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l0vergirlsw0rld · 5 months ago

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my little voyeur

neighbour!loganxvoyeur!reader

a/n: so sorry about the hiatus, started university and midterms are already here, crazy. anyway, enjoy this little idea i had, inspired by a real life situation. xox

wc:3.1k

MDNI !!! 18+, AGE GAP, SEXUAL CONTENT, ALCOHOL USE

summary: Y/N is growing needier with every one-night stand her hot neighbour brings over, one night she decides to be his next.

"-Oh fuck, keep going!" A muffled voice cried between the rhythmic thumping noises that came from the ceiling above you.

You bit down on your lip, shifting needily on your sofa.

"Here we go again" You mumbled to yourself, glancing at the clock on your microwave.

8:37 PM.

"Earlier than usual... Do you have to be somewhere early tomorrow?" You pressed the mute button on your TV remote to get a better listen.

The intrigue in your neighbour's activity had been a shameful recent development. He'd have company over almost every night now; which meant constant, rough sex.

The shared two-story house was old, and the walls were poorly insulated, which surely didn't aid your newfound obsession. Your unit was the basement suite: a homely one-bedroom, one-bathroom with a large kitchenette and living room. Even though you both lived in the same quarters, you both had your own respective spaces and entrances, which meant you rarely crossed paths.

You knew little about the man upstairs, only that he lived alone, wasn't the talkative type, and rode a Harley Davidson that was equally as loud as his one-night stands.

Though it was ill-mannered of him to be as careless as he was, you couldn't stop yourself from being attracted to him. He might've had a good twenty years on you, but that didn't matter in this case.

The man was in phenomenal shape for his age; You had come home one day to him working on his bike, shirtless. His physique was composed of thick broad shoulders that counterbalanced his narrow waist and muscular biceps that bulged beneath his skin, flowing seamlessly into veiny forearms. Dark curls of hair stretched downwards from his brawny chest, over his chiselled abs and disappeared into the denim waistband of his wranglers.

To pair with that irresistible body, was a charmingly rugged face. Thick, untamed eyebrows cast a shadow over his piercing hazel eyes, while dense sideburns traced the sharp angles of his jawline. His short, spiked hair flared into two distinct tufts on either side of his head, adding to his wild, primal look.

"-Logan! I'm coming!" The voice screamed. Since this all began, you found yourself feeling rather bitter. Not only was it rude and annoying but from what you managed to pick up, most nights they would be playing out the very type of fantasies you'd always had but never got the chance to experience.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling that excitement slowly pool in your lower stomach. You knew this would end soon, Logan seemed to have quite the routine, so your impending neediness wouldn't go any farther.

His partners were usually dead silent for the rest of the night, presumably busy sleeping off the intense sex, which made the inconvenience somewhat tolerable. The only time they would potentially disturb you again was as they made their exit down the stairs the morning after. You could catch glimpses of them as they passed in front of your kitchen window, usually around the time you'd be having your coffee.

From the looks of it, he had a type: girls your age. They'd always be dressed in last night's skimpy outfit, with knotted hair, but somehow still looked gorgeous. As they stumble their way to the taxi at the edge of the driveway. You'd observe them closer pressing up the glass, often spiking your jealousy.

The first few you had laid eyes on made you snicker a jaded"How original." But you were well used to it by now.

Logan was your typical walking mid-life crisis; Bringing home adventurous young women, fucking their brains out, sending them away in a yellow chariot and never talking to them again. From the frequency of these one-night stands it looked as if he was trying to satisfy a hunger he couldn't seem to fulfill. Almost like preparing for hibernation.

He was living the bachelor life that men his age could only dream of having, but there was something about the whole routine that felt...off. It was as if every conquest left him more empty, more distant and detached from everything and everyone around him. It wasn't just women that Logan indulged in, he was also a heavy drinker. You could tell by the recycling bin, always overflowing with liquor bottles, and the fact that the few times you'd been to The Black Lodge—the only bar in small-town Burns, Alaska—you had seen him there

You watched from your bar stool, careful to remain unnoticed. The brief exchanges between him and the bartender made it clear he was a regular—no need for small talk, just an easy, practiced silence. Logan's eyes, however, never lingered on the glass of neat whiskey in front of him. Instead, his gaze swept over the crowd, scanning for his next target, his posture relaxed but predatory. Despite his intimidating exterior, there was something magnetic about the way he worked the room, luring them in with lustful glances. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was built to win.

