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salingers · 1 month ago

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october's end.

dbf!joel miller x f!reader summary: a filthy halloween night with your dad's best friend, joel miller. [you get him to briefly wear a ghostface mask]. [enjoy that! i did]. warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap. alcohol. au. begging. cream pie. dirty talk. dom!joel. fingering. jealous!joel. language. masked!joel. no outbreak. no use of 'y/n'. praising. smut. use of 'good girl'. use of 'slut'. unprotected piv. word count: [about] 3,800. a/n: hi! debut, written for @mermaidgirl30's halloween writing challenge. cover by me, divider by @saradika. @saradika-graphics.

Everything’s bigger in Texas, including Halloween. Your childhood neighborhood is locally televised each October’s end, due to every home’s enthusiastic participation. There’s an annual stoppage of traffic for the singular evening’s festivities, permitting only costumed bodies to roam the gated community’s residential roads.

Branches draped in gauzy webs. Yards engulfed in artificial fog. A beloved holiday tradition, predating the tailend of the seventies, when Dad and Joel were elementary aged and wielding pillowcases of candies. Now, they’re fifty-somethings, bemoaning mutual back pain and cursing pesky lawn decorations.

“Here,” Joel gruffs, while individually sliding Dad two Reese’s pumpkins, from across the kitchen’s counter. “Protein break. ‘S four grams.”

Dad swipes them both up, before confirming that statement by thumbing one’s wrapper, “That ain’t bad.”

You’re quietly laughing at their supposed refueling, while stooping behind the fridge’s door and scanning the moistened shelves. There. A seasonal beer, from your favorite brewery in Austin. It’s comfortably predictable, returning home for Halloween; From Dad purchasing your favorite autumnal ales, to Joel Miller’s ruggedness.

You properly right yourself. Then, using your waist, nudge the appliance’s door shut, “Dad, where’s your bottle opener?”

Dad’s phone abruptly drones, reverberating against granite and interrupting your question; He grimaces at the caller’s illuminated identity.

You guess, “Ghostface?”

Dad laughs, before emphasizing, “Worse. My neediest client.” He abandons his barstool, continuing, “Actin’ like buildin’ up in Waco makes ‘er Joanna Gaines.” Dad apologetically nods toward you, “Joel. Will ‘ya?”

Joel’s scruffy chin tips upwards, directing you, “C’mere.”

Something’s brewing, once Dad vacates the vicinity. Your forced proximity to Joel is newly palpable; Tonight’s different. You’re obedient, in approaching him. Joel doesn’t stop staring. The bottle’s neck is being strangled, under your dominant hand. You can’t completely ward off an image of taking him into your palm.

Your minimal passage to his barstool seemed slow-motioned, almost. You’re not sure. Time’s just apparently lengthier, under Joel’s browned gaze.

Joel grunts, fingering his carabiner of keys, attempting to sift out his bottle opener keychain, “You playin’ Michael Meyers, ‘gain? ‘Round one night, only?”

You amusedly scoff, “Keepin’ track?”

Joel shrugs, “Eight days, in eight years.”

You’re genuinely surprised that Joel’s noted your absence. Maybe, Dad revealed that specific number, correlating to your sparse appearances in Austin; Well, it could’ve been that Dad mentioned to Joel about how since your high school’s graduation, you’ve only managed to visit home yearly. That’s just basic math. Right?

You stammer, “Uh huh. ‘S my favorite holiday.”

Joel hums, before abruptly wrapping his calloused palm around the entirety of your hand and the beer bottle’s width, “Hm. ‘N that your favorite beer?”

You’re momentarily silent, muted by Joel’s warmth. A sizable hand, roughened from decades of hard labor. The tips of his delectably thick fingers begin tightening at your wrist, securing his hold as he’s standing himself up.

Even fully seated, Joel’s intimidating in size. Him standing toe-to-toe with you? That’s another story. His construction boots are weathered and worn; They would be comically large, in comparison to your measly-sized sneakers, but nothing’s funny about Joel Miller’s body mere inches from yours.

You reply by mustering an eager nod; And, whether that’s in response to Joel’s prior question pertaining your liking of the beer, or merely an approval of his nearness to you? You haven’t decided.

Joel rasps, “Anythin’ else?” He’s pulling your combined hands downward, to his waist. The carabiner’s remained attached to his belt’s loop, “That ‘ya favor?”

You’re struggling to think of something witty to retort. Because, the frayed seam of Joel’s zipper is right there. He’s deftly notching the bottle’s cap inside of the opener’s teeth; The beer crisply hisses, releasing any contained pressure.

Joel whispers, “What, darlin’? Bat got your tongue?”

You defeatedly laugh, “Somethin’ like that.”

He grins, carefully releasing you, “Taste it.”

You harshly gulp, “S–Sorry? Oh, right. T–The beer.”

Joel agrees, “That’s right.” Then, darkly teases, “Y’know, that pretty mind ‘a yours is boundin’ for the gutter.”

He crosses his arms against his broad chest, the canvas fabric of his Carhartt jacket drawing taut. Joel’s now cocking his head, sending his gaze along the pathway from the glass vessel that you’re feebly holding, to the lower lip that you’re inadvertently biting; Daring you.

You’re feignedly bold, “Meet ‘ya there.”

You drink, even if it’s primarily to keep yourself from further stuttering. At first, it’s an adequate enough distraction; The alcohol’s frigid in temperature, soothing to the high-strung tendons of your throat, from the inside-out. Then, you’re curiously drawn to Joel’s own gulping throat, and that transient composure of yours is gone.

Joel’s devotedly watching you, his glare heady and sensual. His Adam’s apple jerks, moving atop the clenched muscles and corded veins of his neck. You’re somewhat tipping back, gathering your final mouthful, for now; You’ve drained three-fourths of it, by the time that you’ve halted your sipping.

Then, Joel’s thumb darts out, before smoothing against your glistening mouth. He drawls, “Got it lookin’ real good. Let’s see.”

You’re only narrowly audible, “Oh? Joel.”

Joel’s tongue, deliciously large and scrubbed pink, strokes his finger. He groans, “Mm. Ain’t sure. Need ‘t sample it from the source.”

You inwardly whimper, “Yeah?”

You’re foolishly tempted to extend him the ambered bottle itself, because surely Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend, would identify that as the ‘source’. Not your parted, wanting lips. Like Joel’s read your hesitant mind, he reassuringly pins your hands behind your back, easily dismissing the beer; A singular hand of his own, dwarfing the pair of your wrists.

Joel’s ghosting your lips, “Yeah.”

For good measure, Joel lightly moans, sucking his dampened digit. Humming around the pumpkin spiced suds, lapping up any residual taste from his finger. Arms restrained, spine straightened; Your chest’s rising urgently.

Joel’s own chest, delicately hairy below his threadbare t-shirt, is an odd inch away. A desperate heat’s begun permeating your lower abdomen; Achingly unfurling, taking up residency in your cunt.

Of course, it’s then that Dad’s barrelling over, having withdrawn from his nearby office, “Sorry ‘bout that, kid. Get ‘er open?”

You’re coughing out, “Y–Yep.” Then, “Thanks, Joel.”

Dropping your wrists, Joel winks, “Oh. ‘M pleasure.”

Your incriminating closeness to Joel goes unrecognized by Dad; Seeing as, Joel’s wide shoulders completely obscure you from view.

Dad sighs, “Gee, there ain’t no escapin’ this shiplap.”

Joel immediately laughs, casually reclaiming his prior barstool. The jarring segue from Joel’s flirting with you, to his joking with Dad, is absolutely disorientating. You’re fidgeting, repeatedly and silently tapping your foot. You can’t do Joel here; You’ll settle for doing last-minute Halloween preparations.

You blurt, “Goin’ to start organizin’ the candy. ‘S all in the garage, Dad?”

Dad assuredly nods, “Sure is. ‘Cept these.” He chuckles, gathering the forgotten wrappers from his earlier ‘protein break’ with Joel.

You remind him, “Don’t forget to refill the fog tanks.”

Dad, who seemingly had forgotten, regretfully snaps his fingers, “What would I do without ‘ya?” He’s bragging to Joel, “Look at ‘er.”

Joel agreeably nods. Eyeing you, “Good girl.”

Because, Dad and Joel are career contractors, who are simultaneously life-long friends and next-door neighbors, it’s only right that they’ve done an elaborate, joint Halloween for three decades; Locally dubbed the ‘Construction Fright’.

A (questionably) age-appropriate spread of horror, featuring thrifted tools that bludgeon and dismember an assortment of plastic skeletons. Hard hats, faux-bloodied and stabbed with rusted nails. Construction tape, riddled in spiderwebs.

A half-dozen, battered wheelbarrows, brimming with chocolate candies; Three brown ones, carrying Hershey’s, Rolo, and Tootsie Roll. Three orange ones, containing every imaginable variant of Reese’s.

You’ve already been working for nearly an hour; Arranging the color-coordinated barrows of candy. You’re jamming the recycling bin’s lid shut, overtop the cardboard and plastic wrappings of king-sized bars, when the entry door’s opened.

Dad’s entering the garage, “Sun’s settin’ soon, kid. ‘Oughta get dressed.” He lazily squeezes you in an impromptu side-hug, “Thanks, for helpin’.”

You breathily sigh, “Mhm. Oh, I need ‘t light the Jack-O-Lanterns.”

Joel appears, insisting, “Go on, darlin’. I’ll get ‘em sweatin’ for ‘ya.”

You’re thinking, ‘That’s ridiculously slutty of him to say’, when Joel continues, this time addressing Dad, “Hey. Phone’s ringin’ over ‘gain.”

Dad sighs, “Got ‘t be kiddin’ me.” Then, grumbles, “Sure hopin’ it’s Ghostface.” He grins, lightly pinching your elbow.

You giggle, “C’mon. She can’t be that bad.”

Dad shrugs, smiling before swiftly jogging up the garage’s concrete steps; When Dad’s fully retreated inside, and the door’s naturally swung shut, Joel doesn’t waste any time pinning your body against it.

Joel whispers, “Bet ‘ya find that this pussy’s wet ‘f me, when you’re undressin’ it.” His jeaned, muscular thigh’s nudging your legs ajar.

You airily groan, “P–Please. Fuckin’ kiss me.”

Joel grins, wedging his ample thigh’s sturdy surface against your beating cunt. He kisses you; Joel Miller fuckin’ kisses you. He’s grabbing your face, thumbing your cheekbones. His lengthy fingers, scraping your skull.

His tongue’s deeply delving, eagerly exploring your mouth’s every crevasse. You can’t breathe efficiently or think coherently. Everything’s Joel. His graying beard, raking your chin; A woodsy scent, like that of the hardware store’s lumber aisles, exuding from his clothing.

You’re moaning, “Ngh.” Then, ripping at the silvery hair that’s curling against the nape of his sun-freckled neck, “More.”

Joel’s grunting, “Fuck. Need ‘t stop.” He can’t stop, and sucks your bottom lip, once more. Then, “H–Hear ‘im? He’s gainin’ on us.”

Sure enough, Dad’s approaching. It’s damn-near impossible to quit rutting along Joel’s denimed, upper leg. You’re whining, “Need ‘ya.”

Joel’s panting, “T–Tonight, darlin’.” He arousingly whispers, “All night. When the porch light’s out, sneak over.” Then, darker and deeper, “Repeat it.”

You repeat, “Tonight. When the porch light’s out, sneak over.”

You’re admittedly distracted, during the evening’s trick-or-treating segment. You understand that nothing’s allowed to appear awry around Dad, but Joel’s playing casual too well. You shouldn’t overthink, but it’s torturous; That he’s apparently unaffected. Drinking with Dad and Tommy. Never really staring at you.

Joel’s (conveniently) costumed as himself every Halloween, but himself during working hours; A leathered tool belt, cinching his tender waist. A backwards Filson hat, tamping his unkempt curls. His dirtiest ‘white’ t-shirt; The neckline’s absurdly tattered and torn, an array of holes displaying his body’s coarse hair.

Midland’s country cover of ‘Wicked Game’ is emitting from neighboring speakers. You can’t resist likening the song’s drumming pattern to your own heart’s pulsating rhythm; Yearning for Joel’s attention. Then, Dad’s whistling for your attention.

Dad’s pointing, “Look, kid. Your ‘ol boyfriend, Nick. He’s fuckin’ Ghostface.” Dad humorously roars, standing, “See ‘im? H–Hold on.”

You’re avidly protesting, but Dad’s already approaching Nick, who’s not wearing, but holding his hooded mask; Fingers cupping the elongated, rubbery chin. There’s nothing inherently wrong about him; He (morally) should be your holiday hook-up, not your dad’s best friend. It’s too bad.

Joel snipes, “Dick?”

You tut, “It’s Nick.”

Joel’s feigning understanding, “Oh, Prick.”

You’re unsure what’s initiated this potent sexual tension, but it’s consumed your every thought this Halloween; While, Joel’s every word is loaded. His irritated sarcasm’s gunned your way. Any bickering’s uncommon, for the pair of you. You’re hoping that Tommy’s too busy proffering candy to notice.

Dad’s returned, towing Nick, “Weren’t we just talkin’ ‘bout him, kid? So funny.” Dad, and his dorky penchant for inside-jokes.

Nick cluelessly smiles, “Hi, you.”

You politely reply, “Hi, yourself.”

Nick’s extending his hand, summoning you from your designated seat, “Got ‘t see this costume.” Then, he’s declaring you, “Stunning.”

You’re incredulously laughing, “They’re bloodied overalls.”

Nick grins, persisting, “Love ‘em. Also, this apron’s awesome.” He’s thumbing your accessory’s front, tracing the logo, “Carhartt girl, huh?”

You’re aiming to get under Joel’s skin with, “Scream girl, too.” You inspect Nick’s black robe, feeling his arm’s draping sleeve.

Oh, Joel Miller’s jealous. He’s rolling his earthy-toned eyes; Aggressively peeling his beer’s damp label, while instigating Dad, “Hearin’ this?”

Dad’s indifferent, shrugging. He’s always approved of Nick for you; He’s Texan, and plays Minor League Baseball. That’ll do it.

Nick’s pleading, “Let’s please walk ‘round, sweep the neighborhood?”

Joel snarks, “Hell. Reckon he’s recruitin’ for Neighborhood Watch?”

Nick’s nervously smiling, having not heard Joel’s dig, but surely hearing Dad and Tommy’s abrupt snickering.

You kindly respond, “Let’s. Love seein’ the decorations.”

It’s nine-thirty. Your street’s grown habitually sparse; Toddlers, having resigned to stringent bedtimes. Teens, having retreated to erupting parties.

You decipher Joel’s looming silhouette; His rocking chair’s creaking, upon the dimmed porch’s planks. A gleaming tumbler of (presumably) whiskey is resting against his crossed leg, the glass winking at you.

Joel’s dragging his index finger’s edge against his groomed mustache, thumbing his angrily tightened jaw. He rasps, “Ain’t walk ‘ya home?”

You’re ascending his porch’s tread, “Didn’t need that. Told ‘im so.” Then, untying your apron’s chaotic knot, “Uncross your leg, Joel.”

Joel’s pleasingly pliant; He warns, “That’s the only order that I’m takin’ tonight.” His lap’s deliciously spreading, “Get ‘t drawin’ the blinds.”

The anticipation’s wetting you. You’re immediately scampering along the porch’s perimeter, rolling down every privacy blind; Joel’s patiently swigging his auburn liquor. You whimper, “A–Anythin’ else?”

Joel’s rolling the wick of his adjacent kerosene lantern; Thrusting his opened lap, scrounging his Zippo lighter from an anterior pant pocket. His hand’s arousingly veined, while flicking the lighter’s flint wheel.

He belatedly replies, “Drop your apron. Undo your overalls.”

You’ve dropped the apron, and something’s spilling out from the largest pocket; Joel’s deeply exhaling, “Explain that.”

The lamp’s emitting faint light, fire illuminating his hardening expression. He’s so scarily sexy. You’re inching nearer, but Joel hoists his palm, stopping you.

You embarrassedly gulp, “N–Nick’s mask. Asked me ‘t hold it. He never wore it.”

Joel’s impatient, waving, “And?”

You’re tentatively unhooking your denimed straps, gently uttering, “W–Would ‘ya? Wear it?”

Joel’s mildly surprised, “Oh?” Deciding, “Bring it here. On your knees.”

You instantly kneel, before gathering up the discarded disguise using your teeth. You’re crawling to Joel, crossing the porch’s dully-lit surface. The bib upon your overalls undone; The garment’s buckling loops clinking.

Joel involuntarily moans, “Ngh. Dirty fuckin’ girl.” His index finger’s pumping from his balled up fist, signaling you.

Your pussy’s thumping, because of his commanding, curling digit. You’re itching to suck it. You need anything of Joel’s inside of you.

You’ve gradually reached Joel; You’re being caged in-between his lengthy legs. Joel forcibly pinches your face, removing the mask from your bite’s grasp. The item’s resultantly spat, against his abutted groin.

He’s astonished at the filthy sight, rustling, “How ‘bout that.” You’re resting on your haunches, while Joel praises, “Good girl.”

Joel’s abruptly leaning downward, before hungrily lifting your body’s entirety along his own. He’s immediately kissing you, sinking against the rocking chair’s curved spine; The porch’s cedar ground sighs, creakily duetting with Joel’s groans.

You’re practically siphoning the remnant whiskey from his tongue’s cushioned pad; Your mouth’s rabidly sucking, while your waist’s desperately grinding.

Joel’s bypassing your denimed, disoriented trousers; His palm’s greedily grasping your back’s arched column. His remaining arm, ladling your ass. Then, Joel’s effortlessly hauling your goosebumped figure upward; The rocking chair’s momentum being an assistant. The mask’s wedged in-between your upright bodies.

Joel breathes, “T–The lamp. Hang tight.” You’re licking Joel’s partially bearded throat; He’s briefly hunching, responsibly lowering the wick, consequently extinguishing the flame. Your quartet of limbs, wrapping his flexing torso.

You’re whispering, “You’re so big and strong, Joel.”

He amusedly sighs, “Yeah?” Promising, “Ain’t seen nothin’.”

Then, Joel’s roughly stamping your body against the front door’s exterior; His bulge swelling, pinning your pussy. The entry knob’s blindly twisted. Joel’s heavy-footed steps are reverberated, crunching his home’s metallic threshold.

