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gutsby · 9 months ago

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If You Like Piña Coladas

Pairing: Neighbor!Joel x Reader

Summary: You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Foodplay (i.e., Joel fucks you with a fruit popsicle). Girthy, unspecified age gap. Mentions of blood.

Note: Loosely inspired by ‘Escape (The Piña Colada Song)’ by Rupert Holmes…minus the part about mutual infidelity LOL

Word count: 8.0k

Joel Miller had been on his own for too long.

The least you could get him was a date. Or even just laid.

Likes: Long walks on the beach

Actually…he hadn’t seen a coastline in ten years, at least. You backspaced slowly and then lowered Joel’s phone.

What did that old grump like to do, anyway?

In all the years you’d been living next door to Mr. Miller, you hadn’t seen him take pleasure in much of anything besides mowing his lawn, rolling his eyes, and screaming like a fiend alongside your dad at whatever game was on.

Likes: College football. Quality time with friends :-)

Nope. Corny as fuck. Backbackbackback.

You wiggled your thumbs over the keyboard in muted concentration. You knew you didn’t have much longer. Joel was currently engrossed in one of the three things he loved most—mowing long, careful rows through his backyard—and you were supposed to be watching the season finale of the Mandalorian while he did. That had been the pretext of your visit, anyway. It’d been a little over an hour since he’d stepped outside and a little under thirty since you’d let your curiosity get the better of you and seized his phone, so you figured he’d be back soon.

You had to think of something witty, and do it quick.

Feeling inspiration strike a second later, you typed:

Likes: Piña Coladas. Getting caught in the rain. Making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape.

Perfect. Easy. Everybody loved that song in the ‘70s.

Having thus put the finishing touch on Joel’s profile, you leaned back and let out a contented sigh. You scrolled. Flicked through photo after photo of your very own hand-picked selection and smiled, feeling proud.

You’d started him off strong and suave with a picture from Tommy’s wedding, wearing a tux that fit him well. Then a cool, casual snap of him at a brewery. A photo taken out on the lake, life jacket snug and showing off a sliver of his broad, bare chest. Then a picture of him at your graduation—you made sure to crop yourself out—followed by a candid shot of him playing dress-up with his niece. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that all the yet-unknown, lovely folks of Hinge would eat this shit up.

You set the radius to 100 miles. Beefed up the age range and gender preferences to include virtually every living soul over 30, tweaked a few more prompts to be cooler, then scrolled through his newly-minted profile. Again.

Oh, and— shit, wait.

Quickly, you toggled to the phone’s settings and disabled all notifications for Hinge. Then you grabbed the app and wrestled it somewhere deep within all the utilities ones that no one ever used. This had to stay hidden for now.

And, just as you stretched your thumb to make a couple last changes to his page, the back door thundered open.

Joel stumbled in, half-hunched. Rubbing his face with a towel and treading slow, heavy steps through the living room. With your heart about to burst from your throat and your impulses blown to shit, you panicked and crammed his phone in your shorts—like, in them.

Joel’s phone was just then settling above the groove of your ass when the man collapsed on the loveseat across the room. Instinctively, you drew your legs to your chest as Joel groaned and pulled the towel away from his face.

“The beast is at it again,” he declared, expression grim.

Before you could ask who ‘beast’ might be, he clarified:

“Marlene’s shit-for-brains labradoodle won’t quit diggin’ holes under my fence. Whole thing’s gonna fall if he—”

You didn’t mean to be rude, but you had to tune out the rest of what he said; your butt squirmed against the sofa as your neighbor’s phone traveled perilously down and took partial lodging between your cheeks. Then stuck.

There was no way you were getting caught like this. One stray phone call or text and you would have the world’s most jarring ringtone buzzing straight up your ass. And a very uncomfortable conversation with Joel, to be sure.

So, while he droned on about the chaos being wrought by the paws of old Sparky, you nodded to the window.

“Aw shit, Mr. Miller…did he just…dig up another?” You feigned surprise as you stared over Joel’s shoulder at a hole that didn’t even exist. Then, when he’d jumped to his feet and growled ‘No fuuuuuckin’ shot’ as he made his way over to the window, you acted fast and pulled the phone out of your ass and stuck the old, cracked thing on top of the coffee table where it’d been last and stood.

Before he could see—or say—anything else, you seized your own phone and made a swift beeline for the door.

Shouting over your shoulder, probably sounding like a fucking lunatic but not particularly caring either way:

“DAD’SCALLINGMEGOTTAGOMISTERMILLERBYE.”

And you left. You had no desire to explain your baseless, bullshit observation or why his phone was currently covered in a thin sheen of sweat from your butt.

You’d never seen so many roses in your life.

