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joeloverture · 3 months

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morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I’ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance.

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven.

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic

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dogtoling · 2 months

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RE: Question about whether the Deepsea and the Octarian Domes are directly connected to each other. sorry i'm stealing your reply @bucketsquid but i see a chance to talk about this i have to take it. So idk let's try to decode how they might actually be connected.

This is the obvious conclusion. For the record I think it's the RIGHT conclusion after Side Order because they seemed to REALLY imply it this time. I thought for a really long time that the Deepsea and Octarian domes HAVE TO be connected because not only are they both subterranean but also literally how else do you get that many freaking Octolings in there? Since the metro is connected to the Inkopolis subway anyway wouldn't it be WAY EASIER TO JUST GET SQUIDS? (though to be honest i still stand by this.)

Anyway the obvious assumption is that the Deepsea and Octarian domes connect to each other. though it's not so straightforward. How they connect to each other exactly? we don't really know. Anyway let's get back into this in just a second i need to show what absolutely dashed my hopes and made me really mad when it happened

THIS MAP. THEY POSTED THIS MAP. Before this map I was having a great time because this is what the map was in my head:

"why was that the map in your head" idk. the giant stretches of water surrounding both canyons and inkopolis stretching into said body of water gave me the mental image that the canyons were in the ocean by inkopolis' coast. alongside some of the very old concept art that shows some of the domes even being underneath inkopolis if i'm not mistaken!

from the art of splatoon 1. this is an ancient and I MEAN ANCIENT manga depicting what is obviously an early concept of the story so it shouldn't ACTUALLY be taken as fact (almost nothing in this manga holds up anymore). But some of the things WERE kept! I have to assume this is also why you get into Octo Valley through the sewer in the games because the story mode was meant to take place literally straight underneath Inkopolis... it makes a lot less sense in the final result when you supposedly take the sewer like 50 kilometers (i dont know the actual distances but i think they're able to be deciphered) underground to a canyon in the middle of nowhere.

Why is there even continuous sewage all that way. What is happening. Is it even a sewer or a really long underground secret tunnel that Captain Cuttlefish dug because he's been really bored for 100 years.

kind of besides the point. back to the issue of the deepsea and the octarian empire being connected. You know, with the Deepsea Metro being located in Inkopolis Bay and the domes supposedly being all over the Inkopolis underground and the surrounding locations, it didn't seem that far fetched that they could siphon Octolings from the underground (where they live) to another very close-by fork of the underground (the Deepsea). However,

1. the Deepsea is NOT Octarian territory, but its own type of society. which is really weird considering how much Octarian iconography is down there, let alone how many OCTARIANS are down there

2. We have SO LITTLE knowledge about the true scope of the Deepsea that you can't even say for sure whether the Deepsea is *JUST* the Deepsea Metro and the facilities and industrial cities in that exact specific area, or if it's a big underwater and underground empire similar in scope to the Octarian domes, maybe even built in the exact same dome network - or a neighboring one. (This would mean they have a border somewhere undefined, underground.)

3. At face value with only the map, this is the distance for a Single Octarian to travel in order to get from where they live/are stationed, to get to the Deepsea Metro which is cluttered with one billion octarians

HELLO? THAT IS SO FAR. it's even worse than the distance Agents 3 and 4 are swimming through the god damn sewer. This also makes very little sense if we assume all the subterranean domes in all of these locations are exclusively under their surface counterparts... which... well, we don't know.

We know that the Deepsea Metro is connected to the Inkopolis Underground (it even shows this on the map with the little dotted line). I don't really know the significance of that but I've taken it to mean that the Deepsea Metro that is highlighted in the map shows specifically the area covered by the Kamabo Corporation and the tests there, and honestly again, I don't even know if the Deepsea is any bigger than that. Since it's been stated to be an independent society from Inkopolis or the Octarians, you would ASSUME there'd be ample space for people to like, live, and maybe work, and produce stuff you need to like, live. Instead of the test facility being literally the only place that exists plus a city built around only that to sustain everything.

Furthermore, we don't know if Octarians have cities on the surface in their part of the surface world! This is something that really bothers me because I think knowing whether or not this is the case would change SO MUCH (i'm currently under the assumption it is a barren wasteland with Literally Nothing). However given the location of the Salmonid Swim Zone, we can SEE cities in the background of multiple stages, and judging by this map those would be mainly on the Octarian coasts. This could mean that Octarians have surface cities where they coexist with the Salmon, it could mean that they USED TO have surface cities and abandoned them, OR it could mean that Salmonids actually live on Octarian surface turf while the Octarians themselves live underground! Idk! There's a lot of options!

I kind of doubt Octarians have cities on the surface because if they did, then it would feel redundant for the game to keep coming back to "the Octoling world" being this horrible military regime underground that people try to get to the surface from. If it was that easy to get to the surface it feels odd that it would be a big deal. We know that the Octarian domes, at least in Octo Valley, are specifically an underground *secret* military base.

(*Secret* being explicitly stated before and it would imply that they wouldn't necessarily NEED to live underground, but it's just way easier to do Secret Things underground. Plus the surface is a wasteland so honestly not a lot to lose there.)

We still haven't really seen what they have aside from that. We don't know where they get their food, for example. There's got to be farmers in a society. There HAS TO be some kind of surface access or activity, and if you squint, Octo Canyon IS a surface city that they seem to have free access to. So why not have others? It seems only logical to have more. In this case the oppression of the Octoling world and being forced to stay underground feels really case-specific, but it seems to also be an overarching thing that's quite widespread, so... I don't know, I WANT MORE OCTARIAN WORLDBUILDING *PLEASE* i'm working with crumbs here.

Anyway. my current assumption of the subterranean areas of the Deepsea and the Octarian empire goes something like this, all things considered that I've talked about...

(Not exactly that but you get the general picture)

When you put it this way, it suddenly makes a lot more sense that Octarians would be getting into the Deepsea. Generally I tried to keep the locations of Octarian tunnel systems to their turf, and the locations of Deepsea tunnels under the ocean floor, though with Octarian domes explicitly stated to have been dug by humans there's. really no reason they couldn't stretch into Inkling territory. We have no idea how big these tunnel systems are in scope, NO idea.

And that's also the problem with trying to solve this part of worldbuilding, because my concept could easily be right but it could also be COMPLETELY wrong! It's totally possible that the dome networks are actually secluded and tiny and are *just* under the Octarian craters and nowhere else, and it's totally possible that the entirety of the Deepsea is JUST Kamabo Co and the few settlements surrounding it. I'm not that confident that I'm right but I'm not really confident that we'll get answers to these questions either, at least as long as the story modes keep intentionally avoiding expanding on existing game locations and pretending theyre not in the splatoon world at all by making their key locations abstract and closed off bubbles on purpoCOUGH HACK who said that

There is 1 thing I've completely failed to mention in this post and it's that Octo Valley and the Deepsea Metro are like, explicitly connected. Which by the way makes NO SENSE given they're on opposite corners of the map. But between what we know from Side Order and from this Official Snippet from Splatoon Base, the Official Splatoon Story Resource By Nintendo,

Ignoring that none of this makes sense anymore or is intentionally misleading compared to what we know from Agent 8's memory loss now. Anyway. This seems to just imply the Deepsea is *under* Octo Valley. WHICH WOULD LINE UP WITH SIDE ORDER, weirdly enough. It is possible that the Deepsea domes could actually OVERLAP with Octarian Domes, it's just built FAR under sea level, not bound to the actual location of the sea itself.

I want to point out that this segment in the splatoon base and the game itself and dev interviews all tend to contradict each other in some ways when you look at them side by side, which is frustrating, but also serves as a reminder that sometimes the official resources don't know exactly what they're talking about either. so it's often not worthwhile looking them up and trying to conclude something based on it just to find out that it's literally contradicted in the game itself.

anyway, we know One Thing now and it's that there's at least no way that Octarian domes and the Deepsea AREN'T connected to each other in some way. this post doesn't exactly solve the issue of How but there was an attempt. I don't think this is ultimately something you can come to a concrete foolproof conclusion on until there is more information. But in the meantime I guess there's speculation.

#rambles #squidthoughts

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seulgiwifeee · 2 months

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craving irene fluff where she gets mad at you for switching your fabric softener because she loved the smell of your original one (cuz yk the girl knows her scents)

ugh just the idea of irene being so cute is bugging me

♡ Member: Irene x Femreader

♡ Theme: Fluff

♡ Warnings: None

Word count: 1.8k

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Irene happily arrived at your apartment complex early that Friday morning, coming over as quickly as she possibly could, not wanting to spare any more seconds that she could've been using to spend with you—the girl who she loved the most in the whole world!

"Princesss!" you yelled out gleefully, definitely loud enough to have pissed off your sleeping neighbors, as you stood highly on your patio, leaning over the railing and frantically waved down at the approaching Irene. Irene heard your calls and looked up, her eyes lighting up in an instant once she spotted you up there and flailed her arms while wildly hopping all around childishly as she cheered out your name.

A smile never left her face, her contagious laughter echoing throughout the complex when she jogged up those two-story stairs like nothing within a matter of seconds. The moment she turned to corner to your apartment number, just barely a few feet from your door, you ran up to her, immediately greeting the small girl in with your strong embrace.

Irene hugged you back just as tight, snuggling her head deeply into the coziness of your fluffy sweater—the one you had purposefully slipped on last minute while you were in the middle of folding laundry, remembering it was one of her favorite items of yours when spotting it out in the clutter of clothes.

This was one of your very few free weekends rather than your usual hectic schedule—no work, classes, or special events you needed to go to—so of course the only logical thing you had to do was invite your girl to stay over for the weekend!

You and Irene were, unfortunately, dating long distance due to studying at different colleges that were hours away from each other, so that meant you two normally didn't get to see each other in person for any more than two times, if a miracle struck you, maybe three times, every two weeks, and for this particular time, the last she'd seen you was close to around four weeks, almost a month! So there wasn't a thing that could describe how happy you two were to finally be in each other's arms again.

"I've missed you so much, Y/N, you don't understand! I think I was actually about to go insane if I wasn't able to see you anytime sooner!" Irene stressed to you, her voice growing muffled speaking into your chest and dug her newly manicured nails into your lower back as she held on to you tighter. You chuckled, smiling warmly looking down at her and ran your fingers through the silkiness of her dark hair. "I've missed you so much too!"

Irene lifted her head back, gazing up at you with those pretty doll-like brown eyes and shone her signature half-toothy smile, but all of a sudden, her once soft expression contorted into a grimace, frowning and flaring her nostrils up at you. Your brows furrowed in confusion, also frowning at the girl. "What's wrong?"

Irene continued to flare her nose, leaning her head back into you and sniffing at your sweater. "Nothing."

"Are you sure? Do I smell bad or something?" you asked teasingly, though quickly reconsidered your question the longer it took her to deny it. "No.." Irene trailed off, not sounding convincing in any way, and slowly backed away from you, reaching down to pick up her bag.

"Alright then.." You tilted your head at her with a confused smile, looking side to side unsurely while scratching your neck, now feeling the abrupt change of atmosphere weigh down on you.

"I'm just going to put my stuff up now," Irene said and began to walk away down the hall, but you were quick to stop her. "No! I got it, let me do it for you, your highness!" You grabbed her duffel bag and gestured your hand towards the living room. "Please, sit! And when I come back I'll make you lunch."

"Okay," Irene smiled. "But just know I'm going to be making it."

Your lips pursed, pausing in your tracks and turned over to face her again. "But you cook each time you're here, though! Just let me do it!" you whined, but Irene shook her head, continuing to go back and forth with you until she got her final ‘no’ out. "I said NO!"

"Okay fine, sheesh! But seriously next time you're going to let me cook for you," you said finally in defeat, knowing you weren't going to win this dispute and walked into your room while Irene smirked widely at you from the couch, trying to hold in a giggle. "I can't promise that."

You brushed her off with a hidden smile, knowing it was all just out of love since you knew that one of her many love languages was cooking for you, and entered your room, unzipping her bag and laid out her clothes. Some relaxing music that was playing on your speaker beforehand continued to run as you organized her items with a peaceful mind, sitting without a thought or worry until..

"—Y/N-AHH!" Your eyes went wide and you jumped, startled from hearing the screeching voice of Irene shouting demandingly through the closed door, dragging out your name in her oh-too-familiar whiny voice. Just by that tone you already knew she found something to be upset at you with, so you quickly stopped your actions and hurried up out of your room, running to the living room where you had expected her to be, though was met with no sign of her presence.

You curled your expression, turning your head towards a door leading to a room that you knew wasn't opened before—the laundry room. Taking that as an obvious sign, you quickly ran over there and flung open the cracked door, instantly locking your eyes on Irene's crotched-down figure sitting in front of the dryer messing with your clean laundry, a shirt held in each of her hands while she deeply sniffed at one of them.

Your brain didn't even get a chance to question the sight in front of you because within seconds of you being upon the doorway—once she had turned around after hearing the footsteps of you nearing the room—she gave you no time to think, charging towards you with heavy steps and shoved the warm t-shirt right into your face. "What is this?!"

You stumbled back, blindly taking hold of the shirt and removed it from your face. You narrowed your eyes down, scanning over the print on the graphic tee and shook your head slow and unsurely, furrowing your eyebrows even more in confusion as you wondered why your lover was so worked up. "A.. t-shirt?.." you muttered, not exactly sure as to what other answer Irene was expecting to hear.

Irene sharply rolled her eyes, snatching the shirt from you and forced it back deeper into your face, slightly suffocating you with the soft cotton. "Not that! The smell! What's with the smell?!" Irene demanded, placing her hands on her hips and speedily tapped her foot on the marble floor.

When she was forcing the shirt in your face, you were given no choice but to smell it as you aired in a dramatic inhale trying to gasp out for air, letting the pungent scent of sweet roses flow throughout your mouth and nose. The shirt fell onto the floor and instead of picking it up, you left it there, shooting Irene a look with so much confusion; it was literally the definition of what a series of question marks would look like if it was put into a facial expression. "What do you mean, baby?! It doesn't smell bad..or at least not to me.. it's just roses. You don't like roses now?"

"Not when they replace the lavender scent you always have! You knew that was my favorite scent! Why would you get rid of it?!" Irene pouted, crossing her arms and turned her back to you with a tiny "hmph," too upset to look even at you.

A few seconds went by and suddenly the static in your brain cleared up once everything clicked to you, realizing all of this attitude and bickering was only because you for once decided to be different and changed up your fabric softener; which you, by the way, weren't even planning on doing in the first place, but since the store was sold out of your usual scent, which wasn't a big deal for you, you just simply bought the next container your eyes spotted. You didn't even think she was going to notice something as little as that! But you should've known better than to underestimate the Bae Joohyun.

You couldn't even take her anger seriously anymore, chortling a loud cackle at her bratty attitude and threw your shirt into the laundry basket. Looking at an angry Irene is like someone drawing slanted eyebrows on a bunny, it only made her cuter.

You crept up a few steps behind Irene, snaking your arms around your girlfriend's waist and pulled her into your chest. "Joohyun, seriously?" you snickered into her ear, "are you seriously this mad that I changed up my laundry detergent to another stupid scent?"

"It's not stupid!" Irene retorted, keeping her chin up high, "How am I supposed to cuddle with you at night if can't even seek comfort in the thing that makes me smile, brings me joy, helps put me to sleep! I can't, Y/N. You know, this is really serious for me."

You laughed some more, your body ticked from her cuteness and rolled your eyes with a smile while Irene only frowned deeper at you. "Oh, Joohyun. You really are something.." you sighed, shaking your head and leaned your face into her neck.

"Do you want me to rebuy that scent? Will that cheer you up?"

Irene's eyes flashed open. "What kind of question is that?! Obviously!" Irene turned around and took a hold of your wrist, dragging you two out of the room, towards the front door. "Matter of fact, we're getting it right now," Irene insisted with every bit of determination and seriousness, not caring one bit that you were still in your house clothes.

But you didn't care either, as long as you were going to make Irene happy in the end. You'll do anything to please your princess, even when it's for things as petty as this.. "Right now?" you asked with a sigh and Irene nodded firmly, squeezing onto your wrist tighter and used her other hand to grab her keys from the counter as she walked by.

You sucked your teeth, looking up and biting back a smile once the winter breeze swirled past you as you felt yourself continuing to get dragged out of the apartment. "Alright, princess."