First, Joel carelessly clears his entry way’s waist-heighted table. Juggling you, while his tanned arm’s sweeping everything off; A ceramic, coffee-stained mug of loose change’s completely shattered. Second, Joel harshly kicks his anterior door shut; There’s an impressive boot print, left behind.

Joel’s panting, “Tell me ‘t stop?”

You’re begging, “K–Keep goin’.”

He hums, “Hm. Need it, darlin’?” Joel’s hurriedly planting you upon the table’s cleared crest, kissing your nodding throat. Agreeing, “Yeah. You do.”

It’s dizzyingly hot; Joel gruffly ripping off your mussed overalls, easily tugging off your slip-on sneakers. He’s lobbing them across the room, away from the mess of coins and shards. You’re noticing the Ghostface mask, under his unmoving bicep.

Joel’s noticing you, “This what ‘ya want?” He’s hesitantly thumbing the mask’s gaping jaw. “Ain’t scared?”

You quietly say, “Like ‘t be scared.” You’re reaching upward, prying off his hat; His hair’s deliciously gray and tousled. “Here.”

Joel’s flinging his accessory away. Then, handing you the hooded, horror mask, “Go ‘head.” He warns, “Wearin’ it ‘till you’re comin’. Understand?”

You’re stroking his untidy hair, readying him, “Won’t be long.” You murmur, “S–Soppin’ for ‘ya.”

Joel’s grunting, “Fuck’s sake.” Kissing you, in-between threatening, “Filthy. ‘Oughta edge ‘ya. Talkin’ like that.”

He impatiently rings your wrists; You’re positioning the mask properly overhead. The draping fabric’s hitting Joel’s colossal shoulders.

Your pulse’s hammering, “Oh.”

The mask’s milky-colored expression, surveying you. Stark, against the setting of Joel’s unlighted home. His index finger’s impulsively traveling your body; Dragging over your bottom lip’s dampened flesh. Then, carnally downard, riding your throat. Fingering your jugular’s delicate divet. Hooking your undershirt’s airy collar.

Joel’s taunting, “Heart’s racin’.”

You’re anguishly rutting against his console table’s lacquered top. You need to be touched. You beg, “J–Joel. Oh, Joel.”

Joel’s eerily tilting his head, “Pussy’s racin’ like that, too?” Whispering, “Ain’t it?”

You’re deliriously horny, “Yes.”

He’s humming, “Hm. Shirt’s got ‘t go, first.” His unoccupied hand’s rummaging his hind pocket, while, “Reckon that my knife’ll work?”

You’re pleading, “C–Cut it off.”

Then, Joel’s brandishing his utility knife. The blade’s expertly flicked outward. He urges, “Try ‘t hold still.”

Joel Miller’s carving your fucking shirt; His blade’s blunt edge skimming your sternum. He’s effortlessly halved it, forging an impromptu vest. He’s instantaneously shoving the garment overtop your rigid shoulders.

The knife’s frigid handle brushes your tapered nipple; Joel’s awaiting permission, hovering your underwear’s waistline. You’re nodding, kneading his large shoulders. His finger’s hitching the material, before his blade’s cutting it.

Snipping the remaining side, Joel grunts, “Cunt need stuffin’?” He’s pocketing your saturated underwear and his retracted knife, “I know it’s wet ‘nough to take two fingers.”

You’ve been fantasizing about Joel entering you all Halloween. And, finally; He does. He’s groaning, “S–Swallowin’ both of ‘em. ‘Jus like that?”

Your angling head’s hitting the paneled wall. You’re obscenely squelching around his battering digits. You belatedly respond, “JoelJoelJoelJoel.”

Joel’s roughened wrist’s repeatedly rubbing your beating clit. You’re clenching speechlessly around him, innately meeting every re-entry. Your spine’s warming; Your stomach’s taut.

Your arousal’s watering his driving hand; His palm’s pooling. Joel’s incessantly steady. Praising, “Comin’ up. Doin’ good.”

You’re gasping, “There. Oh, right there.”

The instant that you’re coming, Joel’s yanking off his hindering mask. His beard’s patchy and sweaty. He grins, “Man ‘a my word.”

Then, Joel’s amused mouth’s pounding upon your own; He’s desperately inhaling your breaking moans. Licking your teeth’s underside.

You’re abundantly squirting, as Joel’s uncorking your cunt. Your spotting vision’s correcting leisurely. You’re languidly sighing; Breathing deeply.

He’s genuinely insane for drinking you from his cupped palm. Then, Joel’s mouthing his soggy fingers; Hitting knuckle. You’re blurting, “Need ‘t fuck.”

Joel’s arching his aging brow; Rasping, “Ask nicely.” Then, he’s towing your body overtop his broad shoulder. Spanking you, “Greedy fuckin’ girl.”

You’re nakedly suspended, Joel’s bicep rippling below your ass. He’s entering his living room; Carefully placing you across his cognac-colored sectional. You’re propping upon the chaise’s leathered cushions. You whine, “Please, Joel.”

Joel’s tutting, “Better’n that.”

You supply, “Pretty please?”

He’s gradually moving nearer; His denim-clad shins, butting the couch’s edge. Joel’s unhurriedly thumbing his belt’s loop, painfully prolonging his removing it. You’re wetting and writhing against his furniture’s fabric.

Joel’s unimpressed, “C’mon.”

Shedding his accessory; Working his zipper. His acting arm’s so freckled, tanned, veined. Joel’s yanking his t-shirt overhead, before subsequently revealing an appetizing, softened tummy. His happy trail’s graying and wiry.

You’re begging, “Joel. Please.”

He’s winking, “Good ‘nough.”

Every sound’s tantalizing; Joel’s boots and pants, thumping across the carpet. His bare, bulky thigh’s abruptly rubbing against your naked pussy; Then, Joel’s mirroring your body’s horizontal position. Mounting you.

Your arousal’s drenching his underwear’s front; His length’s largely tenting the humid material, “Beggin’ like that. Fuckin’ slut.”

You’re involuntarily panting, when Joel’s finally and fully undressed. His cock’s deliciously girthy. The tip’s engorged, reddened and seeping; Erecting far beyond his belly’s button.

You’re whimpering, “PleasePleasePlease.”

Joel grins, “Cunt’s quiverin’. Feelin’ that?”

You desperately nod, “Need you ‘t feel it.”

Joel’s immediately pistoning his fleshy waist; His cock’s knocking your cervix’s wall. His rough thrusting’s fastly inching your bodies upward, until your head’s rearing the sofa’s supple tailend.

He whispers, “Warm ‘nough?”

You gasp, “C–Cock’s perfect.”

Joel’s inaudibly responding; Ramming your hand, palming your pelvis. You’re feeling his cock, below your abdomen’s exterior. He’s interlocking your fingers; His own swallowing yours; Pressing. You’re practically tracing his bulbous, twitching tip.

He’s praising, “Takin’ me well.”

Joel’s bottoming-out, pounding steadily; His bloated, weighty balls welting your taint. Your clit’s puffing, from his pubic bone’s rhythmic route. Dementedly fucking you. You’re moaning, “Ah. F–Fuck.”

He murmurs, “Cunt’s gulpin’ me.” Joel’s hooking your knee’s underside, before lugging it overtop his broad shoulder’s slope, “Needy fuckin’ hole.”

You’re stammering, “Ngh. M–Mm. RightThereRightThere.”

Then, Joel’s angling deeper, differently; Laying his body’s robust weight against your languid, vertical leg. Your foot’s achingly surpassing your head. His chest hair’s graying and saturated; Scraping you.

Your pussy’s overwhelmingly spasming. Joel’s messily tonguing your nipple’s peak; His mustache’s prickling the sensitive skin. You’re tugging at his hair’s curling strands, “J–Joel. Close.”

Joel’s echoing your prior words, “Meet ‘ya there.”

You’re shockingly surprised, that Joel’s remembered the momentary retort; Your faux-bold response and pumpkin spiced alcohol. That’s it. You’re blindly coming. His cock’s densely brimming your contracting hole; Hammering you.

Your pussy’s pornographically sloshing. Joel whimpers, “A–’Atta girl. Drenchin’ it.” Then, “Comin’ inside. ‘M snipped. Yeah?”

You’re immediately kissing him. Palming his beard’s rugged stubble. Sucking his tongue’s pink pores; Tasting your arousal’s heady flavoring.

His climaxing moan’s roaring down your throat; Cum rapidly spurting, coating your cunt. You’re rubbing his rolling eye’s crinkled grooves. His forehead’s tanned and wrinkled. Joel’s especially gorgeous, while cumming hard.

You’re pouring, when Joel’s unplugging you. He’s breathlessly cursing, “Fuckin’ hot.” Standing, “Gettin’ towels. Need anythin’ else? Water?”

You’re beginning to respond, when Joel’s unexpectedly bending; Kissing you. You smile, tapping your bottom lip, “What’s that for?”

Joel’s embarrassedly pointing, toward the nearby microwave’s blinking clock. He explains, “Ten thirty-one on October thirty-first. ‘Dunno. Good luck? Make ‘a wish or somethin’.”

You’re actually dumbfounded, “Oh? You’re absurdly cute.”

Joel frowns, “Ain’t allowed ‘t call me that. ‘Specially while leakin’ my seed.” He’s nakedly turning, preparing to walk, “Water?”

You’re pulling Joel’s hand, “Wait. Want ‘t hear your wish.”

He gulps, “That… You’ll be visitin’ home on Thanksgivin’.”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #dbf!joel #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #smut #joel tlou #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #dbf!joel miller #joel miller age gap #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller x fem!reader #Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge

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harksness · 2 months ago

Note

She’s giving rich milf in this episode 😌

Like rich milf who’s kids you babysit and oh no her husband is not here and she needs to destress

BRO I WAS THINKING SOMETHING SO SIMILAR?? I GOTTA POP OFF ABT THIS ONE AND GET IT OUTTA MY SYSTEM

I was imagining a kinda Stacy's Mom situation pls help me im in shambles thinking about it 😭😭😭😭 just all the hot situations with milf agatha ugh 😭😭😭

ok some nsfw under the cut

like... she's your best friends mom... and you make any excuse you can to be around her. oh no you need someone to mow the lawn?? yes ma'am anything for you. oh you need help cleaning the pool?? absolutely youll be there. you come over to hang out with her kid??? she's a little too flirty when youre alone. one day you come over when your friend isnt home and you know it, just to see what happens. she insists on inviting you inside. she gets you a snack, sits a little too close to you and starts playing with you hair before commenting on how pretty you are.... maybe things escalate and she fucks you on the counter. maybe you start coming over to stay the night with your friend more and more only to sneak off into her moms room at night. maybe she needs to keep her hand clamped over your mouth to keep you quiet while she fucks you, breathing hotly against your neck.

or babysitting for her akjjdjf you stay up with her when she gets home after the kids have gone to bed and let her vent to you. quickly shes sharing a little too much about how her husband doesnt satisfy her, esp with his long weekends away for work... and when she leans over and rests a hand on your thigh you lose your mind a little bit. you dont think it can be real when she confesses that shes had her eye on you for awhile. idk maybe all of her frustrations cause her to snap a lil bit and she starts greedily making out with you on the couch you fell asleep on waiting for her to get home. maybe she gets on her knees and begs to eat you out. shes so desperate for a taste, its all shes been able to think about since meeting you. shes so pent up and desperate, she needs to relieve some of her stress and youre just too tempting. youre so so so happy to help her. maybe it starts to become tradition for you to wait up for her, for the two of you to fuck on the couch when she gets home from work after a long day. imagine making out with her and snaking your hand up her pencil skirt... shes grabbing at you, legs spread wide as she moans and praises you and calls you her good girl.

idk maybe she starts giving you little gifts. an expensive necklace she thought would look pretty on you... a nice lingerie set she tells you to wear for her. a new laptop for college.

idk maybe she sorta becomes your sugar mommy

uggghhh pls im not gonna be able to stop thinking about this milf agatha is the source of all my horny thoughts

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness/reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness reader insert #harksness

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hypnogold · 1 month ago

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Maple Heights 1: The beginning

In the quiet suburban enclave of Maple Heights, everything seemed to have its place. The two-story homes, with their neatly trimmed hedges and spotless driveways, lined the streets in perfect symmetry. It was the kind of neighborhood where everyone waved hello, the lawns were always green, and the local church bells rang every Sunday without fail. Families gathered in the evenings for barbecues, the kids played soccer in the park, and the routine felt timeless.

But recently, something strange had started to creep into Maple Heights. It began with subtle changes that no one could quite put their finger on at first—little things, like men in the neighborhood who began dressing differently, speaking in more structured, rigid ways. Then, almost overnight, more and more of the men started showing up in identical black Fred Perry polos, each one with distinctive yellow details—a thin stripe running along the collar and cuffs, and the iconic laurel wreath logo embroidered on the chest. These weren't ordinary polos, though. The fabric had a glossy sheen to it, almost rubbery or latex-like, and they were always worn with the top button fastened tight.

The Evans family had been living in Maple Heights for a decade now. Paul and Greg, a married couple raising their three sons—Luke, 24; Michael, 22; and Tyler, 20—had chosen this neighborhood for its peaceful atmosphere and sense of community. Paul worked from home as a software engineer, while Greg ran the local bakery that everyone in town loved. The boys were a lively bunch, each with their own interests—Luke was the athlete, excelling in soccer; Michael spent his time writing music and drawing in his sketchbook; and Tyler, the tech whiz, could be found in his room building gadgets from parts he scavenged at local sales.

Their lives had always been filled with laughter and activity. Weekends meant cookouts in the backyard, bike rides around the block, and movie nights with popcorn on the couch. Church wasn’t a big part of their routine, but every Sunday, Greg made it a tradition to bake fresh pastries and drop them off at the church before opening the bakery. It was his way of staying connected with the community, even if they weren’t particularly religious.

But lately, both Paul and Greg had started noticing changes in the neighborhood, especially among the men. It started with Mr. Anderson, two doors down. He had always been friendly—waving to Greg every morning as he walked his dog past the bakery. But now, Mr. Anderson was different. His usual flannel shirts and casual jackets had been replaced by a sleek black Fred Perry polo with yellow details. Even stranger, the fabric seemed almost rubbery, the way it caught the light. And the way he buttoned it all the way to the top, stiffly and neatly—it made him look more formal than usual. His conversation was short, stilted, and somehow… off.

One evening, as the family gathered around the dinner table, Paul brought it up. “Has anyone else noticed how people around here are dressing differently?”

“Yeah,” Luke said with a frown. “A bunch of guys at soccer practice started wearing those weird black polos. I mean, they look cool, but... everyone’s wearing them, like, every day now.”

“They’re Fred Perry shirts, right? But they look... shiny,” Michael added, tapping his fingers against the table in thought. “And they all button them up to the top. It’s kinda weird, like they’re in some sort of uniform.”

“It’s not just the shirts,” Greg chimed in, shaking his head. “People are acting strange, too. Customers at the bakery used to chat, laugh, but now they come in, order the same thing, and barely make eye contact. They’re so... focused.”

Tyler, the youngest, leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. “I saw a bunch of them after church last week. They were all wearing those black polos. I thought maybe it was some church thing.”

Paul and Greg exchanged a concerned glance. “It’s like some sort of group,” Paul said, lowering his voice. “They’re all starting to look and act the same.”

Over the next few weeks, the changes in the neighborhood became more noticeable. More men—fathers, teachers, even some of the older teens—were now dressing in the same glossy black Fred Perry polos, the yellow details standing out sharply against the dark fabric. Each man wore his polo the same way, with the buttons done all the way up to the top, giving them a sleek, almost uniformed appearance. Even their mannerisms had changed—conversations were short, their expressions calm, almost vacant.

Luke noticed it most on his soccer team. At first, it was just a couple of the players who showed up to practice wearing the polos. But soon, half the team had swapped out their jerseys for the slick, rubbery Fred Perry shirts. And once they did, their personalities shifted. They became more focused, more intense, and eerily synchronized. Luke, who still wore his usual soccer gear, felt out of place. His teammates, now all dressed in the black polos with their yellow accents, would glance at him with strange looks, as if waiting for him to join them.

“I’m not wearing one of those,” Luke said to his dads one night, slumping down on the couch. “They’re all acting weird, like they’re in some kind of club. And the coach is in on it, too. He wore one at the last game.”

“I’ve seen the same thing with my friends,” Michael added. “They’re always wearing those shirts now, and it’s like they don’t talk about anything else. It’s not like them.”

Greg sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Even the customers at the bakery... I’ve noticed more of them wearing the polos. They don’t smile, they just take their coffee and leave. And today, one of them asked if I wanted to come to some gathering after church this Sunday.”

“That’s the second time we’ve heard about that,” Paul said, frowning. “Tyler, you said you saw them after church too, right?”

Tyler nodded, his eyes wide. “Yeah, they were all standing around talking after the service. But they weren’t really talking like normal. It was like they were all... rehearsed.”

Greg shivered. “I don’t like this.”

That Sunday, Paul decided to see for himself what was going on. After the church service, while Greg was delivering his pastries, Paul slipped into the side area of the church where the men were gathering. As he stood at the back of the room, he watched them closely. Every man was dressed in the same black Fred Perry polo, the yellow details gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Their shirts were perfectly buttoned up to the top, their expressions calm and focused as they listened to the man leading the meeting. His polo looked newer, glossier than the others, and his voice was firm but soothing as he talked about the “importance of unity” and “the future of Maple Heights.”

It was more than just a social group. This was something bigger, something that was spreading.

When Paul got home, he told Greg everything. “It’s not just the shirts,” he said, pacing the living room. “It’s like they’re all part of some bigger plan. They’re getting more men to join them. It’s like the whole neighborhood is changing.”

Over the next few weeks, the transformation continued to spread. Luke’s soccer team was almost fully converted, the boys showing up to practice in their glossy Fred Perry polos, barely speaking to anyone who wasn’t wearing one. Michael’s friends had stopped hanging out altogether, and whenever he saw them, they were dressed in the same shirts, their conversations short and emotionless. Even Tyler’s teachers had begun to show up to class wearing the same outfits.

One afternoon, Greg came home from the bakery with a tight look on his face. He held up a Fred Perry polo—glossy black with the yellow logo and details—and tossed it on the kitchen table.