Joel Miller could legitimately give the whole Bachelor franchise a run for its money with all the goddamn virtual flowers he’d been getting from his Hinge admirers.

It’d been a week before you’d finally gotten the chance to abduct his phone again and check his ‘likes’ for yourself. Honestly, you hadn’t been expecting much—Joel was hot, but more so in a niche-ish sort of DILF-sexy way. You figured he’d be more of an acquired taste, really.

Once you’d scrolled through just over a hundred different messages, you realized at once how wrong you were.

‘GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure.’

‘Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry, I mean, Daddy?’

‘Need you in a way that is concerning to feminism.’

‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.’

And that was truly just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the wild, chaotic, and horny messages Joel had received over the last week. You couldn’t believe it.

You got to firing off responses as fast as you could. Sitting cross-legged on the back porch while your dad, Joel, Tommy, and a dozen other neighbors were busy grilling burgers and soaking up as much sun as possible.

The only other person who hadn’t joined them was Tess.

She peered over your shoulder and fought back a laugh.

“That man is a fuckin’ menace to society, I swear.”

“No, we’re a menace to society. All about team effort,” you corrected her as you typed up a lightning-quick ‘Hey ;-)’ to each message, fingers moving fast.

“He doesn’t even know you’re doing this!”

“He will soon enough,” you mumbled. Grinning. Then, “Mission’s not over until that old man gets his dick wet.”

You’d probably made it through seventy or so replies and got to go back-and-forth with a couple hot prospects by the time you heard footsteps trailing up the steps—heavy ones that you instantly recognized as Joel’s. Without another word, you exited the app, turned the phone off, and chucked it to Tess, who placed it discreetly onto the porch railing where Joel had left it.

That phone really should have had a passcode on it.

Two weeks later, it did.

You saw it as soon as you’d slid your thumb up the screen in the comfort of Joel’s living room—over at his place pretending to be watching your Star Wars spin-off again—and you felt your heart jump up in your throat.

Your passcode is required to enable Face ID.

Since when the fuck did your neighbor have a passcode? Or even know how to make Face ID a thing? Or use it?

These questions and a dozen more were thrumming through your skull when you heard the screech of the back door once again. This time, instead of taking his sweet time on his yard work, Joel had only been gone five minutes. You swallowed a scream and did that dumb, reflexive thing you had before: shoved his phone in your shorts and thrust yourself back into the couch.

Practically shaking when Joel stepped into the room.

Of course, he wasn’t sweaty. His shirt wasn’t smudged with flecks of dirt or swaths of green from the grass outdoors, nor were his Wranglers the slightest bit muddied. He was perfectly clean in a plain white tee, jeans, and boots. You couldn’t help but notice how tight the short sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps, and then you realized it was because his arms were crossed.

Joel regarded you with a look as long and as careful as the rows he was supposed to be mowing out in the middle of his backyard right now, and he let out a breath.

“Guess what,” he said.

“What?” you squeaked.

Your eyes widened without meaning to, and when Joel plopped down on the sofa beside you, you felt a shiver pulse through your body. Joel stretched his big, wide, denim-clad legs out as he leaned back, and you had to force yourself not to jump when his knee struck yours.

“I’ve gotta brush up on my Gen Z lingo,” he announced.

Wh— okay? What the fuck?

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, and feeling the slightest twinge of relief at this declaration, Joel started to tug something out of his pocket. It took you several seconds to see it, then a couple more just to work out what it was, then Joel was squeezing it. Flipping it open.

An old Motorola Razr? When did he get that?

“See, I, uh— met a girl last week,” Joel resumed, plainly careless in the way he fingered the thing in his grip.

Your chest tightened. Had he really?

“She’s a little on the…younger side. You might know her.”

Oh shit. Was Joel banging one of your friends?

You swallowed hard and nodded for him to continue. You pretended not to notice when he flipped the phone open and left it that way—starting to thumb through the keys to do something on it. You fought the urge to take a look.

To distract yourself, you watched his face instead. It was lax.

“She said somethin’ kinda funny last night, and I—” Joel paused to let out a breath of a laugh, and you nearly broke down to steal a glance at what he was looking at.

Narrowly, you resisted. And it was a lucky thing, too—the next thing you knew, Joel’s gaze was fixed right on you.

“Y’know what she said to me?” he asked.

“What?”

Joel blinked. You probably should’ve heard the click of a little button on the phone he was holding, but you didn’t.

You did feel the vibration of another phone under your ass a second later, though. That one was unmistakable.

That one was Joel’s.

Out of one more stupid, senseless instinct, you coughed. Loud. Like the momentary scratch in your throat might reasonably mask the sound and sensation of a small hunk of metal buzzing between your butt and the couch.

