
Text
on your knees // eddie munson
*not my gif*
(eddie munson x fem!cheerleader!reader)
summary: eddie isn't as sneaky as he thinks he is...
word count: over 1000
warnings: fingering, semi-public sex, voyeurism, daddy kink if you squint
you always thought basketball was boring. hours, and hours, of sweaty men in short shorts throwing balls at each other. you felt like a ghost, stuck haunting a mediocre high school.
you purposely waited until the end of the game before making your escape attempt. you were glad you did though, as you got to see lucas sinclair, your best friend and little brother from a different mother, make the winning shot and secure his future seat at "the table". you had never screamed louder. you immediately ran up to the freshman and pulled him into the tightest hug you could manage. you told him you knew he could do it and squeezed his cheeks, moving out of the way so the rest of the team could celebrate with him.
you walked back to where the cheerleaders were all relatively located and pulled your best friend aside, "hey chris, im not feeling so well," you told her quickly, "i think im gonna skip out on the party tonight,"
"awww well i'll miss you tonight, but feel better and call me if you need anything!" the blond cheerleader responded as she pulled you into a hug.
"thanks, cap, i'll call you tomorrow, ok?"
"sounds good! stay safe y/n! i love you!"
"i love you more!" you gathered your stuff as you walked out of the gym and into the locker rooms. you knew the girls never go in there after a late night game because there's always a party to go to. you quickly placed your bags down as you striped out of the skin-tight cheerleading uniform. when you were fully bare, you stepped into the steamy shower to wash the day's stress off of your tense body.
you let out a deep sigh as the warm water slowly soaked your body. meanwhile, just down the hallway, a vigorous game of D&D had just ended and the members of the famous "hellfire club" were in an all-time high. they were all walking around the high school hallways together waiting for their rides to arrive, as they were going over the tremendous win that had just occurred.
"hold on guys, i gotta go take a piss." eddie spoke out as he separated from the rest of the club. as he ventured the halls, he just happened upon the girls' locker room. it wasn't on purpose. he was, really and truly, looking for the bathroom. he just... got distracted. distracted by the hot silhouette from the other side of the shower curtain. "holy fuck." he gasped.
your silhouette looked heavenly. he cautiously ventured into the steamy room. he took small, quiet, steps, trying as hard as physically possible to not make a noise. to not breathe. to hold in his deep gasps as your curvy shadow moved around.
you thought it was cute. the way eddie thought he was being slick. the way he thought he could get just silent enough to get away with being somewhere he knew he should be. "eddie," you stuck your head outside of the curtain, not bothering to hide anything, just to see the boy's shocked face, "if you're gonna be a voyer, at least be good at it."
you turned off the shower, grabbed your towel, and exited. slowly wrapping your towel around your lower waist, making sure to give eddie a good view of what you know he loved the most; your boobs.
"what can i say, doll?" he walked up to you and rubbed his hands up and down your figure. he loved everything about you. everything you hated. every pimple and dimple, every stretch mark and scar, every tug and tag and hair, if it was yours; he loved it. "you're just too goddamn sexy." you guided your soft hands from his chest to his hairy head. you tangled your fingers into the messy strands and you pulled him into a deep kiss. it was hungry and passionate. it was unlike any of your other kisses with him. it meant something...it meant... everything.
you pulled away from the kiss and slowly walked backward until you sat down on the bench. you spread your legs, the towel barely hanging on at this point, and leaned back on your elbows. eddie smiled. "you're a fucking tease today, aren't ya doll?" he began to walk closer to you as you smiled like the cheshire cat, "on your knees, daddy."
he let out a dry chuckle. "be careful baby girl, i don't want to have to punish you." he was standing between your spread legs, he took your jaw in his hands and made you look into his, deep, dark, lustful, eyes as he towered above you. you bit your lip as you dug your hands into the bench to try and relieve some of the pressure building up between ur thighs. eddie noticed this as he slowly got down on his knees. he ran his hands all over your lower half, from your ankles all the way to the last remnants of your summer tan that hadn't faded yet right on the tip of your thighs. "it's dinner time eddie," you pulled him closer by his crisp hellfire t-shirt. "it's a good thing i'm fucking starving baby." his smile became almost animated as he removed his hands from your goose-bump covered thighs and he slowly unwrapped the towel that was already barely hanging on as it was.
he grabbed your thighs and moved them over his shoulders. he put his freezing cold hands on your lower back and pulled you to the edge of the bench. "if you look anywhere other than my eyes, princess" he kissed her thigh, "i'm gonna make your life a living hell." you nodded desperately, trying your best to lower your heart rate.
he moved his hands from behind your back as he placed one on your thigh and used the other to gently push your chest back so you were leaning against the wall. he started placing kisses on your inner knees. eddie made his way up, making sure to leave no part of your skin unattended too.
"eddie, baby, please no more teas-" you’re cut off by the feeling of eddies ring clad finger sliding between your folds. you let out a breathy moan at the intrusion. he began making figure 8 motions, teasing your entrance and your clit so achingly slow but so painfully right. "you doin' good up there baby?" he questions, slowly kissing closer and closer to your lower lips. "yes, yes, it feels," you nod desperately, "so, so, good"
"good." he spoke into your soaking folds as he inserted a finger into your aching hole. he started giving kitty licks to your abused clit and your back instantly arched, hips pushing themselves down closer to his finger and warm mouth. the contrast from the coldness of his ring inside of your warm walls made him almost cream his pants. he added another finger inside of you and he immediately felt you're already tight walls clench and squeeze around the foreign objects.
"fuck." you bit your lip trying to hold in the obscene noises inside until he bit down on your clit and you gasped and squirmed around, losing control of your body for a moment. "don't you dare try and be quiet or I swear to satan i'll stop." you immediately began protesting, "no eddie, baby, i'll be loud, i'll be so fucking loud." he laughed at your desperateness and as time passed you felt yourself coming closer and closer to the coil in your lower tummy bursting.
by the time eddie added a third finger, you couldn't control your body anymore. you were so close to the edge. the only noises you were making being a mush of curse words and nearly pornographic sounding moans and babbles. "you're so close baby," he spoke into your lips as he ate you out like you were his last meal. "just let go; i got you y/n."
with those final words, you were gone. your body spasmed as the world flashed white for just a moment. you could feel your cum leaking out of you onto eddies waiting tongue. after he finished cleaning you're pussy up, he sat up, proudly showing you his face covereded in your juices. he began leaving a trail of wet kisses from the brim of your sensitive pussy to your belly button, to your nipples (he stayed sucking on those for quite a while), to your neck, and finally to your mouth. he pulled away for a moment as he let out a deep breath, "can you taste yourself, baby?" he kissed her, hard, "so fucking sweet. he leaned his head into her neck as she recovered.
"I love you, doll."
"I love you more eddie."
AUTHORS NOTE: first imagine everrrrrrrrrrr omgggggg. please send me requests and ideas because I love bringing people's ideas to life!! as someone who only began writing because they were sick of having to search for hours for a story with the perfect storyline, i wanna be here for yall <3
*not my gif*
#eddie munsun#eddiemunson#eddie munson smut#strangerthings#stranger things#season 4#stranger things season 4#eddie munson x fem!reader#steve harrington
614 notes
·
View notes