“They gave this to me today,” Greg said quietly. “They said it’s time for me to ‘fit in.’”

Paul stared at the shirt, his stomach twisting. “We need to figure out what’s really going on, before it’s too late.”

But deep down, they knew it was already spreading faster than they could stop it. Maple Heights was changing, and it wouldn’t be long before the entire neighborhood was transformed, one slick black polo at a time.

The next week...

Luke stood on the edge of the soccer field, his cleats digging into the grass as he stared out at his teammates, all of whom were already dressed in their glossy black Fred Perry polos. Their yellow-detailed collars were buttoned up tightly to the top, and the sheen of the shirts gleamed unnaturally in the late afternoon sun. He shifted uncomfortably in his old practice jersey, the only one left who hadn’t made the switch.

Over the past few weeks, more and more of his teammates had started showing up to practice in the strange uniforms. At first, it was just a few of the guys, but now, every single one of them wore the latex-like black polo. Coach had been pushing them harder too, but in a way that was unnerving. The drills were more intense, more synchronized. The team barely spoke to each other anymore, their conversations replaced by curt instructions and short exchanges.

Luke felt the pressure mounting every time he stepped onto the field. He knew the others noticed that he was the last one holding out. His friends, or who they used to be, barely made eye contact with him anymore. They’d glance his way with strange, expectant looks, as if waiting for him to join them, to give in.

As practice started, Luke could feel the weight of their eyes on him. He jogged through the drills, but something felt wrong. The usual energy of the game was gone, replaced by an eerie, robotic efficiency. His teammates moved in perfect unison, their movements mechanical, their expressions blank but focused. And all the while, Luke couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching him—waiting for him to fall in line.

“Luke!” Coach’s voice boomed across the field, pulling him from his thoughts. “Come here.”

Luke jogged over, his heart pounding. Coach stood on the sidelines, his own black Fred Perry polo perfectly buttoned, the yellow details gleaming in the sun. He had been wearing the shirt for a few weeks now, and ever since then, practice had felt more like a drill session than a sport. The coach’s eyes locked onto Luke’s, calm but intense.

“You’re the last one,” Coach said, not unkindly, but with a firmness that sent a chill down Luke’s spine.

Luke glanced at his teammates, all of them standing in formation, watching silently. “Coach, I’m just not sure about the mask. I don’t really feel like I need to wear it,” Luke said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Coach smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not about the mask, Luke. It’s about unity. The team needs to be united—on and off the field. You’ve seen how well we’ve been playing lately. We’re stronger, more focused.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at his teammates, all eerily still, waiting. He didn’t want to admit it, but there had been something different about their games recently. They were winning, dominating even. But it didn’t feel like a team anymore—it felt like something else, something controlled.

“I just don’t think it’s for me, Coach,” Luke said, though his voice faltered. The pressure was mounting, and deep down, he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

Coach’s smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet authority. “It’s time, Luke. You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Before Luke could respond, one of his teammates stepped forward, holding out a neatly folded black Fred Perry polo, the yellow details catching the light. Luke stared at the shirt, his stomach turning. The fabric looked slick, shiny, almost alive, and the thought of putting it on made his skin crawl.

The teammate, a boy who had once been Luke’s best friend, met his gaze, his expression blank but somehow expectant. “Come on, man,” he said softly, his voice calm but emotionless. “It’s just a shirt.”

But it wasn’t just a shirt, and Luke knew it. It was something more. The moment he put it on, he would no longer be himself. He would become just like them—another piece of the machine.

Luke stood frozen, his mind racing. He thought of his family, of his dads and his brothers, and how hard they were trying to resist the changes sweeping through the neighborhood. He didn’t want to give in, but here, on the field, surrounded by his teammates and Coach, he realized he was alone. There was no escape.

Coach stepped forward, his hand resting heavily on Luke’s shoulder. “You’re part of this team, Luke. You need to be like the rest of us.”

Luke swallowed hard, his throat dry. He reached out, his hand shaking slightly as he took the shirt from his teammate. The fabric felt slick and cold against his fingers, heavier than he expected. His mind screamed at him to stop, to throw the shirt away and run, but his body didn’t listen.

Slowly, he pulled the black Fred Perry polo over his head. The latex-like fabric clung to his skin, tightening around him as if it had a will of its own. He adjusted the yellow-detailed collar, his fingers trembling as he buttoned it all the way to the top. The moment the last button clicked into place, a strange warmth spread through him, and his thoughts began to blur.

His mind felt foggy, distant. The resistance he had clung to for so long started to slip away. His shoulders relaxed, and for the first time, he looked at his teammates not with fear or hesitation, but with calm acceptance. The shirt fit perfectly, and for a moment, Luke wondered why he had ever resisted in the first place.

Coach smiled, patting him on the back. “Good. Now you’re part of the team, put this on.”

Luke nodded slowly, his mind quiet. He took his place among his teammates, their faces no longer strange or unsettling, but familiar—like they had always been. The game started again, and this time, Luke moved with them in perfect unison, every step, every movement synchronized.

As the sun set over the soccer field, the last of Luke’s resistance faded into the background, replaced by the quiet calm of uniformity. He was no longer an outsider. He was one of them now.

After practice, Luke walked home in silence, the cool evening air brushing against his face. His mind felt strangely still, as if the buzzing thoughts he had carried all day had finally quieted. The black Fred Perry polo with its glossy sheen and yellow details clung snugly to his body, and the weight of it no longer felt strange—it felt… right. The top button was fastened tight, and though he had been uncomfortable with it at first, now it felt natural, like it was exactly where it should be.

Luke walked home from practice, the full-face rubber gas mask still tightly fitted over his head. The dark, glossy material gleamed faintly under the streetlights as he passed through the quiet, suburban streets of Maple Heights. The once-familiar neighborhood now felt distant, his breathing slow and controlled through the mask’s filters, muffling the sounds around him.

His black Fred Perry polo, with its yellow details and buttoned-up collar, clung to him as he walked, the rubber of the mask and the shirt making him feel as though he was locked into something permanent. Each step felt heavy, yet he was calm. His mind was quiet now, his thoughts no longer his own.

As he approached his house, he saw the warm glow of the kitchen lights through the window. For a moment, something stirred inside him—an echo of the boy he used to be, the Luke who would come home to his dads, joke with his brothers, and feel like himself. But the mask pressed firmly against his face, silencing those thoughts. He reached for the door, knowing they would see him like this.

When he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of home hit him, but it felt different. His dads, Greg and Paul, turned from the kitchen counter, their faces going pale as they saw him standing there, dressed in the glossy black polo and the full-face rubber mask.

“Luke?” Greg’s voice was filled with shock and concern, but Luke didn’t respond. He simply stood there, the mask concealing any expression, the filters hissing softly with each breath.

Paul stepped forward, his voice shaky. “Take it off, son. You don’t have to wear that.”

But Luke didn’t move. The mask stayed on, its grip on him firm, the strange calm washing over him once again. He was home, but he wasn’t the same anymore. And as his dads stared at him in disbelief, Luke knew that the boy they once knew was slipping away.

#male transformation #hypnotised #fred perry #gas mask #shiny #ai generated #rubber men

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softpascalito · 5 months ago

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I Baby, I'm Your National Anthem I 2003!DBF!Joel Miller I

Summary: You are back from college for the summer and your family happens to throw the annual Fourth of July Barbecue for your street. Your next-door neighbor and dad's best friend Joel Miller is invited—and you decide to wear a bold outfit. It definitely catches his attention.

Pairing: 2003!DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 3.3k Tags: Explicit, Smut, Age Difference, Pre-Cordyceps Outbreak, Fourth of July, DBF!Joel, Fingering, P in V Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Pool Sex, Unsafe Sex, Dirty Talk, Biting, Teasing, Making Out, Outdoor Sex, Alcohol (like two beers)

AO3 LINK // Masterlist

notes: i saw one (1) tiktok with this fucking glorious fourth of july outfit and somehow this happened. consider this fanfic to be my application to be invited to your 4th of july party next year (yes, you specifically). enjoy the filth <3 (also highly recommend listening to national anthem by lana while reading!)

The sound of the sprinklers rotating on the lawn in front of your window and the slamming of a truck door alerted you that your father was back with the last minute groceries. You quickly got up, heading out to the driveway to help carry the brown bags.

“Take those first, it’s ice cream for the kids. Don’t want it melting,” he advised as he busied himself with grabbing the cooler off the truck bed, disappearing towards the garden, the fence running along it already decorated with red, white and blue, matching the tablecloths and flags hung from the large tree in your backyard to the porch.

You had just got back from college for the summer and had been more than ready to enjoy your time off as you usually did, by lounging in the sun behind your house or going for a swim in the neighbor’s pool. The honeymoon phase of holidays, before they turned into the unavoidable boredom that followed once all reunions had been completed and, at the same time, reminded you precisely why you’d gotten out of the small neighborhood in Austin at your first chance.

The bag you’d brought home was still on the floor in your room, barely half unpacked. Sitting on top of it was the outfit you had picked out weeks ago—at the precise moment your father had called to let you know it was your family's turn to host your street's traditional barbecue on the Fourth of July.

A blue and white checkered bikini, the bottoms made of much less fabric than you’d ever seen sold in Austin. A pair of shorts that seemed barely bigger, cut low enough to give a peak of the set below—and a crop top, the words ‘Miss America’ splayed across your chest in curved, red letters, complete with two red bows attached to the straps. You were certain that, if your father still had a say in your clothing choices, this would not go—and that was precisely why it was perfect. If your father hated it, so would his best friend.

Joel Miller had been little more than your kind next-door neighbor for years—until you’d come back from college for your first break. Suddenly, you questioned how for years you’d been able to miss the way his shirt strained over his broad shoulders or the small grunts that left him when he was tinkering with his truck in the driveway.

You ignored your father’s muttered comments about your outfit as you returned to the kitchen a few minutes later and busied yourself with the last few preparations.

“It’s what all the girls at college wear.” He shook his head but stayed quiet.

Joel and Sarah arrived a little later than the other guests, greeting your father as they stepped into the backyard and you caught something about a mess-up at the construction site as the two men embraced. You turned your attention towards Sarah, who excitedly asked your opinion about her new sneakers and didn’t run off to join the other kids playing football at the far end of the backyard until you reassured her that they were indeed very cool, throwing in a comment about how you’d seen someone at University wear them—making her positively beam.

You turned towards the house just in time to see Joel’s eyes land on you. Oh boy.

His gaze trailed down your body, tracing your curves, no doubt taking in the shape of your body. It took him a few moments to snap out of it, shifting as his gaze returned to your face before he hesitantly crossed the space between you. The polite, strained expression on his face told you exactly how hard he was trying to keep his eyes from wandering.

“Back from college then?” he asked, clearly keeping the conversation light. Though you did like to think, unlike many others, that he actually wanted to know. That he cared.

“For the summer,” you responded, smiling up at him innocently, still aware of his eyes on you.

“How d’you like it?” Joel placed a hand on his hip, looking at you expectantly.

“It's good. A little exhausting sometimes. Lots of studying.” You grinned as you saw him raise a brow.

“Studying, eh?” There was something twinkling in his eyes, a certain sense of mischief you hadn't seen in him before. “That what all the kids do up there these days?”

“That and a few parties,” you admitted with a small smirk. “You know, finding the balance of life. But college boys are—”

Both your heads flew around as you heard your dad call your name and for a second, your heart felt like it stopped. You'd wanted to tease Joel by talking about college boys, not reveal your love life to your father. But clearly, he hadn't heard. “Get Joel a beer, will you?”

Joel opened his mouth—but then he shook his head. His voice sounded strained as he spoke. “Beer sounds good.”

You led him towards the cooler, reaching down to grab two bottles, handing one to him. A bemused smile played around his lips as he nodded towards the bottle still clutched in your hand. “Your old man letting you sneak beers?”

“He doesn't have to,” you said with a satisfied smirk, grabbing the bottle opener and handing it to him. “Turned twenty-one this spring.”

You could see Joel's hand shaking slightly as he opened his beer before motioning for you to give him yours and doing the same for you. “Quite the gentleman,” you mumbled, taking in the way his green flannel sat a bit too tight around his broad chest.

“You don't know half of it.”

During the afternoon, the light blue sky seemed to be celebrating the holiday as much as the people below it. The barbecue was fired up by your father, the other fathers gathering around as he explained the new, improved features, making you roll your eyes. You drifted back and forth between the adults and the children, joining the latter for a few rounds of football until the sun began to set.

Joel kept his distance and, with a slightly heavy heart, you followed his lead. He was rather quiet but still, you could see his eyes flying towards you occasionally. You began to wonder if you had miscalculated.

When the salad bowl ran low for the second time, you volunteered yourself to head inside to refill it. You had barely placed it on the kitchen counter when you felt him standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the dark wood. His eyes trailed down your form more slowly than before, leaving no doubt in your mind that the outfit had fulfilled its purpose of getting his attention.

“Quite a party.” His gaze was still not meeting yours, lingering on your chest.

“Wait until they bring out the fireworks. My dad bought enough to light up the whole street.” Your voice shook slightly as you spoke.

Joel shook his head, a tiny smile forming on his face as he stepped forward. “Ain’t what I meant.” His hand brushed over your thigh and you sent an anxious glimpse out the window, making sure that you weren't in anyone's line of sight.

“It's a pretty bikini,” Joel mumbled, lowering his voice. His thumb was brushing over the checkered fabric where it peeked out from under your shorts. “Shame you aren't taking a swim in it.”

An involuntary breath left your throat as you felt his free hand coming up to your face, nudging your chin up slightly. You couldn't remember ever being so close to him, your brain going into overdrive as it tried to figure out which part of his face to commit to memory first. Desire burned in your core brighter than ever and between that and the beer possibly clouding your judgment, you bit your lip, sending the man in front of you a shy smile and yet abandoning all care. You'd be back to college in a few weeks. If this went wrong, you'd never have to speak to him again.

“Is that an offer?”

“Damn sure is, darling,” Joel mused, his hand squeezing your hip and you let out a small breath of relief.

You thanked all your lucky stars for the architect who had built your house some 50 years ago—and had clearly taken into account that you would one day need to sneak out the back door with your dads best friend—preferably without being seen. It faced towards the high fence that separated your yard from the Miller’s, making it feel almost too easy for the two of you to sneak off.

You hadn’t even reached the pool when you dropped your shirt and pants to the floor, making Joel whistle lowly behind you. “I was right. It is a fucking pretty bikini.” You felt your cheeks flush at the compliment, his eyes still raking over your body as his clothes joined yours on the floor, leaving him in only his boxers.

You’d seen him shirtless a few times. When you'd brought over something you had borrowed and he was in the pool or the one time you'd been over to help Sarah with some homework and he'd just gotten out of the shower, a beige towel wrapped around his waist. You’d felt like some fucking creep when you had recalled the sight of his naked chest, and the trail of hair leading further down, at night and slipped a hand between your own thighs, thinking that you stood no chance with the man who was frequently whispered about by the single ladies of the neighbourhood, despite rarely showing interest in them.

You lowered yourself into the water and felt it ripple around you as Joel followed. The next moment, he was beside you, pushing you towards the other edge of the pool, strong arms caging you in on either side. You could still hear the party going on behind the fence, voices and music, the smell of barbecue drifting through the air. And a few lights—tiny holes in the fence allowing them to travel through, the warm glow reflecting on the surface of the pool.

Joel growled as he nipped at your skin, hard enough that you already knew it'd leave marks. Good.

“Can't let you go back to college without something to remind you of me,” he muttered and you sucked in a breath in response, the words going straight to your core. His teeth scraped over the notch between your collarbones and you felt a moan begin to travel up your throat. Before it could escape however, Joel's hand clasped firmly over your mouth, forcing you to breathe through your nose as your eyes widened slightly.

“Don't want your dad hearing us, do you?” Joel muttered and indeed you could hear the voice of your father booming through the night air as he delivered some punchline to a no doubt stupid joke. You shook your head softly and that seemed to satisfy Joel because the next moment, his hand left your mouth and began to slide down your body, trailing over it the same way his eyes had earlier tonight. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his index finger circle drawing shapes on your hip before slipping under your bikini, brushing past your clit and settling between your folds.

“Hard to tell in here but feels like you’re wet for me,” Joel muttered with a grin and you bit your lip, voice hoarse as you tried to keep quiet.

“Took you long enough to notice,” you teased—and the reaction was immediate. He pushed you further against the side of the pool, trapping you with his broad body.

“Watch it.” His index finger moved upwards—and the next moment, your walls were clenching around it, already begging for more. You felt a second finger drawing large circles around your clit again—when a noise on the other side of the fence made both of you pause, heads swiveling around just in time to see a football land on the lawn.

He cursed under his breath, pushing himself off you and dragging you to the end of the pool least visibly from the house. The deck was raised high enough above the water that if you squeezed yourself against the wall, you just may not be seen—especially in the dark. Once he had pushed you into the corner, he was about to follow when your eyes widened. “Joel, the clothes,” you whispered in a panicked voice.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath and crossed the pool in a few strokes, climbing back onto the porch. You watched, holding your breath, as he looked around, finally locating two towels and throwing one over the mixed pile of clothes and wrapping the other around his waist. No second too late, because the next moment one of the men who had marveled at your dads new barbecue earlier strode over the lawn. “Miller, hey! What’re you doing out here?”

Even in the water, you felt your knees go weak. Joel was dripping wet, his cheeks flushed—your only hope was that the other man was either too drunk or too stupid to realize what was happening.

“Heard something thud against the wall.” You heard Joel respond. “Was just taking a shower, Tony spilled his beer all over my shirt earlier.”

The other man let out a small laugh. “Yeah, he’s wasted.” You couldn't see him from where you were standing but you heard him pick up the ball as an idea popped into your head. You shifted slightly, knowing your movement would be visible to Joel, who was still in your sight—and after a moment, you held up your bikini bottoms, smiling innocently. Joel's eyes flickered towards you for a split second—and even in the dark you could see his body tense, adjusting the towel around his waist as the veins on his neck bulged with restraint.

Footsteps told you the other man was leaving, until they paused again. His voice rang through the yard once more. To your horror, it was your name that filled the air. “Do you know where she went? Her father was looking for her I think.”