I kinda don't like how I wrote this :(.. but I hope this was cute and funny enough for you,, also can you guys tell that I love writing the princess pet name? hehe

— Seulgiwifee ໒꒰ྀི♡˵ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ꒱ྀི১

#red velvet #irene red velvet #kpop imagines #red velvet imagines #kpop #wlw #fem reader #irene #bae joohyun #bae joohyun x reader #irene imagines #irene x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #fluff #request

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breelandwalker · 8 months

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Harvest Moon - September 28, 2023

The summer heat might be hanging on, but it's time to get excited for autumn shenanigans all the same. Grab your canning supplies and your favorite cider mug - it's time for the Harvest Moon!

Harvest Moon

The Harvest Moon is the name given to the full moon which occurs closest to the autumnal equinox. It does not matter whether the moon occurs before or after the equinox or in which month it falls. In some years, this means the Harvest Moon may occur in October, in which cause the September moon might go by the name of Corn Moon or Rice Moon, depending on where you are.

In 2023, the Harvest Moon falls once more in the month of September. The same will happen in 2024, when the Harvest Moon will also be a supermoon! However, in 2025, the September moon will come early in the month, making it a Corn Moon. The Harvest Moon that year will be in early October.

The September moon is particularly beloved by farmers in the Northern Hemisphere, as it rises earlier and shines brighter than other full moons due to the relative angle of the Earth in relation to the moon during the equinox, which is helpful for lighting up the tail end of those long work days. In addition, the Harvest Moon may also appear full for multiple nights, providing additional illumination for labor or evening strolls. As such, while the peak of the Harvest Moon will occur in the wee hours of September 29th, it will appear to be full on both the 28th and 29th.

Other North American Indigenous names for the September moon include a number of variations of the aforementioned Corn Moon (used by numerous nations), such as Corn Maker Moon (Abenaki), Corn Harvest Moon (Dakota), and Corn Is Harvested Moon (Zuni). Other names refer to seasonal changes or animal behavior, such as Autumn Moon (Cree), Falling Leaves Moon (Ojibwe), Leaves Turning Moon (Anishinaabe), and Rutting Moon (Cree). Some European and modern pagan names for the September moon include Barley Moon (Old English), Singing Moon (Celtic), and Fruit Moon (general).

It's also worth noting that our Jewish friends and neighbors will be celebrating Rosh Hashanah this month, so remember to share your apples and honey and wish them Shanah Tovah (Happy New Year)!

What Does It Mean For Witches?

As autumn begins, we continue to reap what we've sown over the course of the year. It's a time to pause and reflect on what we've accomplished, let go of any unnecessary burdens we're still carrying, and focus on taking care of hearth and home for the cold months ahead. Now is a good time to do one last clutter purge or finish those repairs you've been putting off all summer!

Change is in the air as well, and transformations begun earlier in the year will burst into vibrant life. Just as the flowers bloom in spring, the leaves turn in the fall, and those of us who come alive in the autumn will start to fell that zing coming back.

Community also comes back into focus during harvest time, both because of the sharing of resources and the accompanying start of the school year. Take a moment to reinforce positive and supportive connections with friends and neighbors, or reach out to your local or online circle to strengthen existing bonds.

This a time of great abundance, so if you've been meaning to draw any kind of increase into your life, take steps to do so now. Harness that Harvest Moon energy to help carry you through the lean times in comfort and plenty.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

This is the time for feasting, bonfires, and outdoor gatherings. September and October will give us a few more warm weeks before the weather turns cold and rainy, so make the most of it! Have a potluck supper with a menu made of everyone's favorite seasonal recipes. Visit a local farmer's market and bring home that fresh seasonal produce. Thank the earth for the bounty it provides and renew your promise to be a good steward of the land where you live.

Technically, this is the second "harvest" moon of the year, since the harvest of most seasonal crops began back in August with wheat and corn and late summer fruits. The harvest of corn and grain continues into September and is joined by additional late-season fruits and vegetables, the most iconic of which is the annual apple crop.

Apple-picking is easily my favorite autumn activity and it's fantastic way to get outdoors, get some fresh air, and come home with tasty produce for uses both mundane and magical. From cider to applesauce to pies, apples are delightfully versatile. They also feature in a number of folk traditions and party games which double as divination rituals.

Continue your preparations for winter by canning or preserving fresh foods, hanging harvested herbs and flowers to dry, or refreshing your stocks of moon water and magical oils. Make your own magical brews using a stock pot as a cauldron and soups, stews, punch, cider, and mulled wine as your potions. Kitchen witches, your time is NOW!

Wear the colors of the season boldly and revel in all the gifts you've received and joys you've experienced so far this year. If you've been particularly blessed, pay it forward to share the bounty with others. Reflect on everything you've accomplished, celebrate your progress, and maybe set one or two small goals for the end of the year.

And since the decorations are already appearing in stores, start stocking up for Halloween!

Happy Harvest Moon, witches! 😊🍎

Further Reading:

Additional Lunar Calendar posts

Secular Celebrations - Autumn Equinox

Harvest Moon, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

What Is The Harvest Moon?, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Harvest Moon 2023: The Spiritual Meaning of September's Full Moon, The Peculiar Brunette.

Full Moon 2025 Calendar, Full Moonology.

Rosh Hashanah, Wikipedia.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

#Harvest Moon #lunar magic #moon magic #lunar calendar #witchcraft #witchblr #witch tips #witch community #pagan #autumn

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makethatelevenrings · 2 years

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Fuck up the Friendship // D. Grayson x AFAB!reader

Requested? Yes!

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ only!! Dacryphilia, consensual photos, slight degradation, sex toys, multiple orgasms

Summary: It’s just two friends helping each other get some frustration out. Until it isn’t. (Not titans!verse. He’s just hot.)

“Ah, shit.” The curse slipped out of your mouth just as your phone slipped out of your hand and clattered to the floor. You shot the offending object a withering glare and shifted the grocery bags in your arms. Maybe if you kicked it towards your door…

The door to the stairwell opened behind you and you looked up to find your neighbor and friend, Dick Grayson, staring down at your phone as well. He raised his gaze to yours and smirked at the sight of you drowning under Trader Joe’s bags.

“Need some help?” He didn’t wait to hear your answer and swooped down to grab your phone. He then grabbed the bag that was doing a balancing act in the crook of your elbow and caught your keys with his other hand just as they tumbled out of your loose grip.

“Thanks.” You took a chance to admire the flex in his shoulders as he raised your keys and unlocked your door. Clad in only a tank top and some shorts, Dick’s very well-proportioned physique was on full display and you gladly soaked in the sight of all that tanned skin and toned muscles.

He pushed open your door and waved you in, following close behind as you headed towards the kitchen to drop the bags off on the counter. Dick dropped your stuff onto the counter next to your stuff and immediately grabbed a water out of the fridge.

“Are you going to help me with this or are you going to just sit on the counter and look pretty?” you teased. He batted his lashes at you and grinned, leaning back against the fridge. Dick took a long drink from his water, tipping his head back and exposing the length of his throat. Your eyes strayed to the smooth skin there before you tore your gaze away and focused on pulling out your groceries for the week.

Who could blame you? The past five folks you had gone on dates with turned out to be duds, including the guy you had met for coffee earlier today. Just once, you wanted someone who didn’t make you want to cry tears of boredom or question if this was a safe decision as you made a hasty escape out of the bar. You could only work the edge off so much before your fingers started to lose efficacy.

And Dick Grayson was hot so sue you.

But he was also unattainable. I mean, as far as you were aware, he was single but he was also the son of Gotham’s billionaire bachelor. Dick had a face for the big screens and a body that anyone would want under or over them. He was just your neighbor and friend. That’s all.

“Didn’t you have that date today? How’d it go?”

Your response was holding up a frozen pizza and a bottle of wine. He winced and joined you in unpacking the groceries.

“That’s…what, five in four weeks?”

“At this rate, I’m never getting laid.”

He let out a low cough and then shook his head as if to clear his mind. You hid your smirk by facing the pantry to add some pasta and pancake mixes to the boxes cluttered there. Giving him an out, you changed the line of questioning.

“Go for a run?”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his dark hair and the locks fell effortlessly around his face like some fucking model. “Figured I could get some pent up energy out, y’know?”

“Mhm. Want a few slices?” You set the oven to preheat and loaded the pizza onto a tray. Dick considered it for a moment and then nodded. It was normal for the two of you to share dinner. Dick moved into the apartment next door three months after you did and after a series of run ins and one instance of borrowing sugar for cookies, the two of you struck up an easy friendship.

And then he had landed in your apartment in a skintight body armor suit and a stab wound in his thigh. Not much changed with the whole Nightwing revelation except the fact that you two grew much closer.

“Any plans tonight?” he asked as he poured you a glass of wine. He didn’t pour one for himself, something about not drinking and grappling. You snagged the glass and took a long sip before shrugging.

“Well, it’s just me and my rabbit vibrator tonight,” you joked. “I’ll probably catch up on Real Housewives or something. Just patrol tonight or do you have a target?”

“Just patrol,” he murmured. His bright blue eyes darkened slightly as you raised the glass to your lips and took a small sip. “I’ll probably be in earlier than normal tonight.”

“That’s good. Shoot me a text when you’re home, okay?”

True to his word, your phone buzzed at two in the morning when you were crawling into bed after a late night of shitty reality television and stress knitting. You shot off a text in response to Dick and set your phone on the nightstand, not thinking any more of it.

A knock sounded on the door.

Frowning, you stepped carefully to the door and peered through the peephole, finding Dick standing on the other side with damp hair and low hanging sweats. You yanked the door open and came face to face with his shirtless torso.

“Are you okay?” you asked. He stared at you for a moment and then let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head.

“This is stupid. Never mind.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, fully aware of the fact that you were only wearing panties and one of his old t-shirts that had gotten into your laundry somehow. Dick’s chest heaved with his next big breath and then suddenly he was kissing you.

Tilting your head up into his touch, you moaned into the kiss. It was gentle and hesitant, but once you began reciprocating, he increased the pressure. The kiss became more teeth than lips as the two of you fought for dominance.

Dick pushed you back as his calloused hands settled on your hips and held you steady. He kicked the door shut behind you and fumbled with the lock, all without breaking the kiss. You ran your hand up the ridges of his torso and pulled away from his lips as he mouthed at your jaw and the column of your throat.

“Fucking hell, Dick,” you gasped. He grinned against your skin and nipped at the junction between your neck and collar. He was having too much fun torturing you, you decided, and you shoved your hand down the front of his sweatpants, finding him commando underneath. A throaty groan escaped him as your hand enclosed around his hard cock.

“Two can play that game, birdy,” you taunted. His head fell back, lips parted in a silent moan as you stroked your fist up and down his length. Dick shuddered as cupped his balls and rolled them.

He grunted and caught your wrist to stop your movement. His other hand grabbed your jaw, forcing your lips to part in an “o”. He spat onto your tongue and then crashed his lips against yours, licking your mouth clean. His hot tongue caressed yours, causing drool to pool at the corner of your lips as slick built between the folds of your cunt.

“Can we,” you panted as he finally relented from tongue fucking your mouth. “Can we at least move to the bed?”

Dick grabbed your thighs and hauled you up closer to the firm lines of his body. You shrieked and wrapped your arms around his neck as he settled a hand on your ass and squeezed. He carried you into the bedroom with ease and you were suddenly reminded that he was a fucking vigilante that wore skin tight spandex on the regular. How did he hide his cock in the suit?

You didn’t have time to think as you yanked your shirt over your head and tossed it into the corner of your room before latching your lips onto his once more. He tasted like mint toothpaste and you shuddered at the thought. Was he about to climb into bed when he saw your text and came over? Had he been fucking his fist, imagining it was the tight heat of a cunt wrapped around him?

“Tell me if you don’t want this.” Dick’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. He turned around so his back was to the bed and then he sat down, settling you on his lap. You bounced slightly and caught yourself by planting one hand on the headboard. He sucked in a sharp breath as the thin fabric of your panties ghosted along his shaft.

“I need to know,” you murmured. “Is this a one time thing?”

He gazed up at you with those crystalline blue eyes and you reached up to brush some of his raven locks out of his face. Dick pursed his kiss swollen lips and then sighed.

“I can’t do a relationship. Not with the life I live. It wouldn’t be fair to the other person.”

Your heart fell just a little, but you wouldn’t let that stop you from getting an orgasm or two. “So, I’m horny, you’re horny. The hookup scene in Bludhaven sucks. We’re just two friends helping each other.”

“Just two friends.”

“Who give each other orgasms.”

“We can even go get STI tests together.”

“Well now that’s starting to sound like a date.”

He grinned and tilted his chin up to kiss you, softer and slower than the heated rush in the kitchen. His rough and calloused hands, strengthened from years of acrobatics and crime fighting, ghosted along the soft flesh of your breasts. Dick bent his head and pressed a delicate kiss to each nipple. You gasped and thrust your chest up further as sparks shot through you. With a grin, he applied kitten licks along your tits as you fisted your hands in his hair.

“Either shit or get off the pot, Grayson,” you snarled, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. He raised his hips and let you slide them off.

“Condom,” he blurted out. You leaned over and ripped open the drawer to your nightstand where you kept condoms, lube, and your old friend, the vibrator. Dick smirked and reached back, grabbing the vibrator and a condom before you could argue.

“What’s the record number you’ve had on this thing?” he asked.

“Dunno. Two? Three? My wrist starts getting all cramped.”

A devilish grin flickered across his face and your breath caught in your throat. This was Nightwing, the first Robin. This was the vigilante that taunted mercenaries, crime lords, and intergalactic threats. This was the Gothamite who grew up with numerous siblings who all fought crime in their own way. This was the guy that saw a challenge and instead of running away, he faced it with a smirk.

Your chest rose and fell with heaving, gasping breaths as he pulled you down so he was lying on his back and then rolled you over so he was on top. Your legs parted without thinking and he sat back, his eyes studying carefully.

The first vibration shot through your clit and down your spine. You threw your head back with a soundless cry and he lowered the vibration until it brought you to the edge and kept you there. Your eyes burned with unshed tears as the waves of pleasure mixed with the frustrating realization that no matter what, you couldn’t come. You whined and bucked your hips against the tremors of the toy, but he held your hips down in place.

“Please, Dick,” you cried. Your cunt ached with want and your core was impossibly tight. He hummed and raised the setting just once. The growing knot in your stomach snapped and a tide of pleasure washed over you, setting your nerves on fire. Tears dripped down the corner of your eyes when you came down from your high and realized that he wasn’t pulling the vibrator away.

“That’s one,” he cooed.

“Sa-” your words were cut off with a breathy moan. “Sadist.”

“Oh, you’re just now finding this out?”

Your second orgasm built quickly and you clenched your teeth together as a high pitched whine tore past your throat. Dick watched in amazement as your pussy fluttered and clenched around nothing. Your entire body seized up as he titled the vibrator just a little to the right and it collided with the most sensitive part of your clit. Dick pulled the orgasm out of you with quick, coaxing movements that had your vision blurring. You were so fucking oversensitive that it felt like your first orgasm had barely finished when the second one started. He shut the vibrator off and gave you a chance to recover while he tugged off his pants.

“I gotta know what that pretty little pussy feels like wrapped around my cock,” he hummed, sliding his fingers along your slit and gathering the slick that pooled there. You laid boneless and sated on the bed, but didn’t protest when he manhandled you onto his lap and thrust up into you in one quick stroke. Broken moans escaped both of you in sync and you buried your face against his shoulder as he settled you on his cock.

“You feel just as good as I was hoping,” Dick growled.

“Shut up and fuck me, pretty boy,” you spat. “Or do you just leave every person high and dry?”

“You’re crying, you pathetic baby.” He brushed the tears off of your cheeks and then slid his thumb between your parted lips. You could taste him on his thumb and you obediently licked it clean before wrapping your lips around it and sucking. He watched in rapt attention, his eyes never leaving the sight of your glassy eyes, tear stained cheeks, and puffy lips wrapped around him.

You pulled off with a grin. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Can I? Seriously. I won’t show it to anyone else and I’ll keep it encrypted so only I can access it.” The thought of him in his apartment, on patrol, or somewhere on a mission with the Titans with his fist wrapped around his throbbing cock as he fucked himself to the sight of his control over you…

Your walls clenched around him and he grunted, rocking up into you instinctively. You grabbed his shoulders and nodded. Dick grabbed your phone off of the nightstand and grabbed your jaw with the other hand. Your lips parted once more and he shoved two fingers in your mouth. You blinked up at him from under your lashes, tears clinging to the bottom.

As he took photos, Dick fucked up into you in short thrusts, striking that one particular spot in you that had you gasping and clutching his wrists. He let his hand fall from your mouth and you collapsed forward, your forehead pressing against his shoulder as he fucked you open.