His trophy shelf was overflowing, yet there was no trace of happiness in Logan’s eyes.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the Logan everyone else saw—rough around the edges, careless, chewing through women and booze as if they were nothing more than fleeting distractions. Or was there something deeper, a hidden tenderness that only emerged behind closed doors? He never had family or friends over, just a revolving door of women. His life seemed lonely, private, and it made you wonder what demons gnawed at him when the nights grew quiet and the distractions faded away.

Was it trauma?

Regret?

Or just the inevitable realization that his time was running out?

A part of you cared and wanted to be there for him, but it wasn't as simple as ringing his doorbell, he was unapproachable. During the few interactions you shared, he made it unmistakably clear that he had no interest in forming any kind of relationship with you. His responses were dry and curt, laced with a dismissive tone that cut down any hope of connection. Each word felt like a brick wall being built between you. He practically didn't look at you the entire time, keeping his eyes focused everywhere else but on yours. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with every exchange, it was as if he was purposefully keeping you at arm's length.

Through your confusion, you understood why. You weren't what he was interested in, you couldn't contribute to his unfaltering hunger. You were more than happy to not be categorized with what he'd bring home from the bar, but a slight part of you wished that for one night, you would be.

The selections were slim in Burns and you were newer to the area, which made it impossible to call for a late-night booty call, unlike him. It had been a long time since you'd last been with someone and the constant exposure to Logan's fruitful sex life made you grow needier by the day, which is where your obsession initially formed.

It began with something small, almost too innocent to notice. You found yourself paying closer attention to his everyday routine, drawn by curiosity. You’d glance out the window to check if his motorcycle was parked in the yard, and when you heard the faint sound of his footsteps starting the day, you’d instinctively check the clock taking mental notes of his wake-up times.

Before you knew it, your interest had evolved into something deeper, something far more personal. You began noticing his trash in your shared waste bin; discarded remnants of his life blending into your obsession. At the liquor store, you found yourself buying the same brand of beer he preferred, curious to experience the taste that would linger on his lips if you kissed him. At the supermarket, you began to choose the same detergent, not for practical reasons, but to breathe in the scent that clung to his skin.

There was a day that he left his Johnny Cash shirt outside. He tossed it on the ground carelessly after working up a sweat while fixing something in the yard. When he left, you ran out and took it. As your compulsion grew, so did your need for closeness to him. The shirt became more than just a relic of him—it was a trigger.

You began wearing it late at night, feeling its used fabric against your skin. While the sounds of him having sex filtered through the thin walls. The rhythmic creaking of his bed upstairs, the faint moans, you’d inhale it deeply, lost in his scent. You'd thrust your fingers deep inside of you, following along with his rhythm, imagining it was him inside you—picturing how Logan would take control, filling you with the intensity you longed for. In those moments, it was as if he belonged to you, even if just in fantasy.

Your cheeks flushed red as you listened along, It was become too much to handle. You unmuted your episode and got up, needing to find some distraction.

"It’s almost over," you told yourself, trying to ignore the urge to grab his shirt and take care of things right then and there. Instead, you walked over to the unpacked boxes in the corner of your living room, hoping to find a distraction.

As you opened the cardboard, you started sifting through the mismatched stuff crammed inside. Your fingers brushed against something soft and bristly, sparking your curiosity. You tightened your grip and pulled it out for a better look. To your surprise, it was an old wig from a Halloween costume—vivid and wild, a memory you had almost forgotten.

The faint sounds you were trying so hard to ignore managed to slip through anyway, sparking a devilish idea as you twirled the wig in your hands. You were going to get his attention, whether he liked it or not. A mischievous grin spread across your face; this could be your way in. It was time to shake things up and show him a side of you he hadn’t seen yet.

It was the next day, and you knew for sure that Logan would be at that bar, just like he was every Thursday. You stepped inside, adjusting the wig discreetly, tucking away any hint of your natural colour, determined to become someone new for the night. This was a wild idea, but desperate times called for bold measures. You were dying for some relief and he was the only remedy for this ache you couldn’t shake.

The bar buzzed with energy, a lively crowd which meant you had competition. But tonight, you were set on one thing: going home with him, and anyone else.

You’d dressed the part—skin exposed, tight-fitting clothes that hugged your curves just right, making you feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time.