Joel's face twitched before he forced himself to smile. “No clue. Maybe calling a secret college boyfriend.”

He waited until the man's laughter had drifted away and joined with the noises of the party again before he dropped the towel, his cock straining at the fabric of his boxers.

As soon as he was back in the pool, he was upon you, cowering over you with a hard expression on his face, snatching the small piece of fabric from your hand. “Think it’s fucking funny?” He muttered, his eyes flying over your face.

The alcohol was definitely having an effect on you because you grinned, nodding weakly. “A little bit.”

Joel actually fucking growled at that.

He made short work of your bikini top, yanking it off to gather your breasts in his large hands, squeezing slightly. “That fucking mouth of yours, darling.”

“Should shut me up,” you muttered back and his eyes briefly searched yours before his mouth was on yours. Neither of you were gentle, much too impatient for soft kisses. His tongue slipped into your mouth, his teeth grazed over your lip and you could feel the vibrations of his groans traveling right from his throat into yours.

When he broke the kiss, you whined in protest, wrapping your own arms around him to pull him closer, making him groan as his still covered cock brushed against your stomach. “Goddamn, baby, you gonna let me fuck you?”

Joel didn't even flinch when you softly bit down on his earlobe. “Like you have to ask, Miller.”

His last name seemed to do as much to him as it did to you because his hands briefly left your sides to yank his boxers down, throwing them carelessly onto the lawn behind you. “Get your ass up here,” he commanded as he hoisted you up and you automatically wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his cock nudge at your entrance.

Joel swallowed and you could see him struggling to restrain himself. “Do you want me to go and get-”

“Got it covered,” you said impatiently before he could even finish the sentence.

“You sure?” He asked again and you nodded impatiently. And then he was finally pushing his hips upwards, his cockhead parting your lips, requesting entrance. You let your body fall into his rhythm, sinking down on him, forcing a whimper from your throat.

You barely heard the shuffling behind the fence and the voices getting more muted as the party seemed to be moved towards the street, further away from you.

“It ain’t your first time, is it, sweetheart?” Joel suddenly piped up, watching your expression carefully and you could distinctly hear the note of concern in his voice. But you shook your head.

“Told you,” you breathed out. “College boys.”

“This gonna be better than any damn college boy,” Joel mumbled, a grunt leaving his throat as he began to thrust up into you properly, driving any worry out of your mind.

“You knew what you were doing to me tonight?” He muttered, causing you to shake your head despite the fact that you knew exactly, even planned, to do it to him. You wanted to give a snarky response, something smart, but you could barely think straight with his cock nestled so deep inside of you.

“Made me hard all throughout dinner, thinking about all the things i could do with you,” Joel answered his own question before changing his angle slightly, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “Fuck, doing so good for me, darling.”

“Joel—” you choked out, feeling the orgasm that had been lingering for what felt like forever now approaching rapidly. “Want you to come inside, please—”

His eyes darkened as he nodded. And then, suddenly a sparkling light reflected in his eyes—followed by a loud bang far above you. The fireworks had started.

It only took a few more thrusts and Joel's finger returning to your clit to send you rushing towards your orgasm, your fingernails scratching over his back so hard that you were certain you were not going to be the only one with something to remember tomorrow.

“Come on,” Joel edged you on. “Show me how pretty you look coming on my cock, baby.”

And you did, groaning as your body tensed, the feeling inside your stomach so similar to the exploding fireworks above, with Joel following suit, obeying your wish and spilling himself deep inside of you as you clung on to him, so content to finally, finally carry him so deep inside, the thought traveling right to your core again as he gathered you in his arms, both of you tilting your heads back enough to watch the sky above sparkle in different colors.

“Happy fourth, Joel.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Happy fucking fourth, darling.”

He gathered the clothes in his arms, whispering promises and praise as he led you up the stairs to his bathroom, having insisted to at least get you clean before letting you sneak back home. His hands brushed over your naked skin, causing you to raise a brow. “I thought we were gonna take a shower?” “Oh, I'm not nearly done with you,” Joel muttered in your ear, causing you to smirk. You reached for your clothes but Joel only gave a small tut. “You’ll get them back. Just not—” He raised the checkered bikini bottom. “This. I’m keeping that.”

thank you for reading! every time you leave a comment, a firework explodes over joel miller fucking in a pool btw :)

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starrystevie · 1 year ago

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it was all supposed to be a joke. they were supposed to be in steve’s backyard with all their friends and family in shitty lawn chairs, holding cans of budweiser and jamming to whatever song eddie was in the mood for that day blasting through the speakers. steve was supposed to be in front of them all in a tuxedo t-shirt and powder blue dress pants, flowers in his hair that had been teased to high heaven and dark black sunglasses to keep out the bright sun. that’s how they had planned it all those years ago when they’d been high and drunk and young and in love.

but somehow instead, the yard is full of flowers and benches that hopper and wayne put together with spare wood for everyone to sit on and there’s an archway at the end of the aisle and soft acoustic songs spilling gently out of the speakers. steve’s still at the front, that was always supposed to happen, but this time he’s wearing an actual tux, light cream with a boutonnière and everything, and his hair is pushed back just so. there’s no flowers in his hair and no sunglasses but it’s cloudy enough of a day where he doesn’t really need them anyway.

they weren't even supposed to do this. there wasn't supposed to be a grand entrance and a walk down the aisle, no flower girls or ring bearers or anything remotely traditional. but what started off as, "well, i wouldn't mind walking down the aisle," and "i think exchanging rings would be cool," and "who cares if it isn't legal, i'm going to marry you anyway damnit," turned into this beautiful day of friends and family and love.

robin’s standing beside him in a tux of her own, pinstripe grey donning a pocket boutonnière that matches nancy’s bouquet, with a few notecards in her hands. and speaking of nancy, she’s heading down the aisle in a flowing dress, and when her eyes catch robin’s, she crinkles her nose before blowing her a kiss. she stands opposite of steve as eddie's not-quite-bridesmaid and grips her bouquet tightly, her eyes never leaving robin's.

and then there's dustin. he's in a tux that matches steve's and he has his curls pushed back with probably too much gel and a tie that suzie got him for their 3rd anniversary. the best thing he's sporting, though, is the smile on his face and the ring box in his hand and the joy in his eyes as he looks out at the crowd. having him there as best man and smelling the cheap cologne he wears so he seems more grown up calms steve's ever beating heart enough to where he doesn't think he'll throw up from nerves anymore.

all of their loved ones are surrounding them in clothes steve’s never seen before but he couldn’t care at all what they’re wearing because they’re all smiling wide and bright at him. he catches himself rocking back and forth on his feet so he shakes out his hands and holds them behind his back to distract himself. his stomach is rolling with waves or butterflies and when he catches joyce's eye in the front row, she mimes taking in a deep breath which he instantly copies. the soft grin she sends in return tells him that he thinks it could actually work to settle him. mothers have that healing way about them.

he’s never been good with weddings, always fidgeting in a too tight suit his mom picked out, but he never thought he’d be this antsy at his own.

steve's just about to give up and sprint down the aisle to get eddie so they can run away together and leave nerves and or butterflies behind him, but then the music stops. he sees lucas changing out the tapes quickly, giving a thumbs up to mike who throws one to will who runs back behind the shed to where he knows eddie is waiting and when will pops his head back out to run back to his seat, it hits him.

he's getting married.

steve doesn't have time to think about it anymore than he already has been for the last 8 years because eddie's coming around the corner of the shed.

'here comes the sun' is playing out over the speakers, soft and perfect, and eddie's smiling, wide and beautiful, and steve can't help but mirror it back to him. the clouds overhead seem to hear them, hear the song and hear their hearts beating in time with each other, because as soon as eddie gets to the aisle, bright warm rays of sunlight peak out and make the rhinestones he demanded line the lapels of his own black tux shine like real diamonds.

steve stops breathing. he swears he does, and he knows his family are all feeling the same way. he can hear a few gasps, hears joyce muttering what she thinks is a silent, "oh my god," in hop's ear, and watches how wayne stands up just a bit straighter from his front row seat.

eddie glides down the aisle like the drama king he is, soaking in the looks from everyone they care about and soaking in the sun that seems to come out only for him. it's like the sun knows he's a star, too, and wants to come out to be with one of it's own. eddie's always been sunshine and starlight and a blinding thing to look at and take in. he's the light, steve's the moth, and a few clouds on their wedding day could never change it.

"well, that was insanely good timing," eddie whispers to steve once he reaches him. his grin softens and he brings up a hand to wipe gently at the tear tracks on steve's cheeks. "hi, baby."

and steve can do nothing but choke out a laugh, catching eddie's hand in his own so he press a kiss to his palm. he thinks he can feel eddie's heartbeat against his lips and, even if it's his brain playing tricks on him, he likes the sentiment that it brings. "i love you so fucking much."

it's eddie's turn to get teary-eyed and the sun glints off the tears that fall down his cheek before heading back behind the clouds, dotting quick-to-fade sparkles on his face like a wedding present.

steve kisses him. he can't help it. it's nothing but a fast press of lips, watery smile to watery smile, and everyone is cheering except for robin.

"hey! it's not time for that yet," she says with a pretend scowl, arms pressing to each of their chests to keep them apart. it's enough to leave nancy giggling where she stands behind eddie, her laugh like bells bouncing off of the trees surrounding them. "just give me like ten minutes and we'll have you married and you can kiss all you want then."

steve swears he can hear mike groan at that which cause him to grin which cause eddie to grin back and then they're holding hands like it's the only way to get through the next ten minutes. and it might just be the only way to get through it. knowing them, if they didn't hold on tight, one of them would make a move first and there'd be hands around waists and fingers tangled in hair and robin would hate them forever because she wouldn't get to do her speech.

it's after vows are shared, after rings are on fingers, after kisses are pressed to lips and cheeks and temples and hands and everything else they can quickly reach, that the two of them get some peace. everyone is inside eating snacks and drinking cheap champagne, and it goes unspoken that they're going to take some time for themselves. take some time to bask in their new maybe not-so-legally real but as real as could ever be in their hearts marriage.

they make their way, hand in hand like they've always been meant to do, to a table set up for them. eddie pops a bottle of champagne that they pass back and forth between themselves as they share cheesy smiles and champagne-laced kisses. and it's as they look into each other's eyes, fingers lacing so their rings clink softly against each other, that the sun peaks out to say hello once more.

#hi so this is the post from that poll i had going around for a bit #my friend got married last wekend and it was super cloudy but as soon she she came out to walk do the aisle to hear comes the sun #the sun came out and shone only on her i'm not even fucking joking #literally not a dry eye in the house when it happened #her now husband was like bent over crying it was so sweet #steddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie fluff #oh ps happy pride month to steddie

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bunnyhugs77 · 2 years ago

Text

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 & 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔

Pairing: environmentalist! jungkook x college student! reader

Series: 1/2

Word Count: 9.6k

Content Warning: practically cottage core, readers dog is a little ‘bitchy’ get it?, age gap (reader is 21, jungkook is 27), lots of nature, skinny dipping, reader is a tease, flowers as a love language, gardening, mutual pining, suggestive themes, tattooed! reader, pierced! reader, nerd talk, improper use of limes and honey, mentions of long-distance relationship, lots of plant-talk.

Other Content

A filthy make out sesh, food play?, soft dom! jk, manhandling, grinding, dry humping, big dick! jk, penetrative sex, jungkook trying his best to be a gentleman, sex during a thunderstorm, unprotected sex (don’t be like them).

Of all the months in the year, June was definitely your favourite. What wasn’t there to love? Finally digging up your shorts and bathing suits from the drawer they’d been abandoned in upon the arrival of September. Eating cool treats under the hot sun. Not to mention, the perfect weather. Not too hot that you can’t walk a meter without breaking a sweat but still warm enough to wear shorts.

Best of all, June was when you would drive 3 hours south to Somerset and stay with your parents for the summer. Your parents’ Somerset home was one of two that they owned but it was definitely their favourite. Why wouldn’t it be?

Somerset is a suburb that’s been abundantly blessed with beautiful forestry that shaded over a number of neighbourhoods including your own but not in a way that blocked out the sun. Because once those first hot rays of golden sunshine beamed down on the community, it was practically tradition for everyone to head down to the lake for a swim.

At the end of the summer is the Summer Palooza. There’s great music, even better food, swimming and all kinds of activities for people of all ages to enjoy. Once the chaos of the day passed, the night would be filled with lights, blankets and watching the fireworks light up the sky.

You were already smiling just from pulling up onto your parents’ driveway. You loved it here. If only Taffy felt the same way.

Taffy is the 8-month-old cairn terrier that you bought not long ago as you had gotten a little lonely during the holidays. The minute she became part of your life, you would never live to see a dull day again, nor a stress-free one at that.

When she wasn’t parading around the house with one of your boots in her mouth, she was digging up dirt anytime she had the chance.

This meant lots of running when you took her on walks, hoping the owners didn’t see your dog assault their lawn. You had given up on writing apology letters after the first seven incidents. Your hand was beginning to cramp.

Even though the two of you got along well most of the time, it was moments like these when your heads bashed. Some people couldn’t imagine not getting along with their own dogs. Meanwhile, you didn’t have that much difficulty when it came down to it.

“Don’t growl at me.” You bickered with the terrier who was locked behind the bars of her cage, but still, the sound of her objection scared you a little. “We’re going to stay here for the next three months, trust me, you’re going to love it.” You wondered if anyone could hear you talking to her as if she were an actual human. Was that weird?

Whatever, you didn’t care. She was just as petty, emotional and stubborn as a real human. She made that very clear when the first thing she did after being let out was run to the other side of the living room, far away from you.

“She’s just the cutest thing,” Your mom gushes as her eyes followed Taffy’s fluffy body as she was on the move around the house. “To you,” You mumbled under your breath as you eyed her wheat-coloured fur bounce in the wind as she hopped up the stairs.

You let yourself get comfortable in the soft cushions of your parents’ couch. You talked about your drive over, and how things were with Taffy which naturally led to you bringing up how many times you considered giving her away. Your father found it quite amusing but you weren’t laughing.

“It’s not funny dad. She doesn’t listen to me, and she’s ungrateful--” you stopped talking as you caught onto a shared look between your parents.

“What was that?” you point between them and they try to shrug it off.

“No no, what was that look you gave each other.” You insisted you picked on an exchange between them and would not rest until they came clean.

“Nothing! Just sounds like you found a dog who’s just like you.” you objected, swearing up and down that you were nothing alike. Suddenly you stopped your rant, realizing you were defending yourself against the comparison between you and your own dog.

You had a long drive up, maybe the fatigue was finally catching up to you. It must be since you were yawning for the 4th time in the last 15 minutes. You decided it was time for a ‘nap’.

It was that same nap that consumed you for the next 13 hours, and you’re sure you could’ve slept longer if it weren’t for your mother waking you up. “Y/n, wake up.”

There were only two things you hated in this world. Ketchup and being woken up. Naturally, you turned your body away from your mother’s voice, pulling the sheets over your head while you were at it. Then, she did the unthinkable. The covers were ripped from your body entirely and all at once.

Your eyes shot open and your body shivered as the air conditioning was beginning to make contact with your bare skin. You sat up slowly, eyeing your mother down with death in your eyes.

“It’s Taffy.” You were filled with dread.

---

In nothing but your shorts and tank top, you slipped on your dad's slides before you followed your mom outside. You first noticed the stunning hues of orange that striped over the sky as the sun was beginning to rise.

Part of you thought you’d have to walk a little further out to see this grand revelation that was so important that your mother felt the need to wake you up from your nap, but you could see more than enough from the porch.

Holes everywhere.

But not on your parent’s side of the grass. Oh no, of course not. It’s like she purposely dug up the neighbour's lawn because that’s what would get you in deep shit.

But wait, it gets better. There was a beautiful arrangement of various plants along the neighbour's driveway until now that is. The soil was now littered with chewed leaves and torn petals.

You don’t smoke but you felt that today was the best day to get into the habit.

“Taffy did all this? By herself?” Your finger pointed loosely towards the terrorized grass. Your mom hums in agreement from behind you. Your face was full of shock, disbelief, awe, basically, any word that could describe your bewilderment at the situation.

“She must’ve gotten out last night. I was going to take her for a walk this morning but clearly, she beat me to it.” Your mom explains as the two of you walk back into the house.

“So what are you going to tell them?” your arms unconsciously folded over your chest as you questioned your mother about her next steps. “Me? Oh, honey, Taffy is your dog. Your responsibility.”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, sorry that my dog absolutely annihilated your property, here’s $1000, please don’t sue me?’’’ Comedy was not your intention, yet your mother laughed anyways.

“Mom!” You whined, practically stomping your feet out of stress. “This is serious! What am I supposed to do? I don’t have that kind of money laying around..” Your thoughts trail off, a mischievous smile briefly appearing on your face before vanishing.

“Y’know, you look so pretty today.” You continue to compliment your mother’s attire, “And your face is looking more and more youthful by the day--” Your mother swatted your fingers away from her face.

“We’re not paying for the damages, Y/n, but nice try.” She smiles, now it was her pinching your cheeks. With one last comforting touch to your upper arm, your mom was going back upstairs. Slowly, your vision panned over to the dog who was sleeping soundly in her little bed.

‘Should’ve given you away when I had the chance’, you think.

----

It was a little past noon and you knew your neighbours were having a heart attack right about now and who were you to interrupt someone during a medical emergency, you should probably just push it off till later, or never, never works for you.

You could see it happening vividly. The old lady takes a mere two steps outside and suddenly grabs her chest before collapsing. God. You couldn’t believe it.

“Y/n, did you tell them yet.?” Now your dad was the one asking as he came down to the kitchen, making himself lunch. “Not yet, I’m going to shower first.” Secretly you hoped you too, would drop dead in the shower to avoid what was to come.

Stopping yourself at your front door, you opened your bank account for sentimental purposes. You were going to miss having money in here. With one deep breath, you made the short journey over to the neighbours.

You had only spoken to them a handful of times over the last decade since your parents had bought the house here. With a quick ring of the doorbell you contemplated running back inside, you could still make it.

You heard footsteps approaching the door, there was no going back now.

Ready to see the old lady with no more than 12 years left in her lifespan to welcome you but that’s not what your eyes were met with at all. Currently face-to-chest with undoubtedly the finest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The man was wearing a black long-sleeve button-up that strained over his broad shoulders with the top two buttons undone, teasing the visibly large pecs that lay beneath his shirt. He wore black slacks that were held up by a belt that hinted at his small waist.