“Third time’s the charm, huh?” he rasped in your ear. “Next time, I’ll hold you down and spread you open. Play with you until you’re practically begging me. And then I’ll make you come on that vibe until you’re screaming my name.”

“God, you’re just as talkative in bed as you are out of it,” you groaned. He chuckled and started at a brutal pace. You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back as you took his continued thrusts with pure bliss. The rising tide of pleasure was building again and, thanks to the last two orgasms, was feeling like it would steal all the air from your lungs. Choking sobs poured from your lips as he grabbed your ass and pulled you deeper onto him.

“Dick, please. Dick, oh god, I can’t take it anymore. Please make me come. Please.”

“Shhh. Shhh, I gotcha, honey. I gotcha. You can come anytime you want. You’ll be a good girl and come, won’t you?”

You clenched desperately around him as he bucked wildly, finishing in the condom. Pressing your cheek against his shoulder, you hid your face in the column of his throat and sucked a hickey on his jaw as the orgasm subsided. Your walls were so sensitive that you whined in pain when he started to pull out and Dick froze before settling you down on him again.

“Jus’ give me a few minutes,” you slurred. He muffled a laugh against the top of your head.

“Alright, honey. Take all the time you need.”

It was just two friends helping each other out, that’s all. Dick Grayson gave mind blowing, leg shaking orgasms and received plenty in return. He also refused to leave you right after sex and insisted on staying until after he was content with your mental and physical state. It was just sex. Just the absolute best sex of your life with a Greek god.

After four months of some of the greatest sex ever, you woke up with a pit in your stomach as you realized that you were falling for your friend with benefits. You needed a fix and fast. Rolling over to grab your phone, you texted one of your old booty calls in the hopes that he would be interested in catching up. An hour later, you had plans to meet him at a bar that night.

Good. Great. Awesome. A distraction. A distraction and an orgasm or two that didn’t come from Bludhaven’s resident vigilante who was also incredibly flexible and profoundly giving. Also the same guy who was standing outside his apartment next door when you left to meet up with your date for the night.

“Hey,” you greeted as you locked the door. His eyes drifted over your body and he grinned.

“What time are you gonna be home tonight?” he asked, leaning his shoulder up against the door. You ignored the bulging muscles under the thin shirt he wore. The strong, very capable muscles.

“I’m actually meeting a, uh, a friend. I don’t know what time I’ll be back but um…don’t wait up, y’know?”

“Oh.” There was something strange in his voice, but you didn’t have the time to stick around and ask what was wrong. You were already running late as is.

“I’ll be sure to use a condom and get tested again,” you explained. “No worries there.”

“Right, right. Of course. Hey, if you want to leave or you need to walk home alone or something, let me know. And text me when you get home, okay?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and offered you a tight smile.

“For sure. Hey, is everything okay? You seem off.”

He laughed and shrugged once again. “Nah, I’m fine. Have fun.”

“Thanks, Dick.” You dropped your voice lower. “Stay safe tonight.”

He watched you as you disappeared behind the elevator doors. Dick watched the numbers descend before he dropped his forehead against his door.

Rule number one of friends with benefits: don’t fall in love with your friend.

He was never good with following the rules.

“Way to fucking go, Grayson.”

#dick grayson smut #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut

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suzukiblu · 7 months

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Excerpt from the next chapter of "think pink", a.k.a "Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it":

Kon flies into Gotham as surreptitiously as possible, meaning "as thoroughly concealed by the smog and cloud cover as possible", which given the amount of smog and cloud cover usually works out pretty well for him. Today's definitely no less cloudy than usual, and he's landing in the marina in no time. Well–specifically, he's landing in a subtle little out-of-the-way corner of the marina that Tim's previously pointed out to him where his neighbors probably won't notice either a Superboy or a Wonder Girl coming down.

Probably.

Eh, it's whatever. If they notice, Kon'll handle it. Not like he's not used to lying to Gothamites about what the fuck he's doing in their city and why they shouldn't flip the Batsignal over it, after all.

Not that said lies always keep the Batsignal from getting flipped, but still. It's been like fifty-fifty.

Well, sixty-forty . . . ?

Maybe seventy-thirty.

Kon waits 'til nobody's immediately around and super-speeds his ass across the dock to Tim's houseboat. There's an unnecessary amount of security on the thing because Tim is a paranoid little freak and a half and every single Bat alive is literally made of trust issues, but he already knows there's nothing that'll clock him on the deck. Well, nothing aggressive, anyway.

This ain't his first Bat-rodeo, and all that.

He punches in the code for the lock on the door, and the code for the other lock on the door, and the code that'll keep the needles covered in neurotoxin from spraying into his face when he opens said door. They wouldn't actually hurt him, obviously, but Tim would get annoyed if he wasted them.

He seriously wonders how the guy was ever under the impression that Bernard didn't know he was a superhero, but he guesses it's possible Tim assumed his boytoy thought he was, like, somebody's evil henchman or a merc or something.

Or just literally insane. Whichever.

And it is Gotham.

The door swings open, Kon very carefully steps on the correct floorboard, and then he slips inside and heads down into the bowels of the boat, or whatever the inside of a houseboat is called. It's a little cluttered down here but not quite a mess, and Kon's been here as many times as Tim's been willing to let him come but still not nearly often enough.

He has an odd, random thought of just staying, for once, and isn't quite sure where it came from. Which–well, he's staying for the weekend at least, right? Assuming the world doesn't try to end again, anyway.

So maybe not so random.

Sometimes Kon really does want to just hang in Gotham with Tim until Batman runs him out of town, but he never pushes it that far. He doesn't want to deal with that fallout or with Tim coming up to him to tell him he's being too much or too needy or just fucking weird or . . .

Yeah. Well.

Kon cracks into Tim's fridge and steals a can of Zesti. He's a little more of a Soder guy, at least lately, but it tastes better coming out of Tim's fridge anyway. It makes him feel kind of like a normal guy who just goes over to his normal buddies' places to do normal things–whatever those are–and has normal permission to just rifle through their normal food and take whatever.

Technically Kon has permission, in the sense that Tim's never rigged the Zesti to explode in his face, but he's never actually explicitly asked. He wasn't really sure if that was one of those things that normal people ask or one of those things that normal people just do, and now it's a little late to check, so . . .

Kon's life experience has been fucking weird and wildly varied and stupidly fragmented and generally speaking he just begs forgiveness rather than ever ask permission. He's a grown-ass clone, he can do that.

Okay, he's technically only physiologically a grown-ass clone but also he's arguably over a thousand years old, or maybe more like four or five, so whatever. Being a superclone is weird and confusing and his point stands.

Kon sips his stolen Zesti and wanders around the boat, idly avoiding assorted traps and tripwires. He doesn't go into the bedroom, although it's kinda tempting to just go wait in there, possibly without the company of any of his clothes.

He wants to talk to Tim at least a bit before they go full long weekend on this situation, though, and also like . . . meet Bernard as an actual person and not just a voice over the phone or that one random disgustingly cute couple-selfie that Tim had very dorkily and shyly and grudgingly shared in the group chat the last time Bart had actually won a bet against him.

That stupid selfie was adorable. Kon had absolutely saved it and is not a weirdo who just randomly looks at it sometimes. There's a lot of stuff like that on his phone, alright, he's got a whole folder of "shit to look at when the world sucks". Most of it's Krypto being dumb and sweet or the team messing around and being silly together or stuff like that. The one disgustingly cute Tim and Bernard selfie is a mere footnote in that folder.

But it is in that folder.

Like . . . of course it is.

Kon thinks about pulling out his phone and looking at that picture again. He's aware it's a weird thought to be having right now, though, so he doesn't act on it. Kon operates on instinct a lot but he doesn't necessarily trust all his instincts, given his thoroughly fucked up socialization experience and random mind control triggers and the biological influence of a certain gene donor who shall not be named.

Kon hears a pair of accelerated heartbeats approach the boat and feels two people step onto and hurry across the deck above, one's footsteps significantly louder than the other's. He hears a lot of buttons get pushed. Then the door at the top of the stairs yanks open and he glances towards it. Either Tim or a very convincing evil doppelganger of Tim is standing framed in the doorway, looking very slightly flustered and just barely winded. Bernard is clustered up behind him and laughing, and much more winded himself.

Well, that's flattering.

"Hey there," Kon says, and grins up at them.

"We need to establish boundaries, hard no's, and safewords," Tim says immediately, absolute freak that he is. Kon is not even slightly surprised.

"God, you really do just look like that, huh," Bernard marvels, his eyebrows shooting up. He's even cuter when he's not being a cell phone pic, and especially cuter when Kon's being gay. Unsurprisingly, Kon figures. "I always assumed a whole lot of really skilled Photoshop was involved in you. Or at least a whole lot of real good makeup and real precise angles."

"He's annoyingly photogenic, actually, you don't even have to try to make him look good," Tim informs him resignedly. "So you can imagine how he looks when you do try."

"That's a terrifying thought, actually," Bernard says approvingly.

"Safewords, huh?" Kon says as he sets aside his mostly-empty Zesti, not even pretending not to be preening under the compliments. So he's easy; at least he's self-aware. "That sounds promising."

"You were talking about some guy putting you in a collar and keeping you as a pet," Tim says flatly. "We definitely need safewords, I might get carried away."

"Promises, promises," Kon hums, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets and sauntering towards the bottom of the stairs with a wolfish grin that he may or may not have learned from an actual wolf. Like, just speaking of certain beast-men that he's known and all. "I told you, I was feral then. You know I'll be a good boy for you, Rob."

"Ohhhhh we've sure gotten ourselves into something here, huh, babe," Bernard says with a delighted grin as Tim puts a hand over his face and just sort of . . . exhales in that one specific way that he does when it's all going to shit in a fight or on a mission and he just needs to steady himself for that one second before the doors blow in.

Kon likes that, he thinks.

He really likes that, actually.

#timberkon #timber #timkon #konbernard #kon el #tim drake #bernard dowd #superboy #dc robin #rinfic #not sfw #considering the bit of kinkster talk and all lol #long post #wip: think pink

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thesandsofelsweyr · 1 year

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THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 2/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

After coming back from a terrible blind date your asshole neighbor is the last person you want to see right now. He doesn’t have his signature scowl for you tonight, however. Tonight he seems terrified.

《WORDS》 2,748 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

《TROPES》 Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship

《WARNINGS》 Aftermath of Torture/Violence (canon typical), Panic Attacks, Scars, Blood and Injury, Swearing

《TAGLIST》 @tild3ath @iiirhiane-g

《NOTES》

This takes place immediately after Jason leaves his failed Batman confrontation and run-in with the Joker from Arkham Knight: Genesis Part 6.

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

This is my first attempt at a reader-insert fic 🙃

Please consider reblogging if you enjoy the read ❤️ (Thanks for all the support you've given my lil story so far!)

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated!)

You push yourself to your feet and hurry over to his kitchen, flipping on the recessed lighting overhead. The kitchen is as bare and spotless as the other rooms you’ve seen, its countertops clear of the usual clutter you’d expect. No rags nor paper towel roll. No knife block nor coffee maker nor toaster—the appliances are the ones that come standard with the unit. No stacks of unopened mail nor candles nor cookbooks nor a sink full of empty dishes. No signs of life except for the adorable houseplant and some liquid hand soap beside the sink (which is good—you need soap).

You pull open drawers and cabinets, feeling a twinge of guilt for invading his privacy like this but it can’t be helped. Even those are mostly empty, only containing the barest amount of necessities like cups, dishes, and flatware—run-of-the-mill kitchen items that were probably provided with the furnished unit. You do manage to find some clean rags and paper towels (and a coffee maker), but nothing like sandwich bags for the ice. On a whim, you check his freezer and bingo! No food or decapitated heads but plenty of ice packs along with an unopened bottle of vodka. You arch an eyebrow at the curious yet amusing stash. Perhaps coming home injured is a typical Friday night for him.

You turn on the sink faucet then tear off a few sheets of paper towels from the roll, wadding them up and wetting them before adding a few pumps of soap then working up a lather. You can’t get the sight of his bleeding face and swollen neck out of your head. It’s hard to imagine anyone doing that to him against his will. He’s an intimidating guy, to say the least. Over a head taller than you, powerfully built with broad shoulders and thick thighs (and a nice ass). Perhaps he got jumped on his walk home—an all too common occurrence on these crime-ridden streets—and his stubborn pride was too wounded to go to the ER. Or maybe it was a gang thing… some sort of hazing ritual? That could explain the bloody letter on his cheek, too, you suppose. But then you remember his shaking hands and fumbling fingers as he tried and failed to unlock his door, and how he jumped at the sound of your voice. He was scared, you realize, your heart swelling with sudden pity. He was more afraid of you than you were of him. Afraid, and probably hurting, too. That thought makes your heart swell even more. It also leaves you a bit shaken. What in God’s name could frighten him? You can only hope that whatever it is doesn’t plan to make a house call anytime soon.

With the items in hand—ice packs, wet and dry rags, soapy paper towel wads, paper towel roll—you return to his side. He still doesn’t appear to have stirred, which is troubling, you have to admit, but you put it out of your mind for now. You set the items down on the floor beside the corpse-like body before grabbing a throw pillow from his couch. (Yes, a throw pillow. There’s a throw blanket on the couch, too. It’s the strongest evidence yet supporting your furnished unit presumption, since he definitely doesn’t strike you as a throw pillow kind of guy.) You kneel down at his side, then, ever so gently, you slip an arm behind his neck and lift his head enough to pull back his hood and slide the pillow beneath him. Next you take off his cap, revealing a mop of sweat-damp black hair. You sweep the soft locks back from his forehead so that you can place a cold rag against that warm, sweat-slick skin.

That’s when you notice the scars. You’d never been close enough to him to see that his face is absolutely covered in them. Faint white lines that cut through his features: his dark brows, his full lips, his freckle-dusted cheeks, the bent bridge of his nose. The worst one (aside from the J on his cheek, that is) is a deep gash that slashes across his right cheek and his nose, all the way up to his forehead. Another knife wound? Is this guy a masochist with a knife fetish or is there some freak out there who gets off on slicing up this poor guy’s face? Those marks on his neck imply the latter—the more sinister of the two—and that sends a cold chill shuddering up your spine.

Almost magnetically your eyes are drawn back past the (cute) cleft in his chin to those sunken bands of red ringing his throat. A thin line of blood has surfaced along the outer edge of one of the bands, where whatever was used to strangle him had cut into his skin. As you wipe away the blood with one of the soapy paper towel wads you spot several scratches on his neck, and for a moment you wonder if the assailant also used his hands to choke him. But then you feel your own throat constrict as the horrible realization sets in: those are claw marks. Gouges from his own fingernails where he desperately struggled to pry the ligature away and free his windpipe so he could breathe. Defensive wounds where he fought for his life.

You set aside the wet wad, then, driven by some morbid curiosity, you find your fingers returning to his throat. Ever so delicately, as if trying not to wake a sleeping lion, you touch one of the raw indentations in his swollen flesh, tracing it with your fingertip, feeling how the abraded skin had folded inward around whatever had coiled around his neck and tried to choke the life out of him. His throat vibrates gently against your probing fingers, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. You lay one of the dry rags across his throat, hiding the hideous damage, then place the ice pack on top, as instructed by the health article you Googled. You do the same for the back of his neck as well.

Now you turn your attention back to his scarred, haggard face. After swiping away the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth you press the soapy paper towel to his cheek, which gradually turns from white to pink as it soaks up the blood seeping from the J carved into his flesh. Once you staunch the bleeding, you lift the towel to replace it with a fresh one, and you get an unimpeded view of what was hiding beneath the cut and the blood, beneath his hat and hood all of those times you passed him in the hallway, all of those times he ducked his head between hunched shoulders to avoid eye contact with you. You pull in a sharp breath. It’s not a J-shaped scar; it’s the letter J branded into his cheek. You can tell by how the skin is puckered around the too-precise curve of the raised letter, by its faint red outline, by how it seems to tug uncomfortably at his cheek.