You scanned the bar, your heart racing as you spotted him in his usual seat. The moment you walked in, his eyes locked onto you, holding your attention captive. You averted your gaze and took a shaky breath, your feet guiding you across the room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pretending not to notice his gaze, you played coy, an enticing smile dancing on your lips. You slid into the seat across from him and reached for the black menu that lay before you, feigning interest in the options. Your eyes traced the words, but your mind was elsewhere—focused on the weight of his stare and the electric tension building between you.

The bartender approached, and you quickly ordered the first thing your eyes landed on, feeling a rush of nerves. You folded the menu neatly, deliberately turning your attention to the crowd, avoiding his gaze, you weren't playing his game, you were playing yours. The thrill of the chase sent a shiver down your spine. The bar chattered around you, laughter and conversation creating a lively backdrop as you focused on maintaining an air of nonchalance, even as you could feel his eyes on you, studying you with that intensity.

A beautiful stemmed glass slid in front of you, snapping your attention to your hands. You mumbled a thankyou and you took a sip, savouring the sweet burn as it slid down your throat. It gave you a moment to gather your thoughts. Just as you were about to steal a glance his way, you noticed from your peripheral that he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. That confident look told you he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Nice wig," he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the noise of the bar like a knife. The compliment sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you kept your expression cool, shooting him a sidelong glance as if you were just as unfazed by him.

“Thanks,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. “Just thought I’d switch things up a bit.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The game was on, and you were ready to play.

Logan leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It suits you, it's different.”

You felt a thrill at his words, the compliment warming you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You kept your composure, but inside, your heart raced. “I like keeping things interesting,” you replied, matching his playful tone.

The atmosphere around you shifted slightly, the crowd fading into the background as you locked eyes again. The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken possibilities. You could sense the magnetic pull between you intensifying, and it was exhilarating.

He took a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “Well, you're doing a good job of doing that."

You smiled, feeling a rush of confidence. “It's just a little bit of fun for a Thursday night. What about you? Same old routine, I bet?”

His smirk widened a glint of challenge in his eyes. “You could say that. But maybe I’m looking for something different tonight.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. This was the moment you’d been waiting for. You leaned forward, pushing your breasts together. “Well, that's hard to imagine. What’s your idea of different?”

Logan’s eyes dropped to your cleavage. “How about we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?” His voice was low, rich with promise, and it sent a jolt of anticipation through you.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning casualness even as your heart raced. "And where would that be?”

He chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “How about the upstairs at your place?”

The two of you made your way up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps echoed in the silence. You could feel the heat radiating off him, each step heightening the anticipation of what was to come. You both reached his door, and his keys jingled as he unlocked it.

The door swung open, and you stepped inside as he held the door open for you. The soft light from his living room illuminated the space, casting warm shadows that danced along the walls. The place was surprisingly tidy, with the scent of cedar and booze lingering in the air.

Logan followed you in, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click that sent a thrill down your spine. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You didn't know what you expected but it wasn't this. You took in the details of his space—artwork hung at odd angles, a well-worn couch sat invitingly in the center, and an empty whiskey glass perched on the coffee table. It was comfortable, lived-in, and spoke to the kind of man he was.

“Nice place,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your pulse quickened as you caught the intensity of his gaze. A beat passed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, a hint of seriousness threading through his playful tone.

Your heart raced at the implication of his question. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you replied biting your lip, voice steady from a boldness surging through you.

Logan smirked, his expression shifting from playful to something more primal and dark.

“Good. Because I don’t plan on holding back. Gotta teach you a lesson after all,”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, backing you against the wall with a firm press of his body. The warmth of him enveloped you, and you felt your breath hitch as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. As he grabbed your face, his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks roughly, parting your lips open.

“I know you took my shirt, you fucking freak,” he murmured, his voice thick and husky.

You were unable to form words as you felt the threat of what was to come flood your senses. Your heartbeat stammered in your rib cage, fear overcoming you but there was a thrilling undercurrent of excitement that was hard to ignore. Logan’s intense gaze held you captive, and the edge in his voice sent the tension crackling in the air between you.

“You didn’t think I’d notice?” he continued, a low chuckle escaping his lips, laced with a hint of danger. “A man owns about three good shirts and is bound to notice when one goes missing.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your breath hitch again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

“You’ve been watching me,” he stated, his voice dropping even lower. “Spying on me like some lovesick teenager. It’s cute, but it’s also… a little sick.” The intensity in his gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something deeper behind his fierce exterior.