“How can I help you?” He smiles warmly.

“You’re not old.” Is the first thing you say.

“I’m Jungkook, nice to meet you too?” He introduces himself, maintaining his quirked brow at your odd statement.

“No- I’m sorry. Obviously, you’re not old, I was just expecting you to be old-- I’m Y/n, I live next door..” You needed to compose yourself, you came here for a reason. You took a deep breath as you looked him dead in the eyes for the first time.

“I recently got a new dog who can’t seem to keep her paws out of the ground so she’s the one to blame for destroying your plants. I’m so sorry, if there’s anything I can do--” It wasn’t until Jungkook told you to breathe did you realize you had tried to say everything in one breath.

You inhaled. Then exhaled.

“Can I show you something?” His question seemed to have been mostly rhetorical as he was already making his way towards the gate between your houses that led to his backyard.

Once it was opened he stepped to the side, allowing you to walk through and you could just about feel your heart fall out of your ass at the sight.

More holes.

More dead flowers.

More money.

You were afraid to look at the man behind you, but you did anyways. His arms were crossed, and you felt sick. “How much is this going to cost me?” You didn’t even want to know.

“Well, with the damage done to the 30-year-old bonsai alone, that’s around eight thousand--”

Your vision went black. Suddenly you couldn’t hear or see. Unconsciously your left eye twitched and you felt like you were foaming at the mouth. He just kept talking and talking, the costs just kept going and going. You never even heard the final amount, the only thing you could hear were the voices in your head telling you to kill that little cairn terrier once you got home.

“Unless..”

Unless?! There was an unless? This was your way out. There was no way you would pass it up. Whatever it was, it couldn’t possibly be worse than selling your limbs just to afford the price of one bonsai.

“Yes! I’ll do it.”

“Great, so I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You don’t even know what he said. You completely blanked out. You tilted your head to the side. “Yes, of course, I’ll be there. For what, again?” Now he looked a little confused.

“To re-plant?” He mirrors your tilted head.

God.

At this moment you hoped Taffy would do what she was good at and dig a hole deep enough for you to crawl in and die.

“Taffy!” You shout the minute you walk through the door. Enter the energetic dog who came bouncing down the steps at the sound of your voice. She circled your feet and you fought the urge to kick her, but even you knew you would regret that.

She seemed to have been in a really good mood today and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, her energy was contagious.

“No! I’m mad at you.” You remind yourself as you kick off your slides and make your way into the house with her following behind you, this time with a toy in her mouth, wanting you to play.

“Not now.” Ignoring her, you take a seat at the kitchen table where your dad was working on some documents with focus. You sat in front of him quietly with a pout, hoping he’d notice you.

You sigh.

No response.

You sigh a little louder.

He flips over the next paper, still ignoring you.

You sigh even louder.

Slamming his pen down on the table, he gives you his undivided attention.

“What is it.”

“Nothing, except for the fact Taffy just cost me like fifteen thousand dollars in property damages.” Your father was silent. He too was in shock like you were earlier.

“He’s charging you that much!?” You shake your head, “No, he’s making me help him re-plant everything that Taffy ruined instead. That’s so unfair.” You complained. Your father couldn’t believe you were complaining about such a reasonable repercussion.

Maybe you needed this.

He goes back to filling out his papers and ignoring you.

“Dad!” You tried getting his attention again but you knew you had lost it for good this time. Instead, you decided to give in and play with Taffy. “Fine.” You take the rubber ball from her jaws, “I’ll play with you, but I won’t forgive you.” You toss it elsewhere watching her run after it.

---

The next morning you found yourself disappointed to see that you hadn’t died in your sleep. That means you actually had to go gardening for the next 6 hours. You were left perplexed once you got out of the shower. Staring at your closet, unsure what one would wear to garden.

You settled on capris and a t-shirt that you didn’t care to get dirty. With one last look in the mirror, you said goodbye to your happiness and made your way next door.

“Good morning,” He greets you the minute you make your way down the steps of your porch. You weren’t surprised to see he had already gotten started on the front lawn, a bag of grass seed on his right and a trowel in his gloved hands.

“Here, I got you gloves.” He hands you a pair of burgundy gardening gloves to match his green ones. “Thanks.” You stood awkwardly as you watched him return to his previous position on the ground.

“Have you gardened before?” He asks, looking up at you from where he knelt on the grass. You nodded, “Not a lot, only a few times with my mom growing up.” He smiles.

“Well, maybe now you can practice a little more. I think gardening is one of those things that don’t really seem to be all that exciting at first but you find yourself doing it and enjoying it more over time, y’know?” Humming along with a plastered smile on your face.

You? Enjoying gardening? Good one.

“Would you mind just taking this trowel and using it to raise all of the lifted-up patches of grass, then I'll add some seeds once you’re done, we can water and we’ll be done for the first part.”

When he says it like that, it sounded like you’d be finished in no time. Never in a million years could you have anticipated that it would keep you preoccupied for the next three hours. At least Jungkook wasn’t the worst person to talk to.

You didn’t talk much in the beginning, not sure if it was because you both were total strangers or because he was devastatingly attractive. Maybe a mix of both.

Just when another period of silence fell over the two of you, your parents were seen leaving your house, waving to the both of you before getting in the car and leaving to god knows where.

“I’ve seen your parents a few times, but I don’t remember seeing you.” Jungkook prayed he didn’t come off as creepy, he was simply curious to know where you’d been these last 4 months since he’d moved in. He’s sure he would’ve remembered you.

“Ah, yeah. I live about 3 hours north of here in Pineley, for school.” Jungkook knew he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t surprised to hear you were still in school.

“Oh really? What are you studying?”

“Just economics, I kind of hate it though, only one more year to go, then I’ll finally be done.” Jungkook was doing his best to crunch the numbers in his head.

Assuming that you graduated high school when you were 18... so 3 years later... You’re 21?

God, you’re 21.

He’s 27 and you’re 21.

Does he find you attractive? Yes, obviously. Who wouldn’t? Has he thought about you since the moment you met yesterday? Of course, but that stops now.

“But enough about me, what about you? The last time I was here, there was an old lady living here.” He chuckles, “So that explains the ‘old’ comment yesterday.” Your face flushes red as you continued to pat down the grass seeds in their rightful places.

“New job, you know how that goes.” You nod with a smile, patting down the last patch of grass, and you realized you were done. “I think that’s it.” He announces, dropping his trowel down the grass, and giving the lawn a lookover.

“It certainly isn’t as pretty as it used to be but once the new grass comes in it’ll look better.” He stands, offering you his hand to help you stand as well. You do your best to swat at the butterflies in your stomach from his gesture.

“Do you want something to drink? I have some inside.”

Now that you think about it, you were quite thirsty.

“That would be great actually, thanks.” you appreciate his kind gesture, standing awkwardly on the lawn not sure what to do until you see his head pop out of the doorway. “Y/n, you coming?”

His house looked nothing like yours. Everything was so, clean. Not to say that your house was dirty by any means but there was something about his selection of colours and arrangement of furniture that made everything so sleek and neat.

He definitely owned more plants than the average person, you also couldn’t help but notice how cool it was in here, but not to the point that it made you shiver, more so a refreshing feeling.

After the both of you washed your hands, he led you to the kitchen and invited you to have a seat on the stool behind his marble island. “You don’t have any allergies, do you?” Your eyebrows raised at his question.

“Allergies? I thought I was just coming here for some water?” You felt more than accomplished to see him laugh even though it was a genuine question.

“You’re helping me with a pretty big task, I think you deserve better than just water.” Anything he said after that fell on deaf ears, your brain was too caught up with his flattery. Maybe gardening wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You were intrigued to watch him pull out a wooden knife instead of a typical steel one. “Is all of your cutlery made of wood?” You were being sarcastic, poking fun at him. What you weren’t expecting was to see him pull open a drawer that revealed various assortments of cutlery all made from wood.

“It is actually.” Now he was the one laughing.

“Why?” Strumming your nails on the counter as you watched him roll up his sleeves for the first time today. Suddenly your palms were open and planted on the surface, bracing yourself. The sleeve of tattoos on his right arm knocked you breathless. Deep breaths in. Deep breaths out.

“Well, because--Are you alright?” He checks in, you looked like you were overheating, and you had to convince him and yourself that you were just fine.

Even if he wasn’t convinced, he decides to let it go and continues preparing your drinks. Turning his back to you as he opened his fridge. You should’ve suspected he had more tattoos aside from the lotus you spotted behind his ear earlier.

“As you were saying,” Prompting him to finish what he was saying earlier, “Yeah, for starters, wood handles heat better, they’re antibacterial but most importantly it’s eco-friendly. We’ve done so much damage to the earth already, so why not do things a little differently, y’know?”

That would explain all the plants. “So, I guess you take this global warming thing pretty seriously, huh?” His head tilts back while he lets out a fit of laughter. “I wouldn’t say that I take it lightly if that's what you’re asking.” He smiles as he skillfully peels the oranges with the knife.

You noticed that he put the discarded peels into a little electric composter he had on the corner of his counter. He was really serious about this earth thing. “I do what I can to reduce my carbon footprint. I had solar panels installed on the roof within the first few weeks of moving here, and I’m sure you noticed all the plants in here. They're quite useful since I don’t actually have air conditioning.”

Your eyes bulge out of your head, “No air conditioning? In Somerset? There’s a heatwave every other week in the peak of summer.” He shrugs, “Didn’t you notice how cool it was when you first walked in?” You nod slowly, curious to see where he was going with this.

“It’s thanks to the sansevierias, ficus elasticas and the aglaonemas I have around the house. When they go through their transpiration process they cool down the air at the same time.”

What.

Your severe confusion must’ve been visible enough to prompt Jungkook to dumb it down for you. “Think of it as when plants feel hot, they sweat and release water into the air which cools it down.”

“What are you some kind of plant freak?” He laughs, reaching for the manual juicer he had on his drying rack. “Environmental engineer actually, but plant freak works too.” You felt almost embarrassed for speaking. You decided to just focus on the freshly squeezed orange juice that was filling up your glasses.

“Enjoy.” He grins as he slid you your glass. Your taste buds were far from ready to handle the sweet yet tangy taste of the oranges. It was easily the best orange juice you’ve ever had in your life. “Oh my god.” He smiles, “Good right?”

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You could not believe you were ranting about juice but there you were. “Would you believe me if I told you those oranges came from my backyard?”

“I would, honestly.”

---

It would be a lie if you said you weren’t a little disappointed to see how quickly the two of you had managed to finish replanting everything in the front yard. It’s been a few weeks and the two of you got along surprisingly well even though he was such a plant nerd.

You had a schedule, twice a week at 10 am you’d be at Jungkook’s door more excited than ever to garden. Something you never thought you’d say.

This morning you were taking Taffy for a walk because why not. It was a beautiful morning, damp grass from the rain the night before and the smell of petrichor still lingering in the air. “Good morning,” Nearly breaking your neck at the sound of Jungkook’s voice greeting you as you watched him approach his car but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the leash in your hand and what it was attached to.

“Is this Taffy?” He points to the cairn terrier who was suddenly sitting pretty and wagging her tail. “The one and only.” He was already making his way over, making sure not to step on the grass that was growing in nicely.

“Can I pet her?” You were flattered that he had even asked in the first place. So used to children and even other adults just petting her without asking. “Of course.” You permit, watching his face light up as he ran his hand over her brown fur.

“How could something so cute cause so much damage.” It was a rhetorical question but you couldn’t stop yourself from throwing her under the bus, “Cute? This is all an act. The minute you get in your car I’m sure she’ll be 3 feet deep in someone else’s lawn.” The two of you laugh for a moment, falling into natural conversation until Jungkook realized that at this rate he was going to be late for work.

“I’ll see you later, Y/n.” His smile was so charming, so enchanting, so-- Taffy was already barking at you to start walking since Jungkook had already driven off.

“God it’s so hot.” The two of you laid sprawled out on the grass of Jungkook’s inconveniently large backyard. Jungkook had long given up on wearing long sleeves, now opting for simple t-shirts and cargo shorts.

“Maybe we should take a break?” Usually, you would take a break after 3 hours but it had only been an hour and a half so you were surprised to hear him propose such a thing but relieved at the same time.

Following the same routine as always once you go inside, washing your hands then reconvening in the kitchen for something to drink. After about three glasses of water, you were able to stabilize yourself in your seat.

“What’s next?” your curiosity prompts you to ask what the two of you would be doing once you returned outside. “I was hoping to start with the gardenias but I think they’re far beyond repair and we’ll have to buy more.” He leans forward on his folded arms, the closeness between your faces was getting to you.

You held your breath, eyes looking anywhere but his when you spoke. “We?” He backs up, standing back at full height. “Yeah, I thought maybe we could go pick up some more and hopefully by the time we’re back it’ll be a little cooler.”

“Sounds good.”

You had no idea joining Jungkook for a trip to the local greenhouse would turn into an entire tour. It was like every single flower and plant had a meaning.

“Do you just have the meaning of every flower imprinted in the back of your mind?” You cross your arms as Jungkook reached for the gardenias on the higher shelves. “Not every one, but I’m sure I know most.”

“This one?” Your index pointed to the calla lilies. “Beauty.”

“How about this.” Pivoting to focus on the opposite wall of flowers, quizzing him on the first flower you laid eyes on. “Health and prosperity.”

“Every flower really does have meaning behind it.” He hums in agreement, “I think that plants have a language of their own. That’s why bouquets are more than just flowers, they’re statements really.”

“I never really thought about it that way.”

“What about these?” You pointed to the red chrysanthemums that were so beautifully vibrant. “I love you.” It would be a lie to say the both of you didn’t freeze when you took in what he had said.

You were afraid to speak first. Thankfully you didn’t have to. Jungkook clears his throat. “That’s what red chrysanthemums mean.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course. Duh.” Awkward laughter erupts from your chest as you continued to walk by his side toward the checkout.

The beginning of the ride back was oddly quiet as opposed to the one on your way here which was filled with a sing-along and a lecture about the importance of compost.

Sunset was still a few hours away and the weather was still quite hot but it was a little cooler compared to earlier.

“Can we stop somewhere?” You broke the silence and Jungkook was quick to redirect the car to your request.

That’s how you found yourselves walking along Pacific Street. It’s like tourist central. it’s where all the popular shops and restaurants were found. Including Icee’s frozen dessert shop. It was easily one of your favourite spots in town.

You ordered a lime sherbet for yourself and a chocolate sundae for Jungkook.

“How did you know that’s what I wanted?” Jungkook leans down behind you and whispers in your ear. “Because you have 2 pints of chocolate fudge ice cream in your freezer,” You whisper back, watching the woman whisk herself around behind the counter preparing your orders.

“And how do you know what’s in my freezer,”

Your curiosity got the best of you. You wondered if he ate leaves for a living so when you found yourself alone in the kitchen when he went to use the bathroom you couldn’t help yourself.

“Oh! Would you look at that, our order’s ready.”

The two of you walked around town for a while. Now you were the one giving him a tour of the heart of Somerset. Sitting on the trunk of Jungkook’s car the two of you looked over the lake and the people down below you.

“Do you like it here?” With the gentle breeze softly blowing your curls in your face you looked over the lake, not looking at him as you spoke and he did the same. “I mean, the greenery is great, there’s a lot of parks and--”

You turn to face him, “Yeah and the carbon levels here are perfect blah blah blah, but do you like it here?” He grins at your teasing. “I do, yeah. The people here are just...” Neither of you realized how close your faces had gotten until your lips were millimetres apart. “..perfect.” he breathes out and you leaned in but he pulled away.

“Oh. I’m sorry I thought-” Your ears were red and you’re sure your face was too. “No, you’re right... It’s just. We can’t.” He sighs, looking away from you for a moment before looking you in the eyes once again. Your head tilted to the side confused, and he hated it when you did that.

It was so cute.

“Why not?” You ask.

“Because, you’re 21, I’m 27. I just don’t want you to do anything you’d regret.” Your heart warmed. At all times he had your best interest at heart.

“I know what I want, Jungkook.” Cautiously, you moved closer until you were as close as you were before. You weren’t really doing anything but you were driving him up the wall.

“Do you know what you want, Jungkook?” You were bad for him. So so bad. Everything in him was telling him this was a bad idea, but he threw caution to the wind the moment he pressed his lips against yours.

Taking your face in his hands as he kissed you, over and over again until you were left breathless. “Oh shit.” you breathe out and he just laughs. “Where did all that come from?” He leans back with a smug look, “Been wanting to do that for a month now.”

The cool breeze passed by again, bringing a weighted silence with it. Leaving that question in the air. It was all a matter of who was going to address the elephant in the room. Unsurprisingly, it was you. “Now what?”

“Nothing.” He says, and your heartbeat falters just a little. He must've noticed the change of expression on your face, “Nothing if you don’t want anything to change, but I’d be happy to see where this goes..” He struggled to look you in the eyes, not used to being the one under pressure.

“I’d like that.”

“And then he kissed me!” You felt like you were in high school again the way you were throwing yourself all over your bed and swinging your feet as you talked to your dog about your eventful night.

Taffy seemed to have been a little more excited than you were based on her endless barking. “I know right, and now we’re going to the Summer Palooza together.” Taf hopped up onto your bed with you and started to ambush you with licks and it made you laugh.

Even though she was a little monster, she was really like your best friend.

“You really do this for fun, every day?” You were developing a slight attitude, blame it on the heat. You enjoyed gardening when the temperature lets you, but days like these where you could see distorted waves of heat made you miserable.

Jungkook didn’t respond, he only smiled knowing you were just ranting. You felt as though you were melting. Sweat beading on your forehead from doing nothing, the hot sun beating down on your skin with no remorse.

“I’m taking a break.” It’d only been 30 minutes since you had begun gardening today but you couldn’t take it anymore. The moment you walked inside you regret making fun of Jungkook for his lack of air conditioning because those plants were doing a damned good job at cooling you down.

You’d begun to learn your way around his house after spending so much time here. You reached for a glass from the cupboard before pouring yourself a glass of water. Taking sips as if you hadn’t tasted water in days.