Your mind rewinds to a few weeks back when you accidentally burned your neck with your curling iron. You’d shrieked like a banshee then thrown the damn thing across your bathroom. The blistered patch of seared skin had throbbed for the rest of the night, and was still sensitive to the touch for the following week. That was the result of hot ceramic glancing against your skin for maybe half a second, if that long. You can’t even begin to imagine how much it would’ve hurt to have held the infernal thing against your neck for long enough to melt a fucking letter into the flesh. And not just any flesh. His cheek; that tender skin right below the orbital bone, less than an inch from his eye. It probably felt like his eyeball was boiling in his eye socket from the immense heat. And the smell! His own flesh barbecuing like meat to be served at a cannibal cook-out…

You don’t want to think about it anymore. You can’t think about it anymore or else you’re gonna be sick. And luckily you don’t have to because a low moan slips from his lips and his lashes begin to flutter. A rush of relief floods through you at the small signs of life, and you absently begin to stroke his soft hair with your hand. Heavy eyelids strain to lift then glassy blue eyes are peeking out from between the slits. You smile down at him, your fingers caringly combing through his tousled hair, easing his way back into consciousness. You expect him to groggily ask where he is or what happened to him.

Instead his eyes snap open, and the romantic portrait you’ve painted inside your mind of this moment is ripped to shreds.

He bolts upright, sending rags and ice packs flying away from him, then that massive wall of muscular torso turns on you. Time seems to somehow speed up and slow down simultaneously as those large, dangerous hands of his are reaching for you, and in that terrible instant you know without a doubt that he means to strangle you. A tiny, panic-stricken sound—the choked cry of ensnared prey—comes from your mouth as you throw up your arms across your face and neck in an comically feeble attempt to defend yourself from certain death, and the thought that flashes through your mind—maybe the last thought you’ll ever have in this lifetime—is that you’ll never have the chance to open that bottle of merlot.

But his hands don’t wrap around your throat; they land on your shoulders, and then you’re sliding, falling backwards from the force of a violent shove, your vision flashing to black as your head bounces off the hardwood floor.

“Ow!” you squeal as a bright burst of pain rings through your skull, leaving you stunned for a split second until your fear takes over, clearing away the haze and stars. You push yourself up on your forearm, blood pounding through your ears as your eyes frantically search for your attacker, heart lurching as you find him.

The guy is scrambling backwards away from you on all fours like some frightened beast, slamming into a floor lamp in his haste to escape. The lamp reels drunkenly, throwing light madly around the room as it whirls, like a waving searchlight at a festival. Then he’s pressed into a corner, able to go no further, yet his hands and heels are gripping the floor for purchase, as if he’s trying to push himself into the walls. As the lamp settles, somehow still upright, its light illuminates the hulking figure backed into the corner behind it, and you notice for the first time that the front of his red hoodie is splattered with an even darker red.

You’re sitting up now, frozen like a deer in headlights, your fight or flight reflexes canceling each other out because you’ve realized that you’re the toothless predator, not the prey, and the guy you’re gaping at with his bloodless face and wild eyes is a cornered animal who’ll do anything to survive. Then, to your horror, that cornered animal seems to remember his claws and reaches for the gun that’s not there, and you thank the universe and every holy entity within it that you disarmed him.

His wide eyes narrow as they lock onto you, and the fear that had filled them only a heartbeat ago has vanished, replaced with a look so cold, so devoid of anything but shadows and darkness, that it turns the blood in your veins to ice.

“Who are you? What’re you doing in my apartment? What the fuck did you do with my gun?” Some of the wildness returns to his eyes as he shouts at you with a scarred voice, wheezing between each sentence. You shrink back, shocked that the guy can speak louder than a mumble, then your attention is caught by something more unnerving than his shouting, something that clutches at your insides. His eyes… The little hairs on the back of your neck stir again as you study those pale blue irises flecked with green, barely visible beneath his blown-out pupils yet still trained on you like a sniper’s laser sights. There’s something wrong with his eyes… But before you can figure it out he roars: “Answer me!” and you can’t help but jump at the hateful ferocity, his deadly strength palpable in his tone.

Your heart’s in your throat again, and your mind is racing out his door, terrified all 200-something pounds of him are about to pounce on you, so you’re surprised when you not only find your words, but shout them back at him, just as vicious.

“Take it easy! I'm your neighbor, remember? You passed out. I was trying to help you. I thought you were fucking dying!”

You see a flicker of recognition flash over his face before a coughing fit takes him. Then it hits you, like a punch to the gut as you watch him clutching at his blood-splattered chest again as he gasps for a breath. His eyes… they’re red where they should be white. All of the binged episodes of Forensic Files come flooding back to you and you even remember the term for it: petechial hemorrhaging. Burst blood vessels from strangulation. His strangulation.

The rush of pity that wells up in your chest at the awful realization calms your fear enough that you crawl a tiny bit closer to him. “You’re hurt,” you say gently, trying to keep your nerves from shaking your voice. “Your neck…”

You trail off as his eyes snap back to you, pupils still blown wide. You try to hold onto his skittish gaze, praying he won’t notice his gun behind you and lunge, but his eyes fall away to the floor. He raises his free hand to his neck, as slowly as if his wrists were chained to the floor, and touches one of the red furrows there. Then his trembling fingers move to his brand, where fresh beads of blood have surfaced. You hear him mutter something so low and tremulous it’s barely audible, but you think it sounded like… “Plan J”?

“I cleaned it with soap and water,” you reply as he stares blankly at his bloody fingertips. “But it’s deep. You may need stitches. I can bring you some Band-Aids,” you pause, feeling really fucking stupid for suggesting Band-Aids for the guy who’s been strangled and cut and branded. You blurt out the rest: “If you need them… for the time being.”

His eyes have glazed over, as if he’s gone somewhere far away. Somewhere terrible, because his rasping breath quickens and his whole body starts to shake, as though he’s reliving something. His attack? His branding? All of the times that monster of a person cut his face? You desperately want to reach for his hand, to pull him back from whatever hell he’s been sucked into, but you’re too scared to wake that cornered wild animal again.

Finally he snaps out of it, and his eyes close as his hand drops limply to the floor. You watch helplessly as the tension drains from his body and he sags forward, like he’s been crushed by whatever was waiting for him in that flashback.

“You should go,” he mumbles to the floor, barely louder than a whisper.

“Yeah,” you hear yourself agree. As you stand you remind yourself that you can finally have that glass of wine, but the notion isn’t as appealing as it was earlier in the night.

You gather up your phone and bag. You start to ask if you can get him anything before you go but you know his answer so you turn to leave.

“Thank you.” His small voice cracks like a little boy’s when he speaks, and you know he’s started to cry.

“Yeah, sure,” you say softly as you turn the knob and push open his door. You glance over your shoulder at him one last time. The sight of the broken boy—the boy whose name you still don’t know—huddled in a corner with his knees pulled to his chest, weeping into his hands, wrings your heart out like a wet rag, and you feel your own throat tighten up with tears. You hang your head as you shut the door softly behind you.

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infamous-if · 1 year

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I’m curious what the RO’s homes/bedrooms look like because I think it can tell a whole lot about someone 🤔

I'M GLAD YOU ASKED. I was actually ruminating over what Sev's room/apartment, in particular, would look like the other day.

Seven's room is very dark to me. Black walls, a lot of band posters plastered everywhere. It's a mess but an organized mess. Very much what a music enthusiast's room would look like in a 2000s teen movie lol. They've never grown out of the 'fanboy/fangirl' phase so they'd just have posters all over, they have a dresser of vintage records on one side and a mirror full of photo booth pictures and photos of their life tacked to it. Their bed is never made, mostly because Seven is always in bed when they're home. Seven has clothes strewn just about everywhere but they claim to know where everything is. A lot of ripped-out pages of scrapped out song lyrics on the floor. My imagination of Seven's songwriting process is a lot of pacing, a lot of humming. They get their best ideas while doing other stuff like cleaning and cooking. Outside of their room, their apartment is also messy with a lot of novels strewn about. Seven is very sentimental so every gift they've ever gotten is on display. Their bathroom is clean but messy; just a lot of hair products and makeup everywhere. Seven's "I just rolled out of bed" look is a stylistic choice lmao

I can imagine Sev being a very annoying neighbor to have since they always have music on and they're always singing. Seven has never actually cleaned their place quickly because of all the times they stop to have a mini concert in their living room. Seven is fun when they're alone lol

Orion's is expectantly clean and very minimalist. His room is barren, a plain black bed with a metal headboard. He always has incense burning and has an air purifier and a lot of tech. Everything is spotless and there's not anything out of place. Orion's place is a lot of dark furniture, a lot of leather, and a lot of gray and white in terms of looks. He has a large glass balcony that he likes to do work on in the mornings. I imagine him to have a large closet with all just suits on one side and just...straight up black clothes on the other. Orion isn't one to wear anything colorful. His neighbors love him and want to connect with him but Orion is not interested lol More than a few times he'd come home and just plops himself on his couch and falls asleep due to how tired he was.

Sebastian's home is large but sparsely decorated. He has a big TV to play his video games on and it's what you'd think is a stereotypical young guy's place: brown couch, some video game memorabilia, and some sports stuff. He has a huge gamer computer setup he built himself. He uses it for games and for coding and general data stuff. Sebastian likes displaying all of his goodies and stuff and he doesn't touch Maya's room, which is much like Seven's in that it's super cluttered with music stuff and posters. Sebastian's house is what a default sims house looks like: nothing stylish, just generic furniture.

Victoria and G's is luxurious that leans more to anything that they like they just toss it in there. Huuuuge with plushy colorful couches and overpriced designer furniture. OH! If anyone has seen Cara Delevigne's AD...that's what their house would look like. Just chaotic everywhere with so many knickknacks and things that it's like an assault on your every single sense. Funky wallpapers, leopard rugs. A lot of that, surprisingly, is G's doing. G was very set on designing their house. They're barely home and live mostly in hotels anyway so it doesn't really matter.

August's is pretty generic; gray walls, purple bed. They live with their family (August was supposed to live with a roommate but I changed it to better fit their route) and Clare tends to be the messy one. I would say August's room is half and half, it's pretty empty but what they do have takes up a lot of space like their drum set and their huge speakers. The house is big (August's parents are pretty well-off as politicians) and very Grecian in appearance. August doesn't have much knickknacks and things like Seven. They're pretty detached to sentimental things like that. It's a very standard room, the centerpiece definitely being their drums. They have a huge computer set up, though, like a gamer set up like Seb's but they don't use it for games lmao

#reference #?#infamous cast #inbox #most questions have been very curious about the cast as people now rather than in relation to MC #fun!

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lacroixwh0r3 · 10 months

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Oh Daddy

Neighbor!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel's neighbor comes home from college and he becomes infatuated with her. One day her and family invite him over for dinner and things get heated.

Warnings: SMUT!! Masturbation (M and F), petnames (Darling, sweetheart, etc.), Sexual tension, oral sex, gagging, slight perv joel moments, older man/younger girl, cum facial, spit, sneaking around, no outbreak, mentions of Sarah, and Joel plays the guitar

Song inspo (feel free to listen if you want): Oh Daddy by Fleetwood Mac

A/N: I graduated college last month so yayyyy!! This is so long😭😭…i’m so sorry. ENJOY🫶🏾

Joel watched from his bedroom window as the young girl tried to quietly stumble into her home that she shared with her parents after long night of drinking with her friends.

You see, this wasn't something uncommon for Joel to see on a Friday night. Every weekend since she got home from college, Joel would watch the girl from his window as she drunkenly hopped out of the taxi, all while trying to make sure that the short little dress she was wearing that night didn't rise. However, there had been times when her attempts weren't so successful. Joel would sometimes get a peek at her different-colored thongs, which did nothing to help cover her ass.

Sometimes, Joel would catch himself getting hard due to the scene he was seeing, but he also immediately felt angry with himself for watching this young girl in her most vulnerable state. To stop himself from doing anything that he would regret, Joel moved himself from his window to his bed and tried his hardest to fall asleep, but flashes of the young girl's ass would plague his mind.

...

The older man didn't get any sleep because of his running mind. He had spent hours thinking about the girl, and when he did finally go to sleep, it was almost time for him to get ready to go to his first client's house.

With a few more minutes to spare before he had to get up, Joel lay in his bed shirtless with his hands behind his head as his mind began to drift to the girl and the one particular night when she had worn a red string thong that complimented her skin nicely.

Joel was already semi-hard when he had woken up, but his cock began to throb as he imaged the girl sitting right between his legs, rubbing his cock through his pajama pants as she softly spewed out praises at Joel. He imagined her telling him how much she wanted his cum painting her face as she jerked him off, occasionally teasing the head of his cock with her thumb or even rubbing the head against her hot tongue.

The thoughts began to overwhelm Joel so much that he knew that he had no other choice but to touch himself. And he knew that if he didn't, he might lose his mind at that very moment.

His hands slowly travel down his torso, imagining that it was her soft hands instead of his rough hands that were caloused due to his years of work. The closer he got to his cock, it strained against his pants more, nearly peeking out of the hole in his pants. And because he didn't have on his boxers, Joel was able to reach between that hole and pull his cock out.

His cock slaps against his stomach, causing him to let out a soft hiss due to his sensitivity. Joel suddenly got the idea to get the lube that was on his bedside table. He sits up slightly and rummages through the clutter until he finds the odd shaped lube bottle.

He lays back onto his pillow as he pops open the lube and drips some of it onto his cock. The feeling of the slightly cold lube causes him to let out a grunt. After he put in the desired amount, he quickly closed it and threw it somewhere on his bed. Joel then began to slowly rub the lube up and down on his cock. The feeling of his cock straining in his hand made his legs feel tingly, causing his feet to curl.

Joel felt pathetic as he stroked his cock and thought about his neighbor, who was way too young for him, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He had never felt this way—not even in his teen years. He needed to have her, but he knew he shouldn't want her. There was something about the forbiddenness of the young girl that turned him on more.

The man fisted the tip of his cock and began to stroke only that part. The feeling was too much, to the point where all he could do was screw his eyes shut and throw his head back as he felt the euphoric feeling that spread all around his body. As soon as he felt like he was about to cum, he quickly stopped his movements and edged himself.

This went on for five more minutes before Joel decided that he couldn't keep doing this any longer and that he needed to cum. Joel feels sweat coat his entire body as he plants his feet onto his bed and lifts his hips to furiously fuck into his fist.

Once again, he imagines the young girl sitting there, looking up at him, ready to take his load at any moment. Ready for Joel to use her to dispose of all of his cum. With his current thoughts and the feeling of the slickness from the lube on his cock, Joel was just on the edge of cumming, and all he could do was moan and grunt loudly. Joel couldn't even gather the words to describe what he felt at that moment.

Sweat began to drop down his face as his hips kept going and his whole body began to stiffen up.

Just as Joel was about to blow his load, there was a loud knock at his door that caused his eyes to snap open and quickly stop what he was doing.

"Motherfuck!" Joel curses out, irratated, as he lets go of his cock and drops his arms down onto the bed. Once again, the person knocks on the door, causing him to yell out.

"Give me a sec, I'm comin'." The irony of the sentence causes Joel to let out a sarcastic chuckle. Joel stuffs his cock back into the hole of his pants, and he quickly wipes his hands on his bed sheets to "clean" them of the lube. With the other end of the duvet, he wipes his face of sweat as well, gets out of bed, and makes his way down the stairs.

Joel knew that what he was wearing wasn't appropriate to open the door in, but he also didn't give a fuck enough to change or even put on a shirt. They were the ones knocking on his door at 6:50 a.m., not the other way around.

Joel reaches the door and quickly swings it open without even asking who was at the door, and to his surprise, he is met with the girl whom he was just fantasizing about as he jerks off. His appearance did not go unnoticed by the young girl standing at his door.

As soon as he opened the door, the girl's eyes shot down his body swiftly and stayed at his cock, which was still half hard. He instantly became aware that he was standing shirtless at his door and that his cock hung loosely in his pants.

A few seconds had gone by since they both said nothing to each other. The girl continued staring at Joel's cock, and Joel continued to watch the girl look at his cock. He felt himself becoming hard again, and he knew that one of them should say something. This caused him to pull the door in front of him to cover the front of his body.

Joel clears his throat to catch the young girl's attention and scratches his eyebrow. Her eyes snap back up to his face with wide eyes. "Uh-hi, I'm sorry." The girl was instantly embarrassed because this sexy man just caught her staring at him. This caused Joel to let out a soft chuckle.

No, you're fine, sweetheart; how can I help you?" Joel's face went back to its usual stoic expression as he looked at the girl's face. She began to feel small and insecure because she knew that she might have interrupted whatever he was doing before she knocked on the door, and he wasn't too happy with that.

Still, she said nothing, making Joel raise and frown his eyebrows at her. She finally snaps out of whatever haze she was in and decides to start speaking.

"Um-oh right! Yeah, I live across the street. My mom wanted me to come over to ask you if you wanted to join us for dinner tonight." The young girl points behind her with her thumb.