You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat. “I—”

“Save it,” he interrupted, his grip tightening around your jaw just enough to keep your attention focused on him. “Don't give me excuses. Tell me why.”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. What could you possibly say that would explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had led you here? His proximity was intoxicating, and the conflict between fear and yearning made your head spin.

“I... I just wanted to understand you,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hear you with the women you bring home... and I want that. ”

Logan's smile grows somehow even darker. "So ya' got all dressed up for me because you want me to fuck you like I do with the others? That right, sweetheart?"

The only thing you could do at this moment was give him an eager nod, the ache between your legs growing shamefully larger by the second.

“I’ll give you what you want kid', but you need to know something first.” He paused slightly, the air between you thick with tension.

“I’m the best at what I do, and I don’t do it very nicely.”

cliff hanger I know, but i'm such a slut for teasing.

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dickgraysonsptsd · 2 months ago

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dick grayson, money, and control

i am so obsessed with dick's relationship with money... the more post-crisis comics i read the more i believe that dick sees offers of money, especially from the rich or powerful, as an attempt to exert control over him. in part because bruce, intentionally or not, had dick in a position where dick was entirely dependent on him for housing and money for most of his life, and has directly used giving or taking away resources to punish or control dick before.

disclaimer: i'm using a LOT of chuck dixon comics here because of his heavy involvement in building out dick's personal history in the 90s/00s. as a reminder chuck dixon is an alt-right homophobic qanon creep and deserves no respect

early days as robin

in robin (1992) annual #4 (dixon's version of the dick's origin story), dick is taken in by bruce but almost immediately feels out of place and unwanted in bruce's home. he thinks of himself as bruce's "christmas puppy" and is certain that as soon as his parents' killer is caught, bruce will send him back:

dick doesn't feel any sense of permanence in bruce's life early on. that's understandable given the multiple traumas he's been through, and the impermanence itself isn't what i want to focus on here—for our purposes, the way dick's sense of instability is framed here is as an adopted pet. a christmas puppy. an animal, an impulse buy.

even at age 8, dick understands there's a massive gulf in power between himself and bruce—bruce has a giant home, while dick doesn't see the manor as "home" because he's always expecting to be sent back into the system. bruce is the person adopting a puppy, while dick is the puppy. their power imbalance is implicitly tied to bruce's immense wealth and dick's complete lack of status outside of being bruce's ward.

in robin: year one #3 (also by dixon), leslie and dick talk about how bruce doesn't mind giving handouts, but neither of them want to go to him for them:

Leslie: That's why I had you come to General for tests. They have equipment I just can't afford yet. And I'm not about to go to Bruce for another handout Dick: He wouldn't mind. Leslie: That doesn't make it any easier. Dick: Yeah. I know what you mean.

leslie says another handout, meaning that bruce has already funded her here, and dick too has received financial support from bruce as robin and as his ward. but they both don't want to go back for more money, despite knowing that bruce "wouldn't mind"—there's a deeper issue here than whether or not bruce minds it or can afford it. it's not "easy" for leslie or dick to accept bruce's money, even though it's easy for bruce to give it.

to me, this means dick still doesn't see his new level of wealth (or, more accurately, his new access to bruce's level of wealth) as a normal, secure part of his life. i don't know if he ever really does, though eventually he'll come to rely on a line of credit from bruce in his teen titan days.

the firing (nightwing: year one version)

in nightwing (1996) #101, the first issue of dixon's nightwing: year one arc, bruce fires dick as robin. in #102, dick goes to clark for advice, and clark is shocked at the news:

Clark: How can he fire you? Dick: He said, "you're fired." Clark: It's not a job. Dick: It is to Bruce. His cave. His car. His rules. He pays the bills, Clark. And in his eyes I screwed up.

i think we can trace some of dick's intense dislike for taking money from the rich to this version of the firing—in dick's eyes, by accepting bruce's cave, car, and money to pay the bills, dick gave bruce the power to then take those things away from him. bruce was able to fire dick from robin because bruce's resources enabled robin. if dick had been funding robin himself, if it had been dick's cave and car, bruce couldn't have taken it away from him. (when he later moves to blüdhaven, dick takes the first possible opportunity to establish a lair in his apartment and build his own car, rebuilding these resources on his own terms.)

notably, at the end of the actual firing issue (#101), bruce orders dick to leave behind the new robin suit alfred made for him, connecting the firing directly to bruce taking back something given to dick:

here dick gets a very memorable lesson that gifts of financial support and equipment—or workplace resources, if you look at it from the "robin is a job" perspective that bruce takes in this story—can be given with good intentions, but later used as leverage to punish and control.

moving to blüdhaven

nightwing (1996) #3 by chuck dixon was written years before dixon wrote nightwing: year one (above), so it's not totally consistent with it, but dixon was clearly already thinking about dick's relationship with bruce's money when he wrote dick moving to blüdhaven:

Operator: I'm not showing a credit history, Mr. Grayson. Date of birth? A man your age and there's nothing on my screen. You'll need to send us a certified check for one thousand dollars before we can approve electrical service. Dick: I'll get one to you this afternoon.