You let out a small gasp at the feeling of hands on your waist from behind you, “How can you make drinking water so attractive?” You cringed and pushed him away, “You’re so corny.” You snort before finishing off the rest.

“I wanna show you something,” He says it enticingly, as if what he was to show you would change your life forever. “I’m listening.” You stalk towards him slowly as he picked up his keys off the counter. “Up for a drive?” You grin.

“Y’know, when you asked me if I was up for a drive I didn’t know we’d be trekking through the forest.” You were complaining again and Jungkook could do nothing but roll his eyes. “We’re almost there, I promise.”

True to his words, only a few more minutes and you had arrived at your destination. The 10-minute walk was more than worth it. You were met with the sight of a gorgeous blue lake, it wasn’t the biggest but there were mini waterfalls sliding down the large rocks off to the side.

There was direct sunlight bouncing off the water and making everything seem brighter. “Woah..” You stepped towards it slowly. You were shaded by the forest for most of the way here so you didn’t feel as hot but now that you were out in the open again the heat was overwhelming.

Without thinking you stripped yourself off your top and bottoms, leaving you in just your underwear. “Care to join me?” You pivoted to face the man who was fighting off some of his most intrusive thoughts at the sight of your body.

He could only remain so calm, but the moment he laid eyes on the cherry blossom tattoo that stretched from your mid-thigh up to the underswell of your breast or the butterfly jewelry that dangled from your navel, he was done for.

He was going absolutely feral.

“fuck.” he mumbles, watching you dive in head first. He was feeling too much blood rush south but it didn’t make him think twice before stripping himself of his own shirt and shorts. In nothing but his boxers, he jumped in with you.

He swam towards you with the biggest grin on his face. “Feel better?” You shake your head as your hands moved below the water. “I’m still..” Your voice had dropped an octave and become more seductive, “quite hot.” You punctuated your sentence with the revelation of you holding your panties in the palm of your hand.

Surely you had to know what you were doing to him.

Jungkook feared he would drown.

You’re too distracting, and you only proved his point by stripping yourself of the last article of clothing you were wearing and tossing them onto the grass as well. Jungkook was doing his best to be respectful, never wanting to cross a line without your permission.

That’s how he found himself cross-eyed trying to stop his line of sight from falling. “It’s okay, you can look.” Even then he tried to be respectful and only look for a few seconds at a time but he was hopeless once you had taken his hand and pressed it against your chest.

As if it was second nature he gave it a light squeeze. He thanks the universe for his sharp hearing or else he would’ve missed the small whimper that escaped under your breath. “you drive me fucking insane.” Jungkook’s voice was low and guttural before he pulled you closer to him. Wasting no time to bring his lips to yours.

Kissing you deeply, as if his life depended on it. You were intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough. God, he was going to fucking miss you. It was a bitter thought he kept in the back of his head the more he felt himself getting used to having you around.

Fortunately, he didn’t let that gloomy thought ruin his mood as the two of you enjoyed your time together. Neither of you were expecting to spend two hours swimming but that’s exactly what you did until you couldn’t swim anymore.

The drive home was a wet one but it made the shower feel ten times more refreshing. With a towel still wrapped around your hair and in nothing but an oversized t-shirt you walked towards your bed and checked your phone.

It’s mission impossible trying not to smile at the sight of Jungkook’s name on your screen.

Jungkook: I had fun today ;)

“This is the last one,” Jungkook announces and you felt a little emotional as you watched him squeeze the plant out of its plastic container. It was a blue vervain flower. “Hopefully it rains soon, these ones need a lot of water.” He informs you and that’s when you realized it hadn’t rained in weeks which was a little unusual for a Somerset summer.

“Would you like to do the honours?” He offers you the pile of dirt with the sprouting plant. “Can we do it together?” His eyes crinkle at the sides with a smile. So, together, you planted the blue vervain.

“Are you sure we’re finished? We didn’t miss a spot?” You stand up abruptly, searching through the empty bags of soil and containers that once had sprouts in them. “Y/n, are you okay?”

You were fine. Wasn’t it normal to cry once you finished gardening?

“Yes, can’t you see? I’m clearly fine.” Your tearful eyes weren’t so convincing. You didn’t have to explain what was wrong, because he knew. This wasn’t about gardening. Without thinking he wrapped his arms around you, holding you and it only pulled more emotion out of you.

“I don’t want to leave you.” You mumble through broken cries into his shirt. “I know, but you can’t stay for me either.” He was right. Even though you had just met less than three months ago you grew attached to him so it made the thought of leaving him more difficult than it should be.

It was nearing sunset when Jungkook was doing nothing important at home when his phone buzzed on his coffee table.

He too, couldn’t stop a small smile from forming at your message.

Y/n: do you have limes?

Jungkook: Homegrown or store-bought? :)

You didn’t need any more small talk before you were already on your way over. That’s why Jungkook wasn’t surprised to hear the ring of his doorbell. Always happy to see you.

“Limes?” Jungkook brings up your odd request as he walked behind you towards the kitchen. “Yes, limes. I wanted a snack and we ran out, so now I’m here to take some of yours.” Jungkook did his best to keep his eyes off the way your hips swayed from the left to right with every step you took.

He leaned against the counter, watching you whiz around the kitchen. Grabbing the wooden knife you once judged him for but grew fond of and a lime. “Do you have any honey?” He points to the cupboard to your left.

Now that you had everything you needed, this was your favourite part. Slicing open the first lime in half, then again into thinner slices. You drizzled on just a little bit of honey onto the citron and bit onto it.

Jungkook looked horrified.

“Should I call someone for help?” You took it personally and objected. “It’s so good you have to try it.” You approached him with a honey-coated slice of lime but he immediately moved away from you to the other side of the island.

Jungkook’s place had dozens of big windows and skylights to welcome natural lighting as a replacement for regular lights. That’s how you noticed the clouds get progressively darker over the last 15 minutes but it wasn’t your concern at the moment.

What you needed was to get Jungkook to try your creation. “How about I kiss you instead?” He freezes with interest. “I’m listening.” With the simple beckoning of your index finger, he was standing in front of you.

“Open.” You instruct, holding the bottle of honey high enough so it would fall onto his tongue. Next, you squeeze a generous amount of lime juice on yours before grabbing Jungkook by his cheeks. Crashing your lips together, creating a deliciously sweet but sour taste between the two of you.

Your tongue swiped over his plump lower lip trying to savour the flavour and the kiss to the best of your ability but Jungkook was losing his self-control. His hands found themselves holding you at your hips, pulling your front to be flush against his, but he suddenly pulled away.

Your eyes were half-lidded, dark and full of lust; your lips beginning to swell a little from the previous attack they just endured. you looked like sex on legs and that’s why jungkook had to stop himself.

“What’s wrong?” he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to ask him such a thing. as if you didn’t know. “You. You’re plaguing my mind, y/n, and I’m afraid that once I start I can’t stop.” your teeth played with the plump flesh of your lip at his confession.

“then don’t stop.”

A clash of thunder roared in the sky.

Your clothes were scattered along the stairs leading up to Jungkook’s room which was massive if you might add. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t been up here yet.

Gently, he laid you down on his bed, leaving you to admire his body that was sculpted by the gods themselves. Broad shoulders, defined abs and those muscular thighs you so desperately wanted to ride, but maybe another day.

“You have no fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted this.” The feeling of his hot breath against the side of your neck gave you burning chills. With his arms on either side of you, he rolled his hips into yours and through his boxers alone you could feel his dick that was begging to be freed from its confines.

“I- I need you.” your breath hitched at the feeling of his lips sucking on a particular spot on your neck making you let out a breathless moan.

“You’ve got me. I’m all yours.” He reassures you before he locked your lips with his while skillfully removing your bra. you helped with the action by arching your back giving him full access to undo the clasps.

within seconds he was attacking your full breasts. licking over your nipples with desperation. your hand raised to gently run your fingers through his locks while your legs widened to make more room for the man between them.

soon his kisses began to move south but stopped at the ink that patterned your skin. the tattoo was in black and white since you felt the blossoms were pretty enough that they didn’t need colour. once jungkook was done with you he had managed to colour in every single blossom with sinful bruises.

jungkook’s room was probably the most susceptible to natural light as it had the biggest windows, giving the both of you a front-row view of the storm that pummeled the world outside, but that didn’t matter. nothing else mattered except this very moment.

now paying attention to the jewelry that was pierced into the skin above your belly button. jungkook let his fingers toy with it tauntingly, “a flower, hm?” your eyes were shut, too focused on keeping it together to respond.

“Pretty sure the last time I saw this little thing it was a butterfly, wasn’t it?” your body froze once you felt the pads of jungkook’s fingers touching your clothed core. you didn’t respond.

“I asked you a question didn’t I?” he applied a sadistic amount of pressure to your clit, knowing it was just enough to get your attention but not enough to give you what you were looking for.

“yes.” you breathed out, finally opening your eyes to see he was staring right back at you. “why did you change it? I thought you loved butterflies.” he was mocking you. using your words against you from a discussion you had a few days ago. he knows why you changed it.

“you know why,” as if he was ignoring you he continued to rid you of your underwear leaving you completely bare. “no, I don’t think I do. refresh my memory.” the moment you felt his big and calloused hands gripping your thighs you felt you may never speak again.

Every touch, every whisper, every look he gave you left you on fire and wanting more. “you. I did it for you.” jungkook’s wicked grin was the last thing you saw before your eyes shut as he pulled you to the edge of the bed, with your ankles hanging over his shoulders and his nose against your dripping core.

a flash of lightning lit up the room briefly before it relied on the dim lighting of two naturally scented candles he had lit a little before you came over. “look at you, dripping wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

“please,” you whimpered and he was so weak. he couldn’t deny you for long, you had no idea how much of a hold you had on him. wasting no time, he licked a flat stripe up your cunt and it took everything in you not to scream, including closing your legs on his head.

there was no other place jungkook would rather be than between the soft flesh of your thighs but if he wanted to eat you out until you cried he’d need a little more space.

he pried your legs open once more and you were already shaking. placing a comforting hand on your abdomen he tried to calm you down, “you gotta relax baby, I've got you.”

you were helpless, unable to do anything but grab fistfuls of his organic cotton bedsheets as his tongue assaulted your poor pussy. “f-feels so good.” you whined, beginning to roll your hips against his face.

quickly you felt the heat begin to build in your core with the skillful use of his tongue. “jungkook-!” your vision became distorted as your body was overwhelmed with pleasure, but jungkook didn’t stop. he lapped up every last drop of your orgasm on his tongue before bringing a kiss to your lips.

jungkook was fucking filthy and you loved it.

“I need you,” already one step ahead of you, jungkook was stripping himself of his boxers. in one swift motion jungkook was flipping you onto your stomach and lining himself up with the entrance to your sopping cunt.

you had barely gotten a chance to see and admire his dick but for a brief moment, you did it and had your breath hitching in your throat. you knew you would struggle to stand tomorrow. “you ready, baby?” he checks in with you and you decided to answer with actions.

arching your back and pushing your ass towards him gave him all the answers he needed. “god, y/n. you’re going to be the death of me.” he groans, inching in slowly giving you time to adjust to his large size. A size you knew would take a while to get used to.

he continued to slide in until he eventually bottomed out and your two bodies were connected. you were squirming nonstop beneath him as if trying to escape, body so overwhelmingly full. “just relax,” he whispers near your ear and plants a reassuring kiss on the side of your neck.

doing as told you to relax your muscles and jungkook could immediately feel the difference. “that’s it, you’re taking me so well.” you smile into the pillows at his praises until your mouth fell open with erotic moans once he began to pound into you.

“fuck.” gruff and low moans fell from jungkook’s lips frequently. you never took him to be the kind to make much noise during sex but you were more than pleasantly proven wrong. his sounds only added to the speed at which you were approaching your climax.

“oh shitt, jungkook, I’m gonna-” this time you really did scream at the added pleasure from the friction you felt as jungkook mercilessly rubbed your clit. “me too, baby. me too. just hold it a little longer.” you couldn’t. it was impossible but you tried to hold it for as long as you could.

“cum.” you didn’t have to be told twice. your arms went limp, no longer able to hold you up as you were pushed over the edge and came with jungkook following closely behind. his hips losing their consistency and becoming erratic before you felt him painting your insides with his cum.

“oh shit..” the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of your heavy breathing and even heavier rain as it bounced off the glass of his windows. “at least it rained.” your voice sounded weak from all the screaming you’d done.

your body was weak but your brain couldn’t seem to understand that as you watched jungkook whiz around the room with heart eyes. he looked like the epitome of sex and sin. the waves of his hair falling over his face loosely as some were stuck to the sweat on his forehead.

the size of his muscles distracting but not distracting enough to consume your attention away from the tattoos that covered the entirety of his right arm. before you could drool over him any longer he was already making his way toward you with a warm cloth to help clean you up.

Once the necessary post-sex priorities had been taken care of, the two of you were left cuddling in Jungkook's bed. He had one hand behind his head and the other on your waist as you laid your head on his chest.

Jungkook didn’t want to ruin anything with you but he was a strong believer in communication. This is why he brought up the sombre thought that plagued his mind for the majority of the summer. “When do you leave?” your head sunk along with his chest as he exhaled heavily.

You pick your head up to make eye contact, “Is this your way of kicking me out?” His eyes bulged. “No, never. I mean when do you have to go back to Pineley?” Now it was your turn to sigh. Putting your head back to where it was before, beginning to draw small circles on his pecs.

“Thursday.”

“Oh.”

That was three days away.

“yeah.”

This conversation suddenly made your lips feel chapped, “do you have any chapstick?”

“middle drawer,” he replies, prompting you to roll away from him and check the instructed drawer. Looking for a small tube, instead, you found a journal of sorts. “What’s this?”

Jungkook sits up with a defeated look on his face. “It’s a present. For you, actually.” Your ears perk at that. “For me?” He nods, “Open it. I was going to give it to you the day you leave but I suppose now works.” The book is still unopened, you tilt your head to the side, confused.

God, you were so fucking cute.

“Why not just give it to me at the Palooza?” He sucks in a breath of air through his teeth, “About that. I got sucked into some board meeting that day with some important people like state officials and whatever, but I tried to get out of it, believe me.”

Holding one of his hands in yours, you reassured him that everything was fine. “That sounds like a pretty big deal. It’d be silly for you to blow it off for some dumb event.”

“It’s not some dumb event and you know it. You talked about the Palooza as if it were heaven on earth, and I was looking forward to going with you.” Your heart swelled. “Yeah, I mean, there’s always next year,” you say and it causes Jungkook to grin.

“Next year? You sure you won’t forget about me by then?” Playfully you sent a hit to his chest, “Don’t say that. I’m gonna open my present and forget you even said that.” Admittedly he was a little nervous. He wasn’t the best at gift-giving, never knew what exactly to get people.

Your eyes scanned over the pages as you flipped through them. It was like a flower dictionary. It had all kinds of meanings for all kinds of flowers, but there was something personal about the way the journal was put together.

The paper had a little more texture than you were used to seeing, it must’ve been recycled; but the way the string held together the pages at the top through unevenly sized holes made you wonder.

“Jungkook, did you make this yourself?” His face was red. “Yeah, I know it’s a little lame but I--” Leaving the book on your lap before you pulled him close by his face and pressed your lips to his, pulling away with a smile. “I love it.”

“Remember to give us a call when you get back, alright?” You hugged your parents tight as they helped load your car will all the stuff you brought

“I will.” You smile waving goodbye to them as you stood near your car and your parents made their way inside. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t secretly hoping to see Jungkook one last time before you left.

That’s why you were so delighted to see him step out his front door, but not empty-handed. A bouquet of flowers accessorized his right hand as he made his way toward you.

“You’re here,” Smiling with nothing but teeth as he stopped in front of you.

“I had to see you before you left, I didn’t want to interrupt.” He gestures to your house which your parents had just walked into. “I got these for you,” Handing you the bouquet of arranged flowers that consisted of pink carnations and white clovers.

You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time reading Jungkook’s little flower dictionary he had given you which explains why his bouquet nearly moved you to tears just from looking at it.

You remembered what he had told you in the greenhouse all those weeks ago.

“I think that plants have a language of their own. That’s why bouquets are more than just flowers, they’re statements really.”

Pink Carnations: Gratitude, I’ll never forget you.

White Clovers: Think of me.

“It’ll be impossible to forget you.” Your bodies moved on their own accord. He wrapped his arms around you and yours doing the same, even with the bouquet in hand. It was as if neither of you wanted to pull away but you knew you needed to go.

“I’ll see you at the next Palooza.” your heart hurt a little to see the sad smile he had on. “Sure, but if you're able to squeeze me into that tight schedule of yours, maybe you could come to visit sometime?” You were nervous, you were proposing more than just Jungkook visiting you in Pineley.

“Like, long distance?” The arch of his brow told you everything you needed to know and you were regretting opening your mouth in the first place, “If you’re up for it?” You begin to make your way toward the driver's side of the car, thanking him for opening it for you.

Carefully placing the flowers on the passenger seat with Taffy in the back. “I’m certainly willing to try.” There was the grin you were hoping to see on him before you left. Closing the door, and strapping on your seatbelt, Jungkook stepped to the side of the driveway giving you the space you needed to pull out, but you stopped parallel to the sidewalk.

“See you in Pineley?”

“See you in Pineley.” He smiles, waving you goodbye before you drove off.

#jungkook #jungkook bts #bts #bts one shot #btsscenarios #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #oneshot #jungkook fic recs #jungkook fluff #fluff #btssmuts #smut #bts smut #Jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook imagine

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whereserpentswalk · 6 months ago

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You've been on a generational ship your entire life. There's about a million people on the ship, the population doesn't grow or shrink at all. Your entire life is and will be defined by a limited amount of room, a small space, barely large enough for everyone there to fit, that has become your entire world.

The humans that exist on generational ships are very alien to the humans that exist on planets. Your job is to maintain the ship and carry the culture of humanity but you don't need a human lifestyle to do it. Because reproduction needs to be done through artificial wombs all humans are neutered, with sterile sexless bodies. Everyone's job is determined by ship authority, and very dark things happen to those not able to perform some sort of duty. People spend the first fifteen years of their lives in virtual reality, learning about humanity in a simulation until they're ready to live as adults. Everything is so alien from the earth that you read about in books.