The girl watches as Joel quickly moves his eyes from her, skims over her house, and goes back to her face. Joel thought about it for a second and decided that he should go because Sarah had been at stay-away camp for the last two weeks and he was getting lonely. He also knew he would feel bad for saying no to the beautiful girl.

"Yeah, sure, I'll be there," Joel says to her as he scratches his head. As soon as Joel agreed, he saw the girl's eyes brighten and felt his chest swell.

"Great! You can come around six if that works for you, but if not, feel free to come any time." She tells him, and before he could even respond to her, she turned and ran back in the direction of her home.

Joel stood at his front door, confused, for a minute as he watched the young girl enter her home and slam the front door. He realized that she had never told him her name.

He decided to move away from the door and shut it. "Okay," Joel says to himself as he looks at the clock on his wall and realizes that it is time for him to start getting ready for work.

...

After a long day of dealing with stubborn clients and having to constantly move around all day, Joel was tired. However, he didn't want to go to dinner empty-handed, so he decided to stop at the store to buy the most expensive wine he could find.

After buying the wine, Joel decided he was going to go home to freshen up and put on something that was more appropriate for a dinner with his neighbors.

Joel was finally done getting himself together and looked at the watch on his wrist. It was 6:32 p.m. He walks down the stairs, grabs his keys from the table by the front door, and walks out of the house. Joel knew that the people in his neighborhood wouldn't dare intrude into his home as he lived around mainly older people, but still, he made sure to lock the door behind him.

Joel makes his way to the young girl's home and knocks once he arrives at her door. He waits a few moments before someone opens the door.

It was her.

The girl that he wanted more than ever was standing at the door, and all he could do was look at her. That was until he realized that he had forgotten the wine at home. Joel rubs his hand through his hair and says, "Shit-I had bought wine to bring over, but I forgot it at home." He gives the girl an apologetic look.

"No, you're fine; please come in." The girl opens the door wider, inviting the man into her home with a soft smile.

"Are you sure? I can run back across the street to get it. It's really no problem," Joel says.

"I promise it's fine. Now, come in." The girl dismisses his words and motions for him to come in.

Joel lets out a sigh and finally gives in. He walks into her home and is met with the delectable smell of whatever her mother is cooking. He then looked back at the girl who stood in front of him and noticed she was wearing this sexy black dress that hugged her body wonderfully. Joel wanted to do nothing more than rip it off her body and lay her down on the floor as he devoured her and showed her how much he wanted her.

Joel decided to compliment her, causing her to look away and blush.

"Thank you; you look good as well, Mr. Miller." The young girl says this as she eyes him again, looking at him from head to toe. He realized that he never told the girl his name, so the fact that she knew it already surprised him a bit.

Oh, thank you, Darlin'," Joel says with his low southern drawl. The way that he had said that caused the girl to cross her legs as she stood in place with her hands behind her back.

The girl knew that she had to have Joel at that very moment, but she also knew that she had to be strategic. She couldn't just come onto him that fast. She wanted to seduce him, make him yearn for her, and make him beg.

"I don't think I got your name, sweetie..."Joel said this with curious eyes as he looked at her. The girl tells him her name, and he repeats it to himself, trying to familiarize himself with the name. Oh, but the way he said it only made her want him more.

"That's a beautiful name; it's nice to finally meet you, sweetheart." Joel grabbed her hand with his rough one and brought her hand to his lips so that he could plant a soft kiss on the back of it. The girl felt like time was slowing down at that very moment. She felt as his perfect soft lips lingered on her hand all while he looked at her with his brown eyes. She couldn't hold in her desire any more after that.

Joel pulled away from the girl as desire clouded her eyes, and he watched her bite down on her lips, trying to stop any sounds from escaping out of her mouth. They both stood there watching each other with a particular glint in their eyes, letting each other know that there was in fact some tension surrounding them.

Joel's breathing had gotten heavier as he looked down and realized that the girl was clamping her legs together as she tried to control her arousal. This made Joel even more horny for the girl, knowing she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

Suddenly, their moment was quickly interrupted as the girl's mother called out for her from the kitchen. The girl's grip on Joel's hand had tightened, and she began to guide him towards the direction where her mother was.

Joel felt himself somewhat panicked because his erection in his pants was not small at all. As she dragged him along by his right hand, Joel adjusted himself with his left hand as they walked.

They reached the kitchen, and Joel was met with the sight of both of the girl's parents cooking in the kitchen together as the sounds of Fleetwood Mac's song, The Chain, played at a very low volume. The girl lets go of Joel's hand and begins to speak.

"Mom and dad," The girl says as she gets her parents attention. "Mr. Miller is here." She makes Joel's presence known to them as she points toward him.

The girl's father turns in front of the stove and walks up to Joel with his hand out. The two men both shake hands and introduce each other. The older lady introduces herself as well.

"It's so nice to finally meet you, Mr. Miller," Her mother says to Joel as she pats his arm.

"It's great to meet you too. Thank you for inviting me, ma'am." Joel says it charmingly, causing the girl to stare at him.

"The food should be done any moment; please go have a seat; my daughter will show you to the table." The older lady smiles and goes back to stirring whatever was in the pot.

The young girl grabs his hand and leads him to the square dining table, where they both find their seats next to each other.

"Would you like a beer, Mr. Miller?" The girl turns towards Joel with the kindest smile on her face. Her demeanor was different now than it was while they both stood at the front door.

"Sure, darlin'." Joel smiles at her. He watches as the young girl gets up from her seat, causing her dress to ride up her thighs. Joel's eyes quickly bolted from her thighs down to the table in front of him. Little did Joel know that she wanted his attention, and she was willing to do just about anything during this dinner to get it.

As the girl walked to the kitchen to get the beer, he watched her ass move as she walked until she turned into the kitchen. Joel throws his head back and lets out a low groan. The only way he was able to temporarily relieve the pressure of his erection was by quickly reaching up to the table and tugging at his cock through his jeans.

Finally, the girl comes back with the beer and stands next to Joel as she opens it for him and bends down to put it on the table. Now, she and Joel were so close to each other that he could smell her sweet scent and feel her body heat. Joel wanted to grab her by her neck softly and bring her lips to his, but he refrained.

"Thanks," Joel grunts out, causing the girl to look over her shoulder at him while she was still bent over next to him.

"You're welcome, Mr. Miller." She tells him and smiles as she slowly leans up to go back to her seat. By this time, both of her parents were emerging from the kitchen with different dishes. The girl helped them both put the dishes on the table as Joel sat back and watched her.

Once they were all done setting the dishes, both of her parents were seated at the table. "I just wanted to tell you guys how amazing the food looks and thank you," Joel tells them with full gratitude.

The couple both smile at Joel. "No, thank you for joining us, Joel. We always cook way too much and wanted to feed our neighbor," The lady winks at him.

"Please dig in." The lady speaks again, causing everyone to begin to pile food onto their plates.

...

Finally, after an hour of constant torture from the girl next to him, he was ready to burst at any moment. During the duration of the dinner, the family asked Joel different questions about his life.

"So Joel, what do you do outside of work? Any hobies?" The older man had asked Joel.

"Oh man, with taking care of Sarah, working, and making sure that things get done around the house, I barely have time for hobies." Joel says as he lets out a deep breath he was holding in.

"I used to play the guitar, though, but haven't really had much time with that. I was thinking, Maybe after I'm done with these next few clients, I'll start teaching classes or somethin'" Joel confesses to the family. He hears the girl's mom let out a soft gasp.

"Missy over here recently got a guitar to pass her time before she goes back to college...maybe you can give her some lessons?" Her mom suggested it with the brightest smile on her face.

"Please, Mr. Miller? I think that would be a great idea too," the young girl says, turning to Joel and gripping his bicep as her wide eyes begged him to say yes. He knew deep down at that moment he should've said no, but he couldn't help himself.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," He sighs. "Whenever you see my truck at home, just knock at my door."

"Yay!" the girl yells out. "Thank you, Mr. Miller," she says as she leans in closer to him. He feels his cock strain again at her closeness.

"Thank you so much for this, Joel." The young girl's father says this to him as he nods his head in appreciation.

"Really, it's no problem at all," Joel dismissively waves at them.

"Hey sweetie, why don't you take Mr. Miller up the stairs and show him your guitar, huh?" Her mother suggested.To Joel, it felt like the mother was purposely trying to get Joel to give into her daughter. Like a trap waiting just for him, Joel was ready to fall into it.

"Are you sure, mom? I can help you with the dishes and stuff." The girl looks at her mom with a slight pout on her face. Joel couldn't help but think about how cute she looked. The way her eyebrows were scrunched together as she frowned made Joel weak to his knees.

"It's fine, sweetheart," Her mom reassures her from the table as she and her husband begin to get up to start cleaning. "Your father and I are able to get it up ourselves...right?" She nudged her husband with her elbow.

"Go ahead," her father says, smiling at her warmly.

With this, the young girl jumps out of her seat and grabs Joel by his bicep. Joel couldn't help but feel his cock jump with excitement as the girl dragged him to her bedroom. As they both walked up the steps, he saw the back of her silky smooth thighs, which he wanted to caress as he ate her pussy from behind. Forcing her to keep her legs open while he sucked and abused her clit.

Finally, they had reached the top of the steps and began to walk down to the door at the end of the hall. The girl swings the door open and pulls him into the room. She quickly shuts and locks the door behind her. She knew that once her parents were done with the dishes, they would head to their bedroom, which was right down the hall from hers, but still, she wanted to make sure that there were no interruptions between her and Joel.

The room was lit with a dim light. She sat in the corner of the room. Joel noticed on one wall that there was a book shelf with fake vines hanging from the top that housed many books, as well as another wall that had posters of some movies that he recognized and some artists that he recognized as well.

"I see ya' like to read, doll." Joel says this to her as he continues to take in the room. She lets out a soft giggle as she stands at the edge of the bed where the guitar lies.

"I do, Mr. Miller." She looks at Joel again with those 'fuck me' eyes, crosses her ankles, and holds her hands behind her back. Joel caught himself almost rushing towards her and pushing her down on the bed, where he would pound that little pussy until she couldn't take it anymore.

"Mm..." Joel let out a low hum as he slowly walked up to the girl. They were both panting from the closness at this point, but neither of them took action. Joel liked the egerness and longing that existed between them that they never addressed, yet they both somehow knew they needed each other.

Joel's eyes had dropped from her eyes, down to her lips, causing her to lick her lips with her pink tongue. He wished badly that it was him licking her lips instead.

"Let me look at that guitar, what do you say, darlin'?" Joel asked her with the sexiest voice the young girl had ever heard in her life. His voice was so deep, and he had that southern accent that could get him into the pants of any girl he wanted.

In response to his question, the girl nodded shyly at him as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. Joel sits down on the edge of the bed next to her as she stands and picks up the guitar. He began to play some chords and then started to play a familiar song. It was "Oh Daddy" by Fleetwood Mac.

She was still standing over him as the man played the song on her guitar. He looked like something straight out of a magazine; the top of his shirt was unbuttoned, his strong hands flicking the strings effortlessly, and he had this concentrated look on his face.

To be quite honest, the girl didn't really care to play the guitar at the moment. She just wanted Joel's hands over her body, showing a different kind of pleasure she had never experienced with any man before. The girl could tell from just looking at Joel that he knew how to please a woman, and she wanted to test that theory tonight in her room.

Joel finished the song, slowly lifting his head up to look at the girl, and decided to slide up further on the bed.

"Come sit between my legs so I can show you some cords, doll." Joel tells her sternly as he picks up the guitar so that the girl can sit between his legs. The girl nods her head and sits down on the bed.

Between Joel's legs.

The girl uses Joel's thighs to help herself get comfortable, causing Joel to let out a soft hiss. Once she was comfortable, Joel brought the guitar over her lap, and that was when she became hyperaware that she was pressed against his hard chest and that she could feel Joel's hard cock pressed against her hip. She let out a slight whimper, which did not go unnoticed by Joel.

Joel bends his head down and speaks into the girl's ear, "Good, darlin...you ready?" He asks her lowly. The feeling of his breath on her ear makes her shiver a bit.

"Mmhm," she says as her teeth catch her bottom lip.

"First, you're going to wrap your hand around the neck of the guitar." Joel grips her soft hand in her lap and brings it to the neck of the guitar, causing her to slightly wrap her hand around it. "And next, you're going to lightly hug the body." She raised her arm and hugged the guitar, as Joel's hand was still holding the girl's hand around the neck.

"You're doin' so good, doll. Now let me show you some cords."

For about ten minutes, Joel showed her the cords and asked her to play them back for him, but she couldn't. This caused her to get frustrated and let out huffs as she rolled her eyes. And every time she did it, Joel wanted to flip her on her stomach and spank her ass until it was bruised.

The girl leans forward, pushing her ass into his cock as her dress rises up her thighs, and puts the guitar on the floor by the bed. "Mr. Miller, I want to try something else with you..." the girl says in her most stern voice as she leans back into the older man. Silence filled the room after that, Joel told himself that this shouldn't happen, but he knew he couldn't stop himself.

"What, baby?" Joel asked in her ear. He decided to reach around under the girl's arms with his large hands and rest them on the tops of her thighs. Slowly, he grabs the edge of her dress and starts to pull her dress higher, exposing her dark red panties. The girl throws her head back onto his shoulder and rolls her head so that her mouth is near his ear. She couldn't help but clench her thighs as he held her dress.

"I want to taste you, Mr. Miller. Can I taste you, please?" She breathes out in his ear, causing Joel's body to shiver.

"Doll, you know we shouldn't be doing this, right? Your mom and dad are down stairs..." Joel lets out a soft cry, almost pleading with her. However, his hands are still on her thighs as his fingers move closer to her underwear-covered pussy. Due to the close proximity, Joel could feel the heat coming from her pussy.

The young girl then nudges Joel with the back of her elbow, causing him to fall back onto the bed, and quickly stands up on her knees between his legs. Joel grunts once his back hits the bed.

"Hey!" he barks up at the girl as he props his body up with his arms in a low tone. He wasn't expecting her to just push him onto the bed like that. She takes him by surprise again as she sits down on the back of her legs, puts her hand on top of Joel's erection, and strokes it gently through his thick jeans. Joel pushes his hips into her hand so he can feel her touch more.

"Joel," The girl cocks her head to the side as she looks at Joel and continues to touch him. That was the first time Joel had heard her call him by his first name, and fuck, did it do something to him. "They aren't going to hear anything...as long as we're quiet." She whispers the last part as a troublesome smirk spreads across her beautiful lips.

"You're a fucking bad girl," Joel spits at her as he narrows his eyes at her. "And i'm gonna treat you like one tonight,"

The young girl's hand goes up to Joel's belt and begins eagerly undoing the belt. The instant the belt is undone, she unbuttons his jeans, and pats Joel's hips, telling him to raise his hips. As his hips were raised, she yanked down his jeans and boxers. The girl wasn't sure what she expected, but the size of Joel caught her by surprise when it flicked out of his boxers and fell onto Joel's stomach. It was bigger than anything she had seen previously with her hookups from college. She didn't know what to do.

When Joel dropped his hips back onto the bed, he noticed the shocked look on the girl's face as she looked at his cock. "What's wrong, baby? You've never seen a cock this big before?" He asked her arrogantly. Joel couldn't help but smirk at her reaction. It didn't help that he was also getting turned on more, causing his cock to strain against his stomach and precum to drip from his tip onto his skin.

The girl's eyes moved from Joel's cock and back to his eyes. She bit her lips as she shook her head fast in response to Joel's question. The arrogant look on his face and the way he sat back on his arms as his cock lay on his stomach made her want to touch herself.

Her eyes had drifted back to his hard cock, and that's when she decided she was going to take action. The girl adjusted herself on her knees, pushed up Joel's flannel on his torso, and wrapped her hand around his warm, hard cock. Thoughtlessly, Joel's hips snap up into her hand, and he lets out a low moan.

"Fuck, Doll, you're teasing me," He states. Slowly, she begins to stroke his cock. When she reaches the tip, she gathers the precum and spreads it down his length. The feeling of the slight wetness makes him hiss between his teeth and lick his bottom lip. The girl wanted to kiss those perfect, wet pink lips as she gave him pleasure, but she stopped herself.

She looks at him with a mocking look on her face and pouts at him, "M'sorry, Mr. Miller." The look on her face made Joel angry, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. He shifted his weight to his left arm and took his right one from under him. He brings his fingers up to his mouth, gathers the spit, and spits on his fingers. The girl stopped at the base of his cock as she looked at him curiously. Joel brings his hand to his cock and spreads the spit on his tip. He felt his body go rigid as he stroked the most sensitive part of his body, and the girl could feel it as well.