Dick: Everyone wants cash because Dick Grayson doesn't exist. I guess they're right. Seems like I hardly know him. Kory or Alfred always handled this stuff for me. And for years I've had to rely on a line of credit paid for by Bruce. Seems like I've been on fast forward since the night my parents died.

dick moves to blüdhaven without a credit history and without any financial records in his name at all, as far as i can tell. "dick grayson doesn't exist." he's been reliant on other people financially, either to manage his money or for the money itself, and now he's establishing independence as a solo operation by starting to handle all of that himself. and he's establishing that independence as dick grayson, not just as nightwing.

(also, "on fast forward since the night my parents died"—really juicy to me that dick's lack of financial independence gets linked to how quickly he grows up after his parents' deaths!!)

soon dick gets a job bartending and grins thinking about "the look on bruce's face":

Dick: I actually have a job. Can't wait to see the look on Bruce's face.

which is a fun moment of "just moved out of my parent's place and i finally got my first job!!" freedom to me (though he's been out of the manor for years at this point).

dick and team funding

we now jump forward to 2003. in titans/young justice: graduation day #1, megacorp optitron offers a massive amount of funding to the titans and young justice. dick is immediately skeptical and assumes that optitron will gradually start to use their financial leverage over the titans to "[get] us fighting their own little wars"—it's clear that he's tying together receiving money with being controlled.

Roy: Think of what we could accomplish— Dick: With a gigantic pile of money? No thanks. It begins with them just funding us. Then they've got us fighting their own little wars. I'm sure there's some land rights issue in Asia that they'd love for us to tackle.

donna makes it clear that she's well aware of dick's feelings about the rich, and implies that his bias against them is affecting his decisions around optitron:

Donna: You have a chip on your shoulder about the rich. That and corporations. Dick: What do you mean by that? Donna: What do you think I mean by that?

and all that evidence of dick's view of money-as-control aside... dick wasn't wrong to be skeptical about ulterior motives!! in outsiders (2003) #21, it's revealed that the offer of funding from optitron in titans/young justice: graduation day was at bruce's behest:

so the entire funding offer in graduation day was part of an elaborate deception by bruce to pay for dick's team without letting dick find out about it. bruce later says he meant well by doing this, but dick is so angry about it that there's clearly a deeper issue here for dick:

Narration: And those who know [that Optitron is owned by Batman] are having a very hard time buying the "hands-off approach." Dick: I'll kill him. Roy: Settle down. Dick: Don't tell me to settle down, Roy. He did this again. He always does this.

"he did this again. he always does this." 👀👀👀

in one of my favorite scenes ever, dick confronts bruce in an explosive rage about his ownership of optitron and specifically calls out bruce being deceptive and manipulative (outsiders [2003] #21):

Dick: What exactly is your compulsion, your burning desire to deceive, lie, and manipulate the only people who give a good god damn about you!?

you should really read this issue if you haven't, it's amazing!! i can't summarize the complex weird conversation bruce and dick have here, it has so many layers, but the point is that dick IMMEDIATELY and VERY EMOTIONALLY takes bruce forcing his money on dick('s team) as bruce being a manipulative control freak.

and like, yeah, we know dick can and does overreact to bruce, but the way he overreacts to bruce here... i am immediately connecting this on the red string board in my mind back to bruce firing dick and dick establishing independence from him in nightwing (1996)!! dick worked hard for that independence!! and then bruce made dick take his money even though dick didn't want to, even though dick has these well-established issues around bruce's money, and he brewed up this whole deception around it because he knew dick didn't want it!! of COURSE dick sees that as bruce being willfully a huge fucking controlling bastard to him!!! GOD!!!!!

#dick grayson #no thoughtful conclusion to this post btw i'm just thinking about bruce and dick now #dgptsd talking

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