It wouldn't be so hard if society wasn't meant to resemble earth, meant to resemble the most conservative and traditional of earth. The American flags hanging up on the walls, despite everyone alive on board having never known America. The way the pods you live in have astroterf lawns, and fake blue skies painted above them, and the facades of American suburban homes. The way resources a distributed from things meant to look like family run stores, despite the monolithic power behind the economy. Even as monolithic as station authority is it still must dress as democracy, and must preach capitalism in a world with no markets, and patriotism in a world with no nations.

Despite your sexless body you're not free of performing gender. You wear dresses over your breastless neutered body, are expected to act feminine, to carry gender rolls into the planet you're going to. Your husband is expected to do the same for maleness. You love him but your situation feels like a performance with no audience. Despite having neither the instinctual desire nor the physical apparatus to you try to be physically intimate with him, it's what everyone does with their spouse, it would be weird not to.

Space isn't as empty as earth thought it would be. There are things that lurk in the void between stars. Nobody fully knows what they are, where they come from, even if they all come from the same place. Sometimes they put the ship in danger, sometimes the authorities make deals with them. But nobody is allowed to know. You're just all told to be afraid of them but not understand why you have to be afraid. The nightmares between stars aren't delt with with knowledge but with ignorance, they do seem creepy from the little you've seen of them but everyone kind of knows their power is being used for something by the station. Patriotism is always helped by having monsters beyond your borders.

Your entire you've dreamed of blue skies and stars and fields and forests and oceans and all those pretty things you've never seen, that you never will see. People always dream of being so high ranking they'll have access to suspended animation and life extension technology, but so few ever reach that rank. You've read all the classics they allow, read Dante, and Milton, and Homer, tried to let poetry bring you to earth but that planet is alien to you now. Sometimes you wonder what it would be like if you weren't raised in a world that copied earth, if you were accepted as a member of a race that lives on a ship, that exists so liminally. Would there still be such a longing. Mabye you shouldn't have been expected to meet a standard from another world. Mabye you weren't born to long for anything. Does it scare you to think you wouldn't want earth if they didn't tell you to?

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hamaylfabrics · 9 months ago

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https://www.hamayldesignerhub.com

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20dollarlolita · 1 year ago

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(It's been entirely too long since we've started a tutorial with a very blurry picture, which is a 20dollarlolita tradition. Am I about to fall over and only staying upright because of a death grip on this trim? Stay tuned to find out)

Let's make a skirt.

There's a lot of lolita fashion that doesn't fit most people. It's me. I'm most people. I'm going to wear it anyway, so I'm going to resize that to fit me.

The hardest part of resizing a lolita skirt (or skirt part of a dress) is that you almost never can get the fabric that the skirt was made out of. Lolita prints are usually pretty limited run. While some dresses will let you redistribute the fabric to have a slightly less full skirt, that's usually a major reconstruction that ends up drifting a bit away from the lolita shape.

A ruffled bustle bustle, however, is pretty common. Bustles like this are pretty common in lolita fashion and add an additional detail. In addition, you can make the waist of the skirt several inches bigger without a problem, and without compromising skirt fullness. If you ever want to undo the alteration, seaming the skirt back up is not very difficult. It's not a fully seamlessly reversible alteration, but there's far worse things you could do to the garment (ask me about my AP dress with mesh pits).

The problem is that bustles like this take quite a bit of energy and fabric, especially if you want to have details like lace trim. It's one of the more time-consuming alterations to do.

Or you can make one bustle/ruffle underskirt, one time, and wear it with all your skirt and dress modifications. You can splurge and get some nice trim and get some nice fabric, because you only need to buy it once. You can also wear it as a standalone skirt. (Just remember to never, ever steam it before taking pictures. You wouldn't want to look competent)

I put off making one of these for a very long time, because I'd made the process much more complicated in my head than it turned out needing to be. Once I was building this and realized I needed to simplify the fuck down, this became a really easy project.

Materials: I decided to make the ruffles on my skirt out of eyelet lawn, which is a cotton fabric that has an all-over embroidery. I got this for about $10 a yard on ebay. I don't have a very accurate judgement of how much I used on the skirt. I bought 4 yards and used probably 3.5, but I also wasted a bunch of fabric on an extra tier that I had to chop off. I wanted a fabric with more detail than broadcloth, but that wasn't exclusively going to work with OTT styling.

I got 30 yards of 1/2" Venise lace off cheeptrims.com for $9. I really recommend putting lace on your ruffles if you can. It really adds to the detail level, and you only need to buy it once. You already have to hem all of this so you might as well hem it with lace.

You will also want some fabric for the slip layer (for want of a better term) to attach the ruffles to. My ruffles were a little bit sheer, so I wanted an opaque base fabric for modesty. Depending on the look you're going for, you can also use this layer to add some subtle detailing or changes to the finished look. If you're only wearing it with over-the-top looks, using a base fabric with shine or glitter can stop your ultrabustle from looking too plain. If you're wanting your ruffles to lay flatter, getting a soft fabric with a lot of drape will make the ruffles droopier. I just used some weird cotton plainweave that I got at Green Store for 75% off due to a bolt-long defect.

I used 1" elastic in the waistband here, because this skirt can get a little bit heavy, and then you often have another skirt on top of it adding to the weight.

The other thing that I used that made this much easier was a ruffling attachment for my serger. You don't need to use a serger, but a ruffling or gathering attachment that allows you to ruffle a flat strip of fabric and sew it onto another piece of (not to-be-ruffled) fabric will speed things up considerably. I know a lot of people buy a ruffler or a gathering foot when they start sewing lolita, and then are disappointed when they don't use it very much. There's a very limited number of lolita applications for these attachments, and I'm happy to tell you that this is one of them. If you don't have one, you don't need to go buy one. You can just do the two-step process of gathering the fabric and then sewing it on. But if you wanted an excuse to go buy one, well, you have one.

The Plan:

So I'd previously made a lot of math and calculations for how each tier was going to gather into the previous one, and then realized during the build phase that actually was way too complicated.

What we need is a rectangle with ruffles on it gathered into a waistband. Yes, a rectangle. I know, I was stunned too, but the final result worked the best.

I wanted the tops of the ruffles to be hidden in seams. If you just sew ruffled strips onto a single piece of fabric, it's very difficult to hide all the raw edges and to make sure you're not spreading loose threads all over the place. We're going to make ruffled strips, and sew them to each other. This covers up the raw edges very nicely.

This also will allow you to slightly gather the second and top tiers to each other, if you want to make this skirt in an a-line instead of a bell/cupcake shape.

The Math:

If you know what skirts you're planning on wearing your ultrabustle with, it can help to measure them and get a good guideline.

Generally, you want your ultrabustle to be a number somewhere within these guidelines.

~~Close to the same length of the skirt you're wearing it with or ~~4"ish longer than the skirt you're wearing it with. (This depends on if you want the bottom ruffle to stick out. If you're Tallita and all the skirts and dresses you're resizing are also too short, you might want this to double as a ruffled underskirt) and ~~An acceptable length to wear as a skirt all on its own.

My first run at this ultrabustle was WAY too long, and after chopping off the entire top tier, it ended up being either 1" shorter or 1" longer than the skirts I'm planning on wearing it with, which is a great number for me.

As for the total fullness of the skirt, you have to remember that the ruffles will add visual volume to the skirt. This means that you don't actually need the hemline of your skirt to be super full. All that matters is that your petticoat can comfortably squeeze in there. For this, I measured the hemline of the smallest dress that I had that still fit my petticoat, and used that. It turned out to be about 80" around.

So, what sizes do we cut this at? It's math time.

Here's a worksheet if you want. You're going to need to know how long you want the finished skirt, how wide you want the hem of the slip (not the ruffle) of the skirt, how many ruffle layers you want, and your waist measurement.

The slip needs to be shorter than the ruffles, so it doesn't show. So total slip length is your skirt length minus 2.5". Divide that by the number of ruffle layers that you have, and you'll have how long to cut each of those. This is slip tier short side.

Each ruffle layer needs to be longer than each slip layer, so that the slip doesn't show. You want each ruffle to overlap the previous one. So, take your slip tier short side and add 2-3" (or more, if you want). This is your ruffle short side.

Your finished slip diameter is your slip tier long side. That one's easy.

If you're a math and planning person, you can determine your ruffle long side measurement. You'll want to take a piece of your fabric, cut to the ruffle short side measurement and also about 45+ inches wide, and a piece of your slip fabric. Run them both through your gathering attachment so that your ruffle fabric is sewn onto your slip fabric. If you like how that looks, you can then measure the finished length of the ruffled fabric and use that to calculate how much fabric you'll need for the ruffles. There's four places where people mess this up. First of all, if you're using your gathering attachment to sew and gather at the same time (which is the point of that attachment), you want to do all your test runs gathering it onto a fabric. The amount of fabric that goes into a machine ruffle changes depending on if it's onto fabric or just gathering. Second, you want to use your finished fabric, at your finished ruffle length. Different fabrics will ruffle different amounts, and different ruffle widths will look different even at the same gathering amount. Third mistake people make is to not gather a long enough strip. The longer a strip you gather, the more accurately you can measure how much fabric is actually going into your ruffle. And the fourth is to take that measure as an accurate one, and not plan for needing extra fabric. The upside of the gathering attachment is that it will save you so much time. The downside is that you can't be as accurate with knowing how much fabric you'll use. Remember, you can always turn the leftovers into a matching accessory. Even if you're going to go yolo like I did and not do the math about how many ruffles you need, you will still want to run a check that you like how your ruffling attachment looks. You don't need to measure super accurately, but try to get a feel for how much fabric is going into each ruffle. For example, if your ruffler takes a strip and makes it 1/3 it's flat size, then you'll need more fabric than if your ruffler makes it 1/2 it's flat size. If you're really on a budget, you can just cut your ruffles at 2.5x your slip long dimension and precisely gather by hand. My time's worth something to me and so it wasn't worth it to do that just to save a yard of $10 fabric.

The last part is just to check that your ruffle long dimension (or it's rough approximation) is still at least 2.75x your waist measure (3.25 is better). If you don't have that, your skirt likely won't look full enough for a lolita silhouette. If that's the case, just add to your skirt dimension until it is.

Actually making it:

Before you forget, cut out a piece for your waistband. You can decide if this looks better in your ruffle fabric or your slip fabric (I used slip). This piece should be 3ish" longer than the distance around the fullest part of your booty. You need this to be longer than your booty distance so that you can get it on your body. If you're using 1" elastic, you want this piece to be a minimum of 3" wide.

I've found that the easiest way to do this is to start out by making the whole skirt as a single, very long strip. So, I take my slip tiers and cut them all out, and sew them into a long strip.

On my specific fabric, I decided that I wanted the pattern on the eyelet to go lengthwise. So, instead of cutting the fabric across the grain (short side, selvedge to selvedge) like I normally would, I cut down the 4 yard length of the fabric. This meant a lot less seaming. Since I didn't really know how much fabric I was going to use (you know that test I described to check how much fabric you're going to use? Yeah, guess who didn't do that), I just cut them one 4-yard strip at a time. I'd ruffle one all the way, stop, and cut the next one. This did actually save me quite a bit of fabric versus cutting them all at once. I had to go back and sew the sides of the ruffle together once the skirt was done. It was a small price to pay for the convenience I experienced.

I knew what size I wanted the finished ruffle length to be, but I cut my ruffles about 2.5" longer than that. I wanted a little bit of wiggle room once the skirt was done, so that I could do the length adjustment once the whole skirt was assembled.

And then, it's just a matter of letting the ruffler do its work. My serger ruffler works by you putting the item to-be-ruffled on the bottom, and the item to attach the ruffle to on the top, and then just hitting go. Some other rufflers work by putting the to-be-ruffled at the top, so you can see it as you go. Like all sewing machine attachments, if you're not sure, just go on youtube and search "HOW SINGER GATHERING FOOT DO THING NOT LOOK LIKE SHIT?" and someone's probably made a video of it.

So, once you've run all your ruffle through your machine, you should have a nice single strip of slip fabric with a ruffle on top of it. Now, some gathering attachments don't actually sew super strong seams, because you have to adjust tension or stitch length pretty severely to get it to ruffle like you want. The other advantage of putting the ruffles in a seam instead of just topstitching them onto a piece of fabric is that it doesn't matter how strong your ruffle attachment is, as long as it's strong enough to hold until you can put the ruffle in the seam. The seam provides the strength.

Once you have your single long ruffle, cut off a section that's the diameter of your bottom tier.

Now you just need to sew them together (and finish your inside edges). I like to start at the bottom tier and go up.

For each tier, you're sewing the bottom of the slip layer to the top (ruffle and slip) of the tier below. Just pull the ruffle of the higher tier out of the way, put right sides together, and sew.

If you aren't using a serger, you can zigzag over your edges and then trim them down, use an overcasting stitch from your sewing machine, or topstitch some seam binding over the seams. The extra line of stitching on the slip layers in front won't be visible. One of the other nice things about building this in the way we have is that, when you finish the edges of your inside seams, you're putting three layers together and finishing it as one. This is actually a lot less then 1/3 of the work of finishing them separately, because you'd have to finish the ruffle as a flat piece, which would take way more time. Have I convinced you on the greatness of this technique yet?

Continue cutting pieces off your ruffle layer and stacking them until you have as many layers as you decided you were going to have.

Once you have your layers all stacked up on each other, it's time to sew the skirt back seam. I find that it looks best to hold the ruffles out of the way, sew the slip together, and then go back and sew all the ruffle pieces. Basically now is a good time to just check for any ugly spots and to touch them up.

There's like 50 ways to attach a waistband to a skirt. For this one I used this method (what a blast from the 20dollarlolita past we have there. Also please note that the cost of ruffler feet seems to have gone up from $15 to $60-$100 in the past 10 years and despite working in a sewing machine store, I'm not totally sure why).

Once you've got the whole skirt assembled, it's time for the finishing.

The first thing that I did was put it on and try to judge how short I wanted my top ruffle. I'd cut all my ruffles extra long in the short dimension, so that I could shorten them when they were on the skirt. I picked a length that worked, marked it out, and chopped at that point. I then did this for the other two layers. I found that I wanted my bottom ruffle to be a little bit longer than my top ones, and cutting it long allowed me to make that choice.

I then started just zigagging on my lace. If you don't have a serger, you can use the lace as a hem finish, which also saves you an additional step. The lace really added a lot to this, and since I only need to make this once to wear with a lot of different garments, it was an economical use of nice lace.

I started putting the lace on the top layer first. This is because, if I ran out of lace, having a different (wider) lace on the bottom layer wouldn't look strange. As previously mentioned, I did zero measuring of how long my ruffles are, and had no idea if 27 yards would be enough lace. Don't be like me. Do some tests. Or be like me and choose the life of treachery. Anyway, stick lace on this thing, please. You worked hard and your skirts deserve it.

The only other thing that I did was to cut the slip layer down by about 3" on the very bottom. I did this because I made a mistake, but I like how it looks.

You can take this system of ataching ruffles in rectangles or even a trapezoid and stick it in the back of a skirt (or skirt on a dress). I did that here because I knew that I wanted a pink bustle, not a white one.

I'll do a tutorial for the actual skirt resizing sometime after I actually resize a skirt with this. Here, all I did was slice the back, hem those edges, and then button on some waist ties from another dress. This let me easily add several inches to the back of this skirt, without needing to re-distribute pleats, and without sacrificing the fullness of the shape.

This will all sit a little bit better once I've pressed the skirt, as well. Steaming the top layer of this while the garment is on me/a dress form/a hanger will decrease the poof in the top layer a little bit, and honestly, we could benefit from that in this case.

Anyway, if you have this, you have a very fast way to enlarge existing garments.

So, while this has thankfully very much decreased in the past years, there's still some people with weird opinions on MoDiFyInG bUrAnDo, so let's have a talk. Lolita clothing is not community owned. If someone who was never going to sell a dress to you modifies it, that doesn't take it away from you. This is a mentality that we tend to have in lolita more than other fashion just because of our high resell scene, but it wasn't ever going to be your dress and so you don't need to have an opinion about what happens to a thing you were never going to personally own. Things have value more than money, and value is often changed rather than destroyed. AP's Halloween Treats OP has no value to me when sold for $500 on Lacemarket. I don't spend that much money on lolita, ever. But a questionably-altered AP's Halloween Treats OP that I can un-alter has value to me if the price is good. But a questionably-altered AP's Halloween Treats OP has very little value to someone who likes the price, but can't undo the alterations. When someone resizes a dress or skirt, true, sometimes the people who are the size it was originally made can't wear it anymore. You've decreased the value to them, but you've made it more valuable to people who are the size that you've made the garment become. This skirt had no value to me when it's waist measure is 7.5" too small, but now I can wear it, so it has functional value to me. A lot of people who say that modifying the dress ruins it are either ignoring that also the stress of putting a dress not sized large enough for your body can damage it and not look as great while doing so, or else they have a much worse take. People who say that modifying clothes ruins the garment, but also say that wearing a garment that's too small ruins the garment, what they're actually saying is that wearing that garment is a privilege that should not be extended to larger sized people, and if they say that then they can just, you know, go fuck themselves. We don't need that in the community. Everyone deserves to wear lolita, and some people have to work harder to achieve it, and that's not fair, but everyone deserves it.

So yeah, kiddos! Build a skirt! Go cut up some clothes! Wear the skirts you've always wanted to wear! You can do anything!

And to answer the question we opened this with, yes, I was absolutely falling over.