The girl could feel the spit slowly drip down onto her hand, so she decided she was going to stroke the bottom of Joel's cock as he focused on the tip. Her and Joel's hands bumped into each other as they both went up and down.

"Oh-oh fuck, baby. You're making me feel so good." He whimpers. Joel took himself by surprise because he was never the one for whimpering. The girl continued to stare at the scene in front of her as she continued to help pleasure the man. Watching Joel's euphoric expression while he pleasured himself was better than any porn she had watched. It was so raunchy, so raw, and so arousing.

"You like that, Joel? You like it when I touch your cock like this?" She breathed out. Joel felt so weak at that moment because he almost came right then and there.

"Shit, baby...ya' keep talkin' like that and I might cum" he tells her. So overwhelmed with pleasure.

Suddenly, he feels the girl jump from between his legs and stand over him at the edge of the bed. She begins to take off her dress, then removes her bra, and takes off her panties. Leaving her bare in front of him. Joel felt like a perv as he continued to touch himself at the sight of her body. He couldn't stop.

Joel didn't know where to place his eyes, but her breast was what stood out to him the most. He imagined what it would be like to cum over her face and watch as the cum dripped down to her breast as she tried to lick what was on her lips. "Look at you, so fucking perfect," Joel growls while he tugs at his extremly hard cock. The girl began to feel shy, so she wrapped her arms around her body. No one had ever looked at her the way Joel did, let alone called her perfect. Though it made her feel good, she still wanted to cover herself.

Oh, don't get shy on me now, darlin'. I need to see you." At the end of the sentence, Joel's voice got firmer. He didn't like the fact that she was hiding from him, and she could tell, so she released her arms in front of her.

Joel stops jerking off and sits up on the bed. "Good girl. Now, get on your knees on the floor." Joel says as he shifts to the edge of the bed. The girl instantly does what he says and drops to her knees. Joel's cock was right in front of her face, but she still maintained eye contact with him. With his left hand, he brings it to her cheek and strokes her cheek. She nuzzles her face closer to his hand, loving the way his touch feels on her skin.

"You love being told what to do? Hm?" Joel cooed at the girl. All she could do was nod her head as she looked up at him with big doe eyes. "Such a sweet girl," Joel compliments her softly.

Joel's thumb moved from her cheek and toyed with her bottom lip, which compelled her to part her lips. The girl thought that he was going to let her suck on his finger, but that wasn't the case. "I'm gonna fuck that pretty little mouth, is that okay with you, little darlin'" Joel asked her so tenderly and gently that all she could do was frantically nod her head.

"I need words, darlin'," Joel tells her, still playing with her bottom lip.

"I want you in my mouth, Mr. Miller. So fucking badly." She whined out. She was so horny, she slipped her hands between her legs and began to lightly play with her clit. Joel hadn't noticed yet, as he was caught up in his own pleasure.

Joel grips his cock and pumps it as the girl opens her mouth, ready to take Joel's cock. He slides his cock into her hot mouth and lets out a deep moan. "Shit-fuck, baby," the man said, throwing his head back in pleasure as the girl began to suck as he entered her mouth. The girl moans around Joel's cock, still playing with her clit unbekownst to Joel. "Tell me how much you love sucking this cock, baby." Joel grunts out. She takes his cock out of her mouth and grips it with her hand, causing Joel's to drop down in his lap as she took control.

"Oh fuck, Mr. Miller! I love the taste of your cock, daddy." If it was even possible at this point, Joel's cock grew harder. The girl saw his eyes darken immediately after she said the word. Joel never liked hearing the word daddy in the bedroom, but when she said it...fuck he wanted to hear it again, over and over, as he fucked her in all sorts of positions.

"You like it when I call you Daddy, Mr. Miller?" She asked before sticking out her tongue and beginning to rub Joel's cock onto her tongue. He bit his lips as she continued the motion because if he didn't, he knew he would alert the girl's parents to what they were doing.

"You have no idea. Fuck." Joel's head rolls forward with his eyes closed once he feels her sucking on his tip before releasing it and going back to stroking with her wet hand. "You have no idea what it does to me, baby," He says breathlessly.

As his eyes were closed, he heard her soft moans, which made his eyes shoot open. And that's when he saw the girl stroking her clit as she jerked him off. She rubbed faster when she realized that his eyes were on her and stuffed his cock down her throat, making her eyes water as she gagged. The feeling of her throat contracting around Joel's cock to accommodate his size made him shiver all around and push his cock deeper down her throat. Because of this, she lets out a sound as she gags and swiftly brings her head back up. She was sharply breathing in to bring air back into her lungs as she was breathing hard.

Joel was totally blissed out before he realized what he had done. "Oh fuck, baby, I am so sorry. Did I hurt you?" he asked her, concerned that he might have gone too far.

With a raspy voice, she answers him, "Calm down, Mr. Miller. I loved it." She smirks as she jerks him again. She had a glint in her eyes mixed with a smirk, which made him sure she was about to do it again. "Matter of fact, why don't you lay down on the bed?" She suggested it to the older man.

Joel looks at her again and lays back on the bed. Once his back hit the bed, he felt her mouth back on his cock, making his body freeze. He felt split drip down his cock as she fucked her own throat with his cock and stroked whatever she couldn't fit. Joel's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he bit down hard on his pointer finger to stop himself from moaning out. The sounds her mouth made as she relentlessly fucked her own throat made him feel like he was in the seventh heaven.

"Oh baby doll," He tries to keep his moans low, but he wasn't sure if he was successful. To be quite honest, he didn't care if he was loud or not. Joel felt lightheaded, but he didn't want her to stop, not until he came. "Sucking my cock like a fucking pro," The girl couldn't help but feel proud as the man looked like he was going to pass out from the overpowering pleasure.

Quickly, she took his cock out of her mouth to spit on her hand and bring it down to her pussy. Her pussy was already wet, but she wanted it wetter. As she toyed with her pussy faster, she brought Joel's cock back into her mouth and continued what she was previously doing. "I'm gonna fuckin' cum soon, baby." Joel tells her breathlessly.

"I'm gonna fuckin' cum all over that pretty lil face," he moaned. The girl realized that Joel's southern accent had gotten thicker as he said those words. She moaned on his cock, causing him to feel the vibrations around his tip. They were both on the edge of cumming.

Joel brings both of his hands to the sides of her head and holds her in place as he plants his feet onto the floor and thrusts into her mouth. With this, the girl lets go of Joel's cock and allows him to fuck her mouth. The girl could hear as her bed squeaked loudly while Joel violently thrust into her mouth, and it did nothing but make her rub her pussy faster and tweak her nipples. That was all you could hear-the sound of the squeaking bed, Joel's loud breathing, and the wet gagging sounds of Joel's cock fucking her throat.

Joel wasn't watching her as he lay on the bed, and his eyes were closed tight from the pleasure, but the girl tried to watch him through her tears as she tried to keep her eyes open. And God, was it a sight to see?

The young girl would never dare let one of those college boys use and abuse her throat the way Joel was doing to her. She respected herself too much to let that happen, but obviously didn't respect herself enough to say no to Joel. If she were able to, which she couldn't because of Joel's cock being stuffed down her throat, she'd probably laugh at herself for letting this man she barely knew use her like this.

"Baby..." Joel croaks as he does one final thrust of his hips, quickly pulls out of her tight throat, props himself up on his left arm, and jerks his cock with his right hand. "I'm-i'm fucking cuming..." he bites down on his lip and wildly brings his fist up and down his cock. The girl frantically rubbed her clit and brought her face closer to Joel's cock as she tried to catch her breath from the previous face-fucking she had just received.

Finally, the first spurt of cum from Joel's cock flies across the girl's face, landing on the bridge of her nose and nearly getting in her eye. Like a domino effect, the girl began to orgasm as Joel released his warm cum on her face. "J-Joel," She shuddered as her legs almost gave out from the earth-shattering feeling of her orgasm. Joel was grateful that he was lying on the bed because he knew if he was standing, he'd be weak in the knees.

"Oh, fuck me, baby," Joel says softly to the girl after he is done painting her face with his white cum. His hips bucked as the last drop of cum dripped down his fist. The older man and the young girl both sat there as they tried to catch their breath. Trying to recover from the intense orgasm they both experienced.

Joel finally sat up to get a better look at her. It was such a filthy sight to see her on her knees in front of him with his cum painted onto her face. Some of it was on her chin, on her lips, just a little bit on her nose, and a drop on her forehead. "Look at you. You're so damn gorgeous with my cum on your face." Joel said as he wiped the girl's hair from her face and stroked her hair.

"What do you say to your daddy, baby? For cumming on that pretty face?" Joel asked her.

"Thank you, Daddy." The girl says this as she looks at him with a lustful expression.

Joel lets out a deep sigh before saying, "You're so welcome, darling." He removed his hand from her hair, gathered some of the cum that sat on her chin with his pointer and middle finger, and brought it to her mouth. Without any hesitation, she opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue, allowing Joel to rest his cum-covered fingers on her tongue. Her lips then clamped around Joel's fingers, and she sucked them clean, tasting the slightly salty fluid.

"You like it when I feed you my cum?" He asked her as he felt his cock getting hard again. She nodded her head as her tongue twirled around Joel's fingers. Joel couldn't help but push them deeper into her mouth. She grabbed his wrist with both of her hands as she continued to suck. However, a few moments later, she pops Joel's fingers out of her mouth and holds his hand in hers.

"You taste so good, Daddy," She whispers to him. She couldn't help but let out a soft whimper and stick her tongue out to lick Joel's cum off her lips. The girl felt a sense of pride swell up in her stomach as Joel looked down at her in awe.

Joel and the girl were too caught up in the moment to even hear the sound of her father's foot steps getting closer to her door. They were quickly removed from their hypnotic state when the girl's father sharply knocked at the door.

"Shit!" the girl cursed quietly as she jumped back and grabbed her dress that was bunched up on the floor. Joel's heart almost jumped out of his chest. He came back to his conscious mind and stood up to slip his pants back on. Joel didn't even bother to button his pants back up or buckle his belt; he just sat back down on the girl's bed and made sure that the top of his pants were covered by his shirt.

"Are you two okay in there?" Her father asked. As he made himself look as normal as possible, he realized that the girl had her dress back on, but his cum still covered her face. Joel knew it wasn't the time to admire his work. Her father was right outside the door, for Christ's sake, but damn, was it hot.

"Yes!" She says it quickly, her eyes wide. The girl was afraid her dad would demand that she open the door and see that his little girl had gotten a facial from their neighbor, who was way beyond her years.

"Okay," Her father says through the door. He stood there for a second and began to make his way to his room.

Once they had heard the sound of her parents bedroom door shut, they instantly took a breath that they didn't even realize they were holding. "That was fucking close." The girl let out a nervous chuckle as she turned around to look at Joel, who was now relaxed.

They had both gotten themselves together. Joel helped the girl wipe the cum off her face and made sure that there was nothing left. The air in the room was thick and smelled of sweat and bodily fluids—more specifically, cum.

Before going down the stairs, Joel goes over to the girl's desk, grabs a stick note and a pen, and begins to write his number. Once he was done, he grabbed the girl's hand and put the sticky note in her hand. When the girl looked down at the note and realized what it was, her heartbeat sped up. Before she could say anything, with her hand still in his, Joel made his way to her door and unlocked it, and they began to make their way down the stairs.

When they reach the door, the girl opens the door for Joel. They stood there for a moment, just holding hands and looking at each other. Joel lets go of her hand and brings both of his hands to the sides of her face. He quickly brings his lips to hers, catching her off guard. He could taste the faint saltiness that lingered on her lips from his cum. This made him suck on her lips more.

The feeling of his soft lips on hers made her sink into the kiss. She didn't want it to end.

The kiss lasted only for a minute, but to the girl, it felt like forever. After they pulled away from the kiss, they were both breathless. As Joel held onto her head, he rested his forehead on hers and closed his eyes before pulling away and kissing her forehead. "Thank you so much, sweetheart." Joel whispers to her tenderly. Her stomach fluttered.

She pulls away from Joel and plants a kiss on his prickly cheek. "No, thank you, Joel." She says just enough for him to hear. She places one last kiss on his cheek, and he begins to walk out the door. As he walked down the pathway, he stopped and turned around to look at her.

"Whenever you want those guitar lessons, just call me," He says to her as he points to the note in her hand. "Or if you need me for other things." He winks at her with a smirk on his face. Playfully, she rolls her eyes at the man.

"I will," she says to him, and he turns around and continues to make his way to his home. "Daddy." The girl calls out, making him stop in his tracks. She tried to hold in her laugh as she watched his reaction, but she couldn't help but giggle.

"You're insatiable; you know that, right?" He told her as he continued walking and shook his head.

She laughed again and watched as he reached his front door. He took his keys out of his back pocket, unlocked the door, and walked into his home. Before he shuts the door, he waves at her, and she waves back at him shyly.

They both closed the door at the same time and leaned on it. They knew that whatever was happening between them was probably forbidden, but they both wanted it badly.

——————

A/N: make sure y’all share and like!!

#smut #the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #neighbor!joel #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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jarenka · 1 year

Photo

I finally translated a first part of my post-potj au into English. Well, machine translated it and @a1essie and @erlenwein helped me to edit it. I hope it’s readable.

I drew a quick pic for it. Don’t worry Anakin will get his vitamin D later. They are on their first mission after Anakin left the hospital.

"The training room is vacant," Anakin said. “You promised me sparring”.

Obi-Wan turned around. Anakin interrupted his conversation with Lieutenant Labal. They were in a break room, cluttered with furniture. Orange evening sunlight flooded it through the large transplasteel windows.

“Wait a bit, I am almost finished.”

Anakin sat on the empty chair in the corner and watched Obi-Wan and his companion from under half-closed eyelids. He couldn't make out the exact words, but the tone of the voices was soft and friendly, and at the end of the conversation Obi-Wan patted Lieutenant Labal on the shoulder. After that, he turned around and sauntered over to Anakin.

“Are you interrupting my conversations with pretty women again? I thought you gave up that habit when you were sixteen.”

“Sorry, I didn't think you were flirting with a woman who is young enough to be your granddaughter.”

Obi-Wan sighed.

“Get up, let's go.”

Anakin stood up. He still subconsciously expected pain from every sudden movement, even though it had been many months since he felt it.

Obi-Wan had already left the conference room.

The training room was located at the end of a long, gut-like corridor. At first, Obi-Wan walked ahead, but Anakin quickly caught up with him, and they walked side by side, automatically adjusting to each other's pace like in the old days.

For Anakin, training was one of the few amusements here, on Carati, where they had been stuck for several months, helping rebels from the neighboring planet Surra. Obi-Wan and Anakin's group was providing supplies: they brought equipment, weapons and medicines, took away the wounded and refugees. This mission, part military, part humanitarian, tested Anakin's patience. He wanted a fight with imperial forces, to destroy patrol ships but they had to lay low if they wanted to continue their mission.

Between trips to Surra once a week they barely have anything to do. Obi-Wan, the head of the mission, allowed his men to visit cities of Carati on their official leaves but all other free time they were spending on the military base. Anakin didn’t go outside even during his leaves and hardly talked to anyone. He was either training, or fixing something in the hangar, or sitting in his spacious bedroom watching holodrams from local holonet. He didn't like to appear in common areas: the dining room, the recreation room, the meeting room. People looked at him strangely.

Obi-Wan was also stared at, but in a completely different way. Just like before, when Anakin was a boy, they would go into the cantina together, and the women — and some men — would start to smile at Obi-Wan seductively and become too polite to him. Anakin didn't complain then: he often got a free dessert because the owner of the cantina or the waitress tried to impress the "uncle" with a young "nephew". He wanted to complain now. It was annoying.

It was hot in the training room, despite the air conditioning. Evening sunlight streamed through the tall windows. Obi-Wan pulled off his shirt, remaining in his pants and undershirt, Anakin took off the hooded cape he usually wore over his shirt, and mechanically smoothed his hair. He needed to do something with it. Here, in the humid tropical climate of Carati, his hair curled more than usual and was constantly sweaty under the hood.

Several people came into the training room and settled on a bench in the corner. Anakin could have kicked them out, but he didn't. He did not want to quarrel with the locals over mundane things, he forced himself to behave. Just like he forced himself to take medications on schedule and go to a physiotherapist before. He didn’t want Luke and Ahsoka to regret their trust in him. He didn’t want them to listen to all these "we told you that this asshole is not capable of behaving normally! If you stop controlling him, he will strangle coworkers simply because he can." Luke had already suffered enough because of Anakin.

Obi-Wan and Anakin activated their swords and moved away from each other. Anakin looked around the room. The four rebels on the bench sat down as if they had come to the theater.

“I wonder what attracted them here: the battle or Obi-Wan in an undershirt?”

“Attack," Anakin said.

Obi-Wan didn't answer, he didn't even nod. Anakin barely had time to raise his sword and parry the first blow.

Obi-Wan's attacks followed one after another, giving Anakin no break. He had to grab the hilt with both hands to ward off another blow — so strong that it made Anakin's hands ache in the place where the living tissue connected to the prostheses. Obi-Wan flipped in the air and landed on the floor behind Anakin. It was hard to repel another attack.

Each of their sparring caused huge amounts of annoyance to Anakin. Obi-Wan returned from the dead healthy, able to fight at his full strength, Anakin had to adjust his style to the new limitations of his body for the second time in a row. Now he moved faster and more freely than in Darth Vader's armor, but he could no longer hit with the same strength, exhausting the opponent. He had to be more careful and attentive, more defensive than attacking.

He was used to looking for a gap in the enemy's defense with sharp blows from all sides. Obi-Wan barely had any gaps in his defense. When Anakin managed to attack, Obi-Wan stopped his sword, as if he knew in advance what move Anakin would choose.

Deceptive techniques wouldn’t help, because Obi-Wan was the one who taught Anakin them.

"You couldn't beat him up even when you were young and healthy, what do you want now?"

He wanted to win, of course. Obi-Wan, unlike Ahsoka, never succumbed to him. Anakin, still weak after treatment and too stubborn to admit it, almost instantly found himself on the floor, without his lightsaber. Ahsoka even reproached Obi-Wan for mocking Anakin.

"Does Anakin want me to succumb to him?"

"Of course, I don’t," Anakin replied.

Ahsoka looked at them and rolled her eyes.

And yet, despite the endless losses — it would take many months of intense training before he could fight on a par with Obi-Wan — he liked sparring. He could just fight. For fun. Without excruciating pain in his body. Without the constant expectation for the Master—the other one—to punish him for his weakness.

Anakin focused on the fight again.

No distractions. Obi-Wan would definitely take advantage of his mistake, which he would make inevitably. Anakin felt that the fight was coming to an end. He was already tired, he couldn't keep up the same pace. He needed a break.

And finally, Anakin didn't have time to react. He barely had time to notice the blue blade of the lightsaber rushing towards his hand. At the last moment, Obi-Wan turned off the sword, and only the silver hilt crashed into Anakin's wrist.

This blow shouldn't have worked, artificial hands don't hurt, but Anakin's new prosthetic was much more sensitive than the old one, and he, stunned by a wave of sensations — not quite pain—unclenched his fingers. The sword fell off.

Anakin was breathing heavily. His lungs recovered, but they were still not enough for a serious lightsaber fight. It will pass eventually.

"You're too focused on not losing, and you should pay attention to technique," Obi-Wan said sternly.

“Are you going to lecture me again?” Anakin snapped.

He ran his palm over his forehead, wiping the beads of sweat.

"Should I just sprawl you on the floor without any commentary next time?”

Anakin grunted vaguely. He didn't like being lectured by Obi-Wan and he wouldn't have liked it even more if Obi-Wan said nothing.

“You've never been good at losing a battle, Anakin," Obi-Wan continued. — “You should have learned it already at your age”.

“It's easy for you to say,” Anakin wanted to answer. "There's nothing wrong with you."

He didn't say it out loud, knowing that any of his excuses would sound ridiculous now. He needed training and asked Obi-Wan to spar himself.

“Shall we repeat it?” he asked instead.

“Let's rest first," Obi-Wan said much more gently. Anakin knew that Obi-Wan didn't need to rest, and this respite was just for him. He sat down on another bench against the wall, where no one else was sitting, and closed his eyes. Obi-Wan soon joined him with two glasses of water from the vending machine. He handed one of them to Anakin.

“Thank you," he replied with a weak smile.

#star wars #Anakin Skywalker #obi wan kenobi #obikin #post-ROTJ AU #my art

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gatitties · 1 year

Note

oo i'm glad that you do ! Then may i request him, Chifu, Baji ( seperated i guess ) with the Autistic ADHD reader thing ? Like reader is the Toman first division friend and also. Thank you

Secondly may i ask if requesting a similiar requests bothers you ?

─Ryusei, Chifuyu & Baji (separately) x autistic/adhd!reader

─Summary: your day to day with three big idiots and your little condition

─Warnings: none

Of course I don't mind, request whatever you want! ;)

Ryusei Satou

─ He probably met you while you were beating up some idiots who were bothering you.

─ You had many relaxation methods when your mind was overwhelmed in some situations, but that day you found your fists useful.

─ It's probably his fault that you're now in the first division of Toman, even if you don't like getting involved in physical fights at such a level, at least you had Ryusei covering your back.

─ He's not worried about your condition, they are just more reasons to play little jokes or make fun of you, if you have a habit of arranging objects in a certain position he will move them from one place just to annoy you.

─ Even though he brings you back to the real world when you start staying silent for too long, he knows it's not good to spend so much time lost in your mind.

─ Whenever he can, he makes jokes about your poor concentration.

─ He has one of these small sensory pieces on his key chain to lend you in case you feel too anxious or overloaded with the atmosphere of the place.

─ He likes to make fun of you because he's your friend, but if some other idiot with intent to offend you does it he'll beat them up before you know it.

─ He is the typical friend who will never show his feelings directly but who will always be there for whatever you need, instead of greeting you with a handshake or a hug, he hits you on the shoulder.

─ He will definitely laugh at you if you stumble on the street while your mind was wandering on different topics, also rest assured that he will have a folder full of videos of you saying a lot of nonsense in your moments of lucidity that make him cry with laughter.

Chifuyu Matsuno

─ You met him during classes, in his bully days, with his great pompadour.

─ He got mad at you because you simply commented out loud that his hair looked ugly like that, just your mouth ignoring your mind and letting your thoughts escape once more...

─ They punished you two for arguing in class and from there a beautiful friendship arose, he began to be your personal bully for those people who made fun of you for your condition, although he discovered that you didn't need anyone and offered you to join Toman with him.

─ He brings you back to your senses when you dissociate too much, he helps you most of the time with your concentration problems, he respects your little hobbies or routines a lot.

─ As if you needed to tidy up your desk a certain way and some idiot would mess it up to bother you (probably Ryusei) and he would rearrange it so you wouldn't be bothered by 'clutter'.

─ If you call at three in the morning because you just had a nervous breakdown or started to overthink a lot, Chifuyu will be there just five minutes later without hanging up the call.

─ If necessary he will call the reinforcements, that is, Peke J, to help you relax.

─ He will be patient when you can't express yourself correctly with words, don't stress about it, he can always find another way to understand you.

─ Which leads you both to create a small sign language that only both of you understand, can understand you with just a look, that and he began to notice your manias when you felt anxious or uncomfortable to get you out of the situation.

─ Type of friend you can count on for everything, good or bad, and with whom you spend more time in his house just for his pet.

Baji Keisuke

─ You were neighbors, at first he didn't like you because you seemed weird, but his mother forced him to hang out with you.

─ At first he was very hard on you, but as time went by the jokes or offensive comments decreased, he did a lot of research on your ADHD and how to deal with it, after all he had become fond of you.

─ He apologized for being an idiot, you forgave him because you were just children, although he continues to make fun of you, it's much more different.

─ Surely it was he who dragged you to be part of Toman, whether you like to fight or not, you were part of the first division next to him, you were also friends with Mikey so there was no discussion.

─ He'll definitely hit you with his rubber band when you start to disassociate, he'll slingshot it straight in your face, never misses.

─ You don't have enough with your intrusive thoughts and this idiot will drag you down the worst path to do all kinds of stupid things that float through your mind, he's like the devil on your shoulder.

─ He doesn't mind listening to how you ramble on different topics that you exchange from one minute to the next, twisting the conversation into a thousand other things.

─ Baji may not know how to write, but he is very astute when it comes to noticing things, he will get ofensive around other people if he notices your discomfort with them.

─ He will turn your house into a second 'sanctuary' for stray cats, you can't complain either because many times having kittens running around your room makes you relax, empty mind, only cute animals.

─ The typical friend who doesn't stop calling you 'bro' and makes you remember a specific greeting to greet you, although he won't say anything if you forget or change something in that handshake.

#tk #tokyo revenger x reader #tokyo revengers #reader insert #headcannons #ryusei satou #chifuyu #baji #ryusei #matsuno #keisuke #x reader #reader is not specified so...#fem reader #male reader #gn reader #sfw #adhd

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thewrittingpan · 2 months

Text

Random Head cannons:

Lilia

I firmly believe that he would have a Mountian Dew addiction- sure I think other sodas are possible too like Dr. Pepper but there’s this “dad clock” that has haunted every divorced father I’ve met and it’s a Mountain Dew clock and it always hangs on the wall where the kitchen meets the dinning table. Don’t ask me why it’s a trend in my life that’s between me and my therapist but I feel that Lilia would probably own one in his gamer room.

Speaking of which he’s got a damn gammer room. I’ve admittedly been out of the loop event and plot wise since the release of ignihide’s chapter (I can not spell forgive my dyslexic ass), but it doesn’t matter if it’s just his bedroom, a whole separate room, a streaming room or not. It has a fancy custom built pc, one that lights up and the whole room is themed to match. It’s very well put together and could probably pay my college tuition with the merchandise he may collect.

I personally think that since Lilia is so old, he tends to hoard things. It obviously snuck into my fic Ring of Mushrooms with just the whole house being a cluttered mess of history. Some of it is me trying not to be a hoarder myself but living nicknack because I am just a bird in a human shape, but he just has a lot of things he forgets about.

Call it time blindness, forgetfulness, or sentimentality but he just keeps pictures, books, gifts, random things his sons have drug into the house or stuffed into their pockets. He has jars of buttons that Malleus collected as a toddler, the shiny rocks Silver picked up by the stream, he’s the type of guy to have a full box of the same pencil because it’s his favorite and there was a rumor it was being discontinued.

I also think that he has a soft spot for pinks and pastels especially when the boys were young. Mint/sage greens were a common choice for blankets, hats, and mittens. He also probably color coded the boys. It doesn’t matter if they were the same age or not just for ease and avoiding fights he totally did.

Lilia probably has a bunch of abandoned hobbies. Things he did long enough to have a humans level of decent but not great. if he were to “relearn” it he would appear to be a savant to a real beginner. Some of these hobbies include: Calligraphy, Crochet, Knitting, Fish lure making, Astronomy, Woodworking

Hobbies he would be bad at:

Drawing/Painting, he has a bad understanding of color but a great eye for depth and detail. The forms are always very off putting though.

He tried birdwatching he isn’t bad at it per se, but he often gets interrupted or caught up in something that is not the birds.

He wanted to do quilting and scapbooking, it’s not that he can’t do them either but he always forgets the projects. The scrapbooks mostly the quilts he has a lot more practice with as baby shower gifts for neighbors and for his own kids. Yet his stiches can be sloppy same with the binding.

He has a fondness for spinel gems he likes the wide array of colors like most gems but he likes a lot of the vibrant pinks they come in

Malleus

I think malleus would have a habit of forgetting to eat if not reminded or brought food. I cannot explain why I think this I just have a hunch.

I think Malleus is great at word puzzles and puzzles in general, it’s not inherently that he’s super smart but he just knows patterns more often than not. However he is quite horrible at pop culture references and trivia. For example he is good at Wordle, Sudoku, crosswords, and connections, but since crosswords and connections often have pop culture references those are the ones he struggles with most.

When he was young he collected things. I mean a lot of things, buttons, pins, rocks, pinecones, leaves, he pressed and dried flowers, half of his room was just wall-to-wall collections. This continued on until now but it’s just gotten more mild, though it flares up during stressful times.

He’s very good at quilting if I had to assign a good trade themed hobby. I’m open to other needle crafts like embroidery or cross-stitch but I think quilting is something that gets done during school breaks and he often sews in former button collections to them.

I think he has an aversion to some kind of food, whether it be things like a texture like he doesn’t like the feeling of bananas or the taste of pees makes him nauseous. I don’t think it’s an allergy or anything just something that physically makes him feel like death is the only solution to the minor inconvenience.

He’s a peridot guy sure emeralds work too but if he’s being honest the peridots are cuter

Silver

One time he had a talking to about throwing sand. He was only three at the time but it had to be revisited after an incident with an ant hill when he was four.

He sleeps in a funeral-showing sort of way. His hands clasped on his chest while he lays on his back. He rarely moves in his sleep, but cheese can cause him to sleep walk.

Speaking of which he has a mild lactose intolerance. He doesn’t care to actively avoid dairy but he often forgets he has it. On many occasions he has eaten too much dairy and was genuinely confused by the way he was having tummy troubles.

He cries at weddings.

He doesn’t cry at funerals.

Silver has this hobby of wanting to bird hunt but falls asleep too often. He does however have some half okay drawing skills. Enough to have an upper hand in Pictionary maybe but a good hand on proportions and the details are messy but it works.

He has a fondness for pearls it’s the type of jewelry he thinks is the most beautiful.

#fanfiction #twst #twisted wonderland malleus #twisted wonderland #headcannons #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #twst silver #twisted wonderland silver #headcanon

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mackenzielovee · 1 year

Text

gray area (1) — bucky barnes

summary — you meet your new neighbor, Bucky, along with his friends and his son.

wc — 4k

series masterlist | navigation

You stand in the middle of your new driveway, staring up at the townhome that you now hold the keys to. You’d signed your name on the dotted line last week, and although it feels like forever since then, a part of you can’t believe it’s actually happening.

“Still not sure why you’re so against moving in with me,” Natasha, your best friend, grumbles as she grabs another box out of the truck of your car, “I mean, yeah, there’s a few bad things about my apartment complex, but—”

“Your next door neighbor shot his girlfriend last week,” you argue, then add, “And, half of the people that live there are selling drugs!”

“Okay,” Natasha rolls her eyes, “One, that girl was a bitch. She also survived, so it’s fine. And, honestly, Y/N, everyone is selling drugs these days.”

“I’m not,” you reply, sticking your tongue out at her.

“Right. You’re too much of a workaholic to be selling — or doing — drugs, anyway. I’m surprised they haven’t paged you—”

“Oh!” you exclaim, “I actually should go check my work phone. Can you get the rest of the boxes out?”

Being a nurse in the critical care unit of one of the best hospitals in your state, you have no choice but to be constantly thinking about your job. Natasha, who runs her own company, understands your need to be available 24/7, although she rarely expresses it. She thinks you hold yourself too accountable, but you disagree.

Being responsible is the reason you’re able to afford to live on your own at twenty four. Being responsible has landed you a great job, salary, and benefits. Sure, you’ve had to sacrifice to get it, and Natasha thinks you’re lonely, but you’re happy for the most part.

You check your phone and find nothing, then breathe in a happy breath. That means you’ll get to spend the remainder of the day unpacking and moving in. The boxes are lining the walls and starting to feel overwhelming; the clutter too much for you to handle.

Natasha comes strolling in a few minutes later, holding nothing but a lamp in her hand. You raise a brow, and she smirks.

“Seriously? That’s all you could carry?” you tease.

She shrugs, “I found some reinforcements.”

Before you can ask what she means, two men come strolling into your living room, both with boxes in their arms. Your jaw falls as Natasha laughs beside you, shamelessly checking them out as their muscles flex against their tight tee shirts.

“Where do you want ‘em, Natasha?”

Natasha whips her head over to you, “Babe?”

You swallow when both men look over to you. Up and down their eyes go, taking in your sundress and curled hair before respectfully looking back up at you. They smirk when you stutter under their gazes, then point to the free corner of the living room.

“Um, over here is fine,” you say, “Thank you so much, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Natasha interrupts, tugging on your elbow, “I already told them how we needed two big, strong guys to help us.”

The blonde sets his boxes down first, then steps forward and extends a hand. You give him a friendly, shy smile and shake it, ignoring the way his large hand engulfs yours.

“I’m Steve,” he says, “One of the big, strong guys your friend recruited.”

Your smile widens, “Hi, Steve. Thank you very much for being willing to help.”

“No problem, I—”

The other man shoves Steve’s shoulder, then grins at you and extends a hand of his own.

“Sam Wilson,” he informs you, squeezing your hand, “It’s such a pleasure. We’ve been wondering who was gonna take this place.”

“Now we know,” Steve cuts in, “So, what’s your—”

Your phone buzzes on the counter, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you turn and rush to it.