#handmade lolita #20dollarlolita #lolita fashion #resizing clothes #making clothes bigger #tutorial #skirt tutorial #lolita skirt tutorial #sewing tutorial #bustle underskirt #utilibustle #ultrabustle #the one bustle to rule them all #one bustle to find them

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bedsyandco · 5 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/hhughes/755036725477359616/httpswwwtumblrcomhhughes755036373372829696w

was it azalea's first time celebrating the 4th of july since she's canadian? imagine quinn being so excited to show her their family's traditions and such

and vi wears a bikini with the american flag and luke can't keep his hands off her and even gets playfully scolded by ellen lol

jim at the barbecue and quinn is helping him while azzie teases him about being a good cook

jack pushing vi into the lake when she's trying to tan and then being so worried about anyone other than him or daisy holding rosie in the water (she loves it)

them making s'mores sitting around the fireplace later and rosie drops hers on cole's foot by accident

and little rosie is soooo tired at the time of the fireworks so she's crying a bit in jacks arms cause she gets scared but she had the best day ever with all the uncles and aunts - 👩‍⚕️

gonna answer all of these individually because they’re all such good thoughts bestie and I simply can’t neglect any of them. . .

was it azalea's first time celebrating the 4th of july since she's canadian? imagine quinn being so excited to show her their family's traditions and such

it was azzie’s first time celebrating july fourth. her family was a little sad that she was gonna miss canada day (while she had time to fly between van and michigan , she just wasn’t up for the travels honestly) but she was really excited to spend the time with quinn’s family. there was even some extended family like little cousins and such which azzie loved because she probably won’t see those members of his family much during the year. it was really just nice getting to know his brothers, his parents and ofc vi and daisy. quinn was so excited to have her there and he was just so sweet. including her in all the family games, explaining the rules to make sure she didn’t feel excluded, he even made ellen make one of her mom’s desserts to make her feel a bit more at ease. azzie fit right in though, everyone adored her.

and vi wears a bikini with the american flag and luke can't keep his hands off her and even gets playfully scolded by ellen lol

vi wearing a bikini with the american flag print is just so violet coded to me for some reason? and luke would love it. luke and vi not being able to keep their hands to themselves is just so canon in this au at this point😭 they are always attached at the hip, connected in some way, pressing kisses at random places. they are just so touchy. at one point ellen is just like “will you please refrain from mauling your girlfriend in front of an audience,” and he’d just press one last kiss to violet’s lips before sending his mom a sheepish/apologetic smile. but everyone is used to them by now.

jim at the barbecue and quinn is helping him while azzie teases him about being a good cook

azzie, daisy and ellen sitting in lawn chairs close to the barbecue each with a glass of wine in their hands while they keep quinn and jim company. luke, violet, jack and rosie are playing some type of game on the grass. I do think cooking is something that azzie and quinn love to do together and for each other as a sign of their love.

jack pushing vi into the lake when she's trying to tan and then being so worried about anyone other than him or daisy holding rosie in the water (she loves it)

violet laying on the dock and jack just flipping her towel so she drops in the water. she’s perfectly fine, except for the little splinter in her palm when she clinged to the dock with one hand, cursing him out and promising to get him back but luke saw it happen and he wasn’t very happy. “you shouldn’t do that when she’s that close to the dock. she could’ve hit her head,” luke argues and despite violet reassuring him that she’s fine and her head was far from hitting the dock luke is insisting that jack take her safety more seriously. if luke was gonna take extra precautions to make sure he kept daisy and especially rosie safe whenever they were in his presence, jack could return the same favour.

them making s'mores sitting around the fireplace later and rosie drops hers on cole's foot by accident

this is so funny😭 he is trying so hard not to curse in her presence but fuck did it burn. “you are so lucky that you’re cute and I love you,” cole says, hissing as he lifts his foot to inspect the marshmallow that fell onto his foot. she gives uncle cole lots of snuggles afterwards and he completely forgets about it.

and little rosie is soooo tired at the time of the fireworks so she's crying a bit in jacks arms cause she gets scared but she had the best day ever with all the uncles and aunts

daisy and jack got her ear plugs just in case she still happened to be awake at the time of the fireworks but someone started firing theirs early and it scared poor rosie so bad, she definitely started crying and hiding in jack’s chest. but he gets the ear plugs and she lays on her dad’s chest while watching the variety of colours fill the sky, and her little snores fill the air shortly after.

#💌azalea x quinn #♡ 𝆬 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐘 & 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 #𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 & 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄

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lemon-dokuro · 7 months ago

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Continuing to watch Black Butler and... Reapers are really funny. They're just japanese salarymen and office ladies. In the shinigami OVA (Shinigami Will no Monogatari) they show how they operate and it's through this huge bureaucratic office organisation thing. Really funny, especially consideting the setting. They also all wear glasses. Because they're all near-sighted. Because their eyes are magic or something. Their bureaucratic organisation has a whole Glasses Department. Their glasses are all custom-made by one old guy, who's been doing this for at least a hundred years. They get their custom glasses after passing their trainee exam. It's a status symbol. This is moe, in a neutral sense. They're reaping souls with gardening tools as well, no less. Utterly shamelessly anachronistic modern gardening tools in this Victorian England-set show. I dare not ask where they get them. The logic here is understandable (the traditional reaper's scythe is a gardening tool => why not give them different gardening tools to spice it up), but it's really funny. But that's not even it. Very often, they mod their gardening tools. For fun and fashion, probably? They have to get it approved with the scythe approving department (which exists), but apparently it's common to customize them. Having to get it approved first implies an imposed set of restrictions, right? What in the world are they? There's apparently this guy with a modded lawn mower which is 100% rule-compliant. But Grelle's standard regular chainsaw isn't? According to William in his first appearance, it's not. Though, judging by the phrasing (使用許可申請書を提出していない死神の鎌), maybe she just didn't do the paperwork for it and it's a bureaucratic issue.

Toboso Yana. Release the grim reaper death scythe approval criteria list. And the application form too, please. (unless she already did ages ago)

#own post #black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler shinigami #what i'm doing instead of getting things done

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covid-safer-hotties · 2 days ago

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Also preserved in our archive

By Jess McAllen

The manicured lawn outside Nassau County’s legislative building in Mineola, NY, is a picture of suburban peace. But back in August, the chambers inside reflected a more contentious reality. On either side of the aisle, two camps arranged themselves: the masked and the unmasked. They were there to plead their case during an hours-long public hearing for the Mask Transparency Act, which would make wearing a facial covering to “hide one’s identity” a misdemeanor, punishable by up to a year in prison and a $1,000 fine.

The first member of the public to address the lawmakers was seventy-seven-year-old Wayne Hall, a former Long Island mayor and kidney transplant recipient. His main concern, echoed by many in the room, was that the bill would morph into another iteration of New York’s notorious stop-and-frisk policy, which violated the rights of hundreds of thousands of residents. “Black and brown individuals already face disproportionate scrutiny from law enforcement,” said Hall, “and will be more likely to be stopped and questioned, simply for wearing a mask.” Proponents of the measure, meanwhile, argued that allowing masks has enabled crime. Republican congressman Anthony D’Esposito, who attended Trump’s Madison Square Garden rally earlier this month, implored the council not to vote “in favor of hate-filled thugs.”

The bill, introduced by Republican representative and former IDF paratrooper Mazi Pilip, ultimately went on to pass the county legislature and went into effect immediately — with all twelve Republicans voting in favor and seven Democrats abstaining. Pilip celebrated the win in an Instagram post by decrying mask advocates as “the thug protestors whose aim was to intimidate, harass, promote violence and spread hate.”

The tense hearing was a snapshot of a debate playing out across the United States, as local politicians attempt to crack down on a fabricated crime wave by banning facial coverings. While lawmakers are promoting concessions for health and religious exemptions, the language of the bills themselves consistently shies away from the reason why masks have become so popular in the first place: Covid-19. The virus continues to mutate, and people are still dying; some seventeen million adults suffer from Long Covid. Meanwhile, traditional respiratory illnesses like flu and RSV continue to circulate. So it’s no wonder that many—especially people who are immunocompromised or living with chronic illness—want to be able to wear a mask in public.

In June, North Carolina passed a similar ban, and several other localities are looking to follow suit, with either proposed laws or talk of potential laws in Chicago, Los Angeles, and New Jersey. In the New York state legislature, two competing bills are already on the table. One, introduced by Republican state senator Steven Rhoads in May is seen as unlikely to pass. The other bill, which establishes the offense of “concealment of identity in a lawful assembly, unlawful assembly or riot,” was introduced by Democratic state senator James Skoufis on June 14. Two weeks later, a campaign called #UnMaskHateNY was officially launched outside Columbia University, the site of pro-Palestine student protests just months earlier, in support of a statewide mask ban.

Two Democratic lawmakers attended the launch: Jeffrey Dinowitz, who introduced a twin version of Skoufis’s bill in the assembly, and Brian Cunningham, who in September coauthored an op-ed for the New York Daily News titled “Unmask the cowards on our campuses,” which is featured on the #UnMaskHateNY website. (Cunningham, however, claims he is not affiliated with the group.) The lawmaker is advocating for specific carve outs in the bill, saying he will only support it if there are health and religious exemptions. “I grew up in Flatbush, Brooklyn,” he told me recently, “I grew up in the 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s in New York City. People wearing ski masks, prior to Covid-19, weren’t greeted with hugs and welcomes from the neighborhood grandma, or anyone else.” When I asked if he would, instead support a simple ski mask ban, he reminded me that it wasn’t his bill. What about his thoughts on police using the law to racially profile constituents? “Am I saying that the bill is bad that’s in? No. Am I saying the bill is good? No. I’m saying that there is a conversation that this bill is provoking.”

For a campaign purportedly against anonymity, it has proven exceptionally difficult to determine who is behind #UnMaskHateNY. The campaign website simply states that it is “led by civil rights leaders, faith leaders and other diverse advocates.” So I reached out to the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), which has publicly supported the campaign and sent representatives to the launch. “We are a member of the coalition that is leading this effort,” a spokesperson replied, “but not the lead. We will have someone leading our effort follow with you directly.” (No one ever followed up.) I emailed the #UnMaskHateNY email, DM’d them on Instagram and Facebook, and even emailed Mercury Public Affairs, which under Facebook’s relatively recent transparency rules is listed as overseeing the campaign’s Facebook page. No one replied. Running out of options, I got in touch with Cunningham’s office to double check who had been in touch with him from the campaign. I was given the email of a man at the ADL, who also never replied.

Regardless of whether they are leading the campaign or not, the ADL isn’t holding back. “Anti-masking laws passed in New York were used to help counter the reign of terror of the Ku Klux Klan,” reads a statement on their website. “Now, it’s time to bring them back to counter masked intimidation.” This language is similar to a proposal by the right-wing Manhattan Institute, titled “Model Legislation to Modernize Anti-KKK Masking Laws for Intimidating Protesters” released in early June, which declares that “just as Ku Klux Klan members used white hoods to conceal their identities and terrorize their targets, modern activists are using keffiyehs, Guy Fawkes masks, balaclavas.” In an #UnMaskHateNY advertisement that has run on both Facebook and Instagram since late September, video of torch-carrying KKK members is cut with pro-Palestine protests: “Today’s hoods are masks,” a solemn narrator intones, “but the hate is the same.” The implication is clear: if you are wearing a mask, you are basically the KKK.

Those in favor of mask bans love connecting their crusade to the role an 1845 New York law—“An Act to prevent persons appearing disguised and armed”—played in stopping the KKK from openly terrorizing New York, but the original reason the law was created had nothing to do with the KKK, which was founded twenty years later in Tennessee. It was, instead, a direct response to a yearslong “anti-rent war” that started in 1839. The movement began when a group of farmers, tired of extortionate leases, went on the nineteenth-century version of a rent strike. They wore “Indian” disguises while disrupting house sales, resisted evictions, and tarred and feathered police officers. In January 1845, the anti-mask law was passed. This didn’t stop things from escalating: only seven months later, undersheriff Osman Steele was shot and killed by masked protesters when he was trying to help sell a property.

“There is no doubt that people can be more apt to act irresponsibly when their conduct cannot be traced back to them,” is one tidbit of wisdom in the paratext of Skoufis’s bill. Just like the Nassau County ban, the language of Skoufis’s legislation appears to grant police—famous for their unbiased and calm judgment—sole discretion to arrest anyone who simply looks shifty, just because they are wearing a mask in a large crowd. It’s unclear how this might play out. In Nassau County, there have been a few reported arrests since the ban went into effect. Among them: an eighteen-year-old who police say was “displaying suspicious behavior” and wearing a ski mask (upon searching him, police found a knife); a twenty-seven-year-old man who attempted to break into a house while wearing a ski mask; and one man who was part of a protest at the Young Israel of Lawrence-Cedarhurst synagogue in Queens and was arrested while wearing a keffiyeh. “Police on the scene asked him if he was wearing the garment for medical or religious purposes, which are the two major exceptions to the new ban,” according to the Nassau County Police Department. When the man said he was wearing it in solidarity with Palestinians, he was placed under arrest. (A federal class action lawsuit was filed against the Nassau County law in August by Disability Rights of New York on behalf of individuals with disabilities but it was dismissed in September.)

For Ngozi, a Nassau County resident who attended the public hearing in August and has an autoimmune disease called scleroderma, the threat of arrest isn’t new. “The reality is that I’m a black, disabled person, wearing a mask in public. I’ve always been marked,” they told me. “I feel like this is maybe the first time that white people are fearful of being criminalized for something.” One of the problems with mask bans—even with concessions—is that it puts an awful lot of trust in those enforcing the bans not to abuse their power. “People are like, ‘Oh well, there is a health exemption, make sure you have your doctor’s note,’ and it’s like, no, we should not be providing the state with ‘proof’ that we are disabled.” On top of this, health issues are not always obvious. “I have disabilities that are not visibly apparent,” Ngozi, who asked to only go by their first name, added. “Do I have to be in a wheelchair for you to believe me? Do I have to have crutches? Do I have to have an oxygen tank? . . . I’m very concerned about the impact of what a legalized stop and frisk looks like for disabled people.”

Sue, a senior who lives with rheumatoid arthritis, says her other chronically ill friends want to know why masks must be the visible disability delineator. “An immunocompromised friend who uses a wheelchair pointed out to me: ‘Mask bans, for me, are like banning my wheelchair. Masks have been part of me, my health care, and my life, for decades.’” Sue’s rheumatoid arthritis attacks her joints, as well as her lungs and other organs. She takes two different immunosuppressant medications, which alter her immune function and increase her risk for viral, bacterial, and fungal infections, so she often wears a mask while in public. “Even a seemingly minor threat, like the common cold, can lead to a serious illness in someone with a compromised immune system,” she said. “These medicines also suppress my immune response to vaccines.” For Sue, who also asked to only go by her first name, a mask ban would only compound the wider discrimination she faces in a society she feels has already left her behind.

As it stands, Skoufis’s bill, which lawmakers are hoping to advance as soon the legislative session begins in January, affects the right of people like Sue to go to protests or large public gatherings when we are not in a declared public health emergency. The proposed law dictates that it will be illegal for people to wear a face covering at a lawful or unlawful assembly or what the police consider to be a riot “unless they are wearing personal protective equipment during a declared public health emergency.” Since this is no longer the case, anyone who wears a mask for health reasons at a protest or large public gathering could be breaking the law. The health exemption language of the Nassau County law, which applies to facial coverings worn anywhere in public, meanwhile, is vague: “This law shall not apply to facial coverings worn to protect the health or safety of the wearer.” This has its own problems, namely that it will be on individual police officers to interpret both the law and the reason why someone is wearing a mask. Back at the public hearing in August, D’Esposito said the law would be “enforced by one of the finest police departments in the country,” but residents were not so sure. “Ultimately this law will be carried out based on one person’s judgment,” noted one resident. “More simply, is this masked person doing something I like or do not like?”

Many activists see the bans as retaliation for pro-Palestine protests that have swept the country in the year since Israel invaded Gaza in the wake of October 7. At protests people often wear masks either to support the health of their community, or to protect their identity from getting doxxed. The health exemptions prompted by lawmakers treat the issue as two dimensional: You are either a protester, or someone with ongoing health issues. Why can’t you be both? It shouldn’t be surprising that a person concerned with preventing the transmission of a potentially debilitating disease might also be concerned about the genocide in Palestine. In their proposal, The Manhattan Institute had already thought of this: “Someone who wears a mask for health reasons probably should not be congregating in large groups of people.” Aside from ignoring the otherwise healthy people who mask to avoid exacerbating underlying conditions or contracting Long Covid, the document makes it clear that anyone who has a chronic illness or disability is expected to stay out of public life.

Among the groups of people who are pushing back against proposed mask bans is Fight for the Future, who have launched a Stop Mask Bans campaign. One of the organizers, Alex, who preferred to go by her first name, said mask bans spotlight cross-movement solidarity. “They carry out the combined violence of public health abandonment, surveillance, censorship, and policing. If we truly want to beat them, we have to address their full intent and impact,” she said. “Otherwise, we’ll be fighting an uphill battle against so-called ‘exemptions’ to these bills that claim to address the needs of just disabled people, religious people, or those concerned about facial recognition.” She added, “Our call is for no mask bans, with no exceptions, because all anti-mask bills violate our fundamental rights to health and privacy.”

Decades ago, radical health activism looked like the Black Panthers screening for sickle cell anemia, or the Young Lords seizing a mobile chest X-ray unit and taking it to an underserved population in East Harlem. Those days are long gone, says Ngozi. “When it comes to public health, yeah, the greatest amount of solidarity was shown with protests against police brutality and specifically responding to George Floyd’s murder, but we haven’t seen that again. We haven’t seen it replicated. You have to consider that people were being supported with stipends from the government, people were on unemployment.”

Beyond the likelihood of discriminatory arrests, mask bans will have wider consequences. According to opponents, the passing of such laws will enable harassment from the public and encourage shop owners to turn away particular customers. “It’s easier for people to pathologize and stigmatize things like, ‘Oh, you’re a weirdo, oh, you must have OCD, you must have anxiety, you must have something wrong with you mentally,’” Ngozi said. Sue recalls former CDC director Rochelle Walensky’s 2022 comments on Good Morning America, in which she referenced a study of 1.2 million fully vaccinated people that found the majority of those who died of Covid had at least four comorbidities. “So really,” Walensky said, “these are people who were unwell to begin with.” People like Sue heard that message “loud and clear.” “The CDC is encouraged that only the vulnerable are dying from Covid now. Maybe that’s why people don’t care — they have received this message from the top down.”

The reality is that cops are unlikely to target a white person in a KN95, and even if a mask ban has a carve out for medical face masks, there will inevitably be unintended consequences that will hurt people. “Under a mask ban,” says Alex, “protesters are essentially given a choice: unmask and face Covid and Long Covid, tear gas, and the life-destroying consequences of public doxxing, or remain masked and face even more police brutality and surveillance.” These bans may be pitched as a solution to crime and discrimination, but they harm everyone by eroding the right to privacy and health.

#mask up #public health #wear a mask #pandemic #covid #wear a respirator #covid 19 #still coviding #sars cov 2 #coronavirus

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