“Ouch,” Sam whispers, nudging Steve’s chest before turning to Natasha, “Boyfriend?”

“Worse,” Natasha rolls her eyes, “Job.”

“That’s why I retired years ago,” Sam grins, “Right, Cap?”

Steve’s eyes haven’t left you yet; watching as you slump your shoulders when you realize the alert is just a routine message from the hospital.

“Let’s go get the rest of the boxes,” Steve grunts, grabbing Sam by the shirt collar.

Natasha follows the men outside, and after a minute, you do, too. Steve is in the middle of pulling another box from the trunk when you appear outside, dress swaying in the slight breeze. Sam elbows Steve in the chest when he catches him looking, and the men exchange a silent glare before getting back to work.

“You guys really don’t have to do this,” you gush, placing a gentle hand on Steve’s bicep to stop him, “It’s okay, we can handle it. It’s only a few more, right, Nat?”

Natasha smirks, then shrugs innocently, “I don’t see the harm in letting them help, Y/N. You can always thank them properly later.”

Steve blushes at Natasha’s comment, but doesn’t play into the innuendo in the slightest. Instead, he turns toward you and gives you a gentle smile.

“We really don’t mind,” he says.

“Yeah, and he speaks for both of us, now,” Sam grunts.

You laugh and drop your hand from Steve’s arm as if to give him silent permission to continue. Just as his hands reach around the next box, all of you hear the loud, screeching voice of a toddler.

“Jamie incoming!”

Sam turns with just enough time to catch the four year-old launching himself into his arms, grinning from ear to ear at the promise of a hug from his uncle.

“What’s goin’ on, Jay-Man?” Sam asks, gripping the boy tight.

“Nothin’,” he smiles.

“I don’t believe you for a second,” Sam laughs, “Where’s your—”

“Jamie, you’ve gotta put shoes on before you run outside. You know better.”

You swallow at the sight of the man stepping off the porch of the house next door and into the grass, where he eyes the toddler resting in Sam’s arms. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a tee shirt, sports messy brown hair, and has stubble that you’d bet is only there because he hasn’t gotten around to shaving.

“Relax, Buck, he’s a kid,” Sam replies, “Tell him, Jay.”

“I’m a kid,” Jamie repeats, grinning widely.

The man, the one who left the house following the boy, lets his eyes travel from his friends to you. He gives you a gentle smile and you do the same back to him, feeling your stomach twist and turn the longer his eyes remain on you.

“Aww!” Natasha squeals, stepping over to Sam and Jamie, “How old is he?”

“He’s four,” Sam states proudly, “You think he’s cute? He’s got my eyes, doesn’t he?”

You continue to stare, knowing you should stop but completely unable to. When his eyes — those devastatingly blue eyes — leave yours to travel down your body, you swallow. You hope he likes what he sees, but you don’t question where that thought comes from. The male gaze has never been one you’ve longed for, but right now, you can’t remember why.

His jaw ticks as he breaks into a smile, raising a hand and conducting a small, shy wave. You bite down on your bottom lip to conceal your own grin, waving back.

“So, he’s your son?” Natasha’s voice draws you back into reality.

Sam shrugs, “I mean, I take care of the rugrat, you know what I mean?”

Natasha nods, her eyes moving toward Steve when he scoffs, “Jamie is not Sam’s kid.”

As if to prove it, Jamie starts to squirm in Sam’s grasp, then makes grabby hands as he reaches for Bucky.

“Daddy,” he frowns, “Is it snack time?”

Bucky nods and steps forward, reaching out to collect Jamie from Sam, who sighs, now that his cover has been blown.

“C’mere, buddy,” Bucky says as he takes hold of his son, who immediately cuddles himself into his dad, “We can have a snack if you’re hungry.”

Your heart rate seems to speed up at the image of a father caring for his son so outright — something you never experienced so openly. Shyly, his eyes find yours as he adjusts his son in his hold, giving you a more forced, pained smile. You try to smile back in hopes of telling him that you find Jamie to be cute; that you’re happy to have them next door.

“C’mon, Sarge, you gotta meet the new neighbor, first,” Sam lectures, pointing over to you, “This is Y/N, even though she never actually introduced herself to us. Y/N, this is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, and his son, Jamie.”

“It’s just Bucky,” he immediately corrects, giving you another small smile as he offers his free hand out to you, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you reply, holding his gaze for a beat too long before your eyes catch on the little boy in his arms, “And it’s very nice to meet you, Jamie.”

He grows shy in his father’s arms and hides in his chest, earning a laugh from both you and Bucky.

“Sorry,” Bucky says quietly, “He’ll open up eventually.”

You shake your head, “No need to apologize. He’s very cute.”

As if the compliment was meant for him, Bucky’s cheeks grow pink. To try and conceal it, he looks down at Jamie and tries to get him to talk, but the boy refuses.

You try to think of something to say; a way to start up a conversation with Bucky, but Steve steps behind you — close enough that you can feel his body heat through your dress — and clears his throat.

“Want me to take the kid for a snack, Sarge?” Steve questions, noting Bucky’s blushing cheeks.

“Can we play superheroes, too?” Jamie asks his uncle, perking up.

“Of course, dude. We can fly on the trampoline and everything.”

Jamie grins and immediately reaches for his uncle, changing grips yet again. Steve laughs and grabs hold of the toddler, then looks down at you.

“Good to meet you, Y/N,” he says politely, then steps away and pats Bucky on the back, “You got this.”

Bucky’s face burns under the not-so-quiet encouragement from his best friend. Sam and Natasha grab more boxes from the car while simultaneously shamelessly flirting, which leaves you and Bucky outside in the cool air, alone.

“Sorry about them,” Bucky says quickly, “They make quite the first impression.”

You nod in agreement, “They do. Do all of you live over there?”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly, so quickly that you try not to laugh.

“God, no. The guys just come over to help me take care of Jamie. It’s, uh, just me over there. And Jamie, obviously.”

You laugh at the way he shakes his head, trying to collect his thoughts and stop himself from rambling. When he sees you laughing, he relaxes and even offers a chuckle at himself.

“Anyway,” he changes the subject, “What brings you to the neighborhood?”

“New job,” you answer proudly, “I’m a nurse at West County General.”

He cocks up a brow, “No kidding. Bet that keeps you busy.”

“It sure does,” you agree, “But, it’s really rewarding. I love it.”

He smiles as you smile, and when you see the tips of his ears grow pink, your grin widens. Sam and Natasha emerge from the house then, and they seem to burst whatever bubble you and Bucky have formed for yourself.

“I should check on Jamie,” he mumbles, already taking a step back, “It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

You grin, giving him a shy wave, “Thank you, Bucky.”

He returns your smile and wave, letting it linger between the two of you for a second too long before he turns and hurries back inside his house.

When you turn around, Sam and Natasha are leaning up against your car, standing a little too close and looking a little too friendly. Clearing your throat loudly, you earn your best friend's gaze.

“We should be getting ready, huh?” you ask her, giving her a subtle eyebrow raise.

She sighs, “Yes. Thanks for the help, Sam. Hope we see each other again soon.”

He winks at her, then gives you a warm smile and a nod before taking a few steps back, inching toward Bucky’s house.

“Nice to meet you, ladies,” he calls, offering a wave before he turns his back and heads away.

“God, he’s so hot,” Natasha groans, “Like, did you see those muscles?”

You chuckle and grab her, pulling her toward your new home, “Come on. Wanda’s gonna be pissed if we’re late.”

“Oh, who cares,” Natasha mumbles, but follows your lead, anyway.

The bar that Wanda planned for the three of you to go to is loud and crowded by the time you and Natasha arrive. To celebrate your new move and career, Wanda demanded a night out with you. Naturally, Natasha caught wind of the plans and invited herself — which was fine with you, because you always feel safer having her around while you’re drinking. Wanda, on the other hand, wasn’t wild about the inclusion of your best friend. They put up with each other, but they aren’t fans. And to you, it’s obvious.

“Y/N!” Wanda squeals, “What do you think of this place? I thought it was cool, kinda has a retro vibe to it.”

“So retro,” Natasha quips, offering Wanda a smug smile.

You nudge Natasha in the side and look around, taking the place in. It reminds you of Wanda in a way that you’d expect her to like it, but you don’t necessarily care one way or another. A new area means new bars, new restaurants, and you know you have to figure out what you like and what you don’t.

“It’s nice,” you smile, “Thank you so much for setting this up.”

“Of course,” she beams, “Let me get us a round. They have a killer lime mojito.”

“Oh, bummer,” Natasha pouts, “I’m actually on this new no-lime diet. Mind getting me a vodka soda?”

Wanda takes a calculated breath, “Sure. Be right back.”

You snort as soon as Wanda disappears and turn around to Natasha, who is smirking proudly at herself. When she catches your raised eyebrows, she feigns innocence and shrugs her shoulders.

“What?” she teases, “It’s a real diet.”

“Mhm,” you hum, “Sure it is.”

“It is!” she laughs, then nudges you over to the two available barstools. You set your purse down on the bar and Natasha sits while you remain standing, not wanting Wanda to feel left out, “It’s new. I’m on a no-lime, all-new neighbor Sam diet.”

You let out a loud laugh, “Oh, right. He doesn’t even live over there, you know.”

“He doesn’t?”

“No,” you shake your head, “Bucky told me—”

“Bucky told you?” she gasps, grabbing your arms, “Oh, tell me exactly what Bucky told you.”

You huff, “Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not!” she protests, “I just want to know what your sexy new neighbor told you.”

“Stop.”

“Stop, what?”

You both turn and find Wanda standing there with three drinks in her hands, looking like she could use some help. Immediately, you grab one of them and set it down on the bar, then trade Natasha her drink for yours.

“Oh, Y/N’s got this really hot neighbor,” Natasha fills her in, sipping her drink, “Total DILF.”

“Nat,” you hiss, then turn to Wanda, “He’s just a nice guy. He’s got a four year old son.”

“Look at you, remembering details,” Wanda teases, and suddenly, she and Natasha are laughing together — like they’re actually friends.

“Oh, please,” you huff, downing half of your drink and listening to Natasha cheer you on before you speak again, “I’m sure he has someone, anyway.”

“He was blushing hard,” Natasha points out.

“He was?” Wanda gasps.

“Stop!” you demand, laughing as you take another sip, “Nat, why don’t we gossip about you and Sam, instead.”

She grins mischievously, “Yeah, I’ve definitely got my eye on him. But, that’s not as fun as watching you squirm.”

Wanda laughs, “Totally.”

You roll your eyes and finish off your drink, knowing Natasha is about to start in again, and you’re much too sober for it.

“Wanda, you should’ve seen the way Bucky’s friend, Steve, was flirting with her, too,” she continues, “He carried in boxes, and I’ll be damned, she even put her hand on his arm! And that man is all muscles. She loves to play innocent, but I think she knows what she’s doing.”

“She definitely does,” Wanda agrees, “I’m sure you’ve got both of those guys in a chokehold already. This will be interesting.”

You sigh, “Anyway.”

“Aw, don’t get all pouty,” Nat teases.

“I’m just not looking for that right now,” you explain casually, waving down the bartender for another drink, “I want a quiet life. My own house, my job, and my weekend outings with you guys. I don’t need some guy.”

They both soften as they stare at you, listening closely as you explain your feelings to them. They know how you’ve been handled by men in the past, and they understand that you’re not like them. You can’t let it roll off your back the way you do; you take it personally. You get hurt when you shouldn’t. You attach meaning to things where others don’t. Now, with your job and your improved mental state, you don’t feel like risking any of it over a man.

“Well, cheers to that, then,” Wanda breaks the silence, holding her cup up in the air, “Let’s get fucking drunk.”

You wake the next morning with regret, anxiety, and one big, fat headache. You groan and curse out loud at yourself, then climb out of the bed to get some coffee and aspirin in you. Briefly, you consider food, but the thought makes your stomach turn.

You spy a note on the counter in Natasha’s handwriting, which is the first thing that clues you in that she isn’t here.

Thanks for last night! Had to run. Chores to do at home. Still coming on Tuesday night with Chinese to help you unpack, so you better not be called in to work.

XOXO,

Nat

You smile at it as you fire up the coffee maker, then dig through the open box on your counter until you find the bottle of aspirin you always keep handy. You recap the night in your mind; the teasing about the neighbors, the drinks, the dancing, the drinks, the karaoke, the drinks. You hadn’t planned on drinking so much, but you wanted to let off some steam. Given that you work a fourteen hour shift tomorrow, you feel like you deserved it. Now, you’re not so sure.

After a few hours, your headache starts to subside and your stomach growls. Knowing you don’t have any food in the house and refusing to do an entire grocery store run, you resort to picking up takeout.

As you pull down the newly familiar street with a bag of food sitting on your passenger seat, you notice motion at the house next to yours. Steve is out in Bucky’s front yard, tossing a foam football around with Noah. You smile at the sight, then let your eyes travel a little further left. Bucky is pushing a mower down his lawn, shirtless, sweaty, and showstopping.

You groan when you realize you’re in shorts and a giant sweatshirt with messy hair; not at all presentable for him. Then, you scold yourself for even thinking that way.

We’re just neighbors. That’s it.

Regardless, you still try to fix your hair before you get out of the car. Steve recognizes your vehicle and waves over to Bucky, who stops the mower and walks over to his garage, where he grabs a cloth to wipe up his sweat.

You climb out of the car shyly, wondering if you should clear out your garage today just so this could be avoided in the future. Before you even lock the doors, Steve’s voice carries across the yard.

“Go ahead, buddy. She’s right there.”

You furrow your brows, gripping your food a little tighter.

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/N.”

You can’t help but grin as soon as you hear his little voice, and you forget all about your hangover and the bag of grease in your hand as you spin around.

“Good afternoon, Jamie,” you reply, watching the little boy’s cheeks grow pink, “Are you kicking your uncle’s butt in football?”

You gesture to the foam ball in Jamie’s palms, and shyly, he nods his head.

“Yes,” Jamie grins, “He’s not very good.”

“Excuse me,” Steve cuts in, “I’ve taught him everything he knows.”

“Everything?”

Your eyes move from Jamie and Steve to Bucky, who is approaching with a teasing grin. You stare as he brings his cloth around the back of his neck and wipes his sweat away, then drags his eyes from his friend over to you.

His muscles in his chest flex then, and you visibly swallow and look away. You swear you hear Steve’s low chuckle, but you don’t dare look over out of fear that the men will see right through you.

“Hi, Y/N,” Bucky greets you, watching as you hesitantly look back up at him again.

“Hi, Bucky,” you reply, trying to figure out what to follow up with, only to blurt, “Yard looks good.”

Steve snorts and you clamp your lips together, wishing silently that you could snatch the words right out of the air and back into your mouth.

Even so, Bucky’s lips tip up into a genuine smile, and you swear you see the high points of his cheeks go pink — just like Jamie’s.

“Thanks,” he says sheepishly, “I’m happy to help you out with yours anytime you need it.”

He watches as you recoil at his kindness, letting your shoulders drop and a pout form on your lips. Steve sighs audibly, but neither of you even glance his way.

“Thank you very much, I appreciate that,” you smile.

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you grow stuck in a trance of sorts as you explore him with your eyes; his tan skin, his chest, his softening belly that makes your knees feel physically weak, and his messy hair. His soft brown eyes that work all over your body, too.

“Wouldn’t want that food to get cold, Y/N,” Steve says knowingly, drawing you and Bucky away from each other.

“Right. I’ll let you guys get back to it,” you give Bucky a nod and he returns it, then you move your eyes down to Jamie, “Nice to see you, Jamie. Keep beating him, okay?”

Jamie grins, “Okay.”

Steve and Bucky both laugh and so do you, and with a wave to Steve, you disappear inside your house. You try not to replay the entire thing in your head as you set your food out to eat. You turn on a show on the TV that is only half hooked up, and just as you start to eat, you hear the lawnmower fire up again.

With minimal hesitation and refusal to think twice, you hurry over to your window — the one that faces Bucky’s — and watch as he pushes the mower down the side of his house. He’s focused, sweaty, and tan, and it stirs something inside of you. Careful not to get caught, you let your food get cold on the coffee table, Steve be damned. Bucky is a sight to see, and you find nothing wrong with indulging. It means nothing, you tell yourself. It means nothing. He’s just nice to look at, that’s all.

a/n: pleeeease let me know if i should continue writing this or not! so curious what your thoughts will be! reblogs are appreciated and thank you for reading <3

*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates to see every time i post something new!

#bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #james buchanan bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #dad bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #single dad bucky

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