It didn’t, of course. You sat and stared at Joel as it rang.

Slowly, he brought the Razr to his ear. At one corner of his mouth, you could discern the first inklings of a smirk.

“Wanna answer that?” he hummed, nodding to your rear.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

You weren’t sure how you even had the strength to do it, but you reached back and plucked his phone out of your shorts. With your gaze still stuck to his, you answered it. Put it to your own ear out of habit—and a little bit of fear.

“Hello?” you said, stupidly.

“Hey.”

The second you heard Joel’s voice rumble out beside you on the couch and across the line, your heart dropped. Ironclad confirmation of all you didn’t want to believe.

You squeezed his phone even tighter and sincerely hoped the man couldn’t hear the wild, erratic beat of your heart as it throbbed and thudded in your chest. The noise was almost too loud for you to hear anything else, too fast-paced and frantic to discern another word until:

“Can you tell me what a ‘Hinge DILF’ is, darlin’?”

You rose to your feet, scarcely even realizing it.

You had to get off of that couch, had to get away from him and come clean, as calmly as you possibly could. The phone fell out of your grasp just as he ended the call.

“Shit— Mr. Miller— I-I-I-I can explain.”

Swiftly, suddenly, Joel recovered his phone from the floor. He set the other device aside and propped his feet on the coffee table, lounging a little more comfortably now that he could scroll the phone at his leisure. Before he did, though, he made a point to wipe the screen.

“Nothin’ I love more than ass sweat on my phone.”

Your cheeks heated to a thousand degrees.

You wished the ground below your feet would open up and swallow you whole. It was like you were floating somewhere over your own body, unable to move or speak. From this vantage point, and still paralyzed with fear, you could see Joel opening Hinge on his phone.

“Crazy how long the stuff sticks,” he mused aloud, starting to peruse his likes, “When you got up and high-tailed it outta my place that first day, I thought I must’ve been seein’ things—what with how wet my phone was.”

You would’ve closed your eyes in utter resignation if you’d had the strength. Joel had known this entire time.

The old man continued to scroll, cavalier as ever.

“I figured ya might’ve been havin’ some…personal time of your own on my phone—maybe your old man blocked PornHub on the home WiFi or somethin’—but then I kept diggin’ around…” As Joel spoke, his actions seemed to mirror his words, and he was really scoping out the app. Combing through profiles and roses and streams of old messages that you had sent, then shrugged to himself.

“…and all I found added up to jackshit,” he concluded.

This time, you managed to meet his gaze when he looked back up, but really, you hardly saw him at all.

Joel was smiling.

“I did see a text, though.”

He waved his phone, where a few messages were visible, though not legible, to you. You didn’t try to read them.

“‘Welcome to Hinge! Reply ‘C’ to confirm your phone number and get started,’” Joel rattled the first one off.

Of course you’d forgotten to delete the fucking text.

“And I know my memory’s all but gone to shit, but I didn’t remember ever replying ‘C’ myself, so then—”

“It was a joke,” you choked out, cutting him off.

Joel cocked a brow. He leaned even further back in his seat and crossed his feet. You were already vomiting words before he could attempt to get one out himself.

“N-Not a funny joke,” you clarified, voice shaking, “Fuckin’ stupid as shit, I just wanted to see— y’know— me and Tess were talkin’ ‘bout how hard it must be…in your…in your fifties— it’s just hard finding somebody.”

Joel didn’t know what you were trying to say, and his face showed it. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“So you think my sex life is a joke?” Mr. Miller quipped.

“NO!”

You hadn’t meant to say it so loudly. You quieted down:

“No. I didn’t…no. I just wanted to see who would…”

“…wanna fuck me?” he finished, blunt as ever.

If your face had been hot before, surely it was about to burst into flames right now. You didn’t get like this—not around Joel Miller, not around anybody—but here you were, chest constricting with humiliation and shame, wishing you were anywhere in the world but the place you were, and Mr. Miller was smiling, he was still smiling, and it was all you could do to just stand there and…stare.

And wince when tears started to prick at your waterline.

As if this day couldn’t get any more mortifying, you were actually crying in front of your neighbor, nose stinging and beginning to leak. Stupid, stuttered gasps leaving your lungs like you’d just learned to breathe yesterday, vision blurring the man in front of you and then dimming, momentarily, as you brought your hands up to your eyes and tried to shield this wretched display from his view.

You paced a couple hasty, blind steps away. You pressed the heels of your palms so hard into your sockets that stars started to dance behind your lids and a pain began to stab your brain. You continued to sob. It was just then dawning on you that you’d have to make a run for it now and never set foot near this man’s property again. You’d have to lock yourself away, never get to go to a barbecue again, probably face a restraining order from Joel and—

“FUCK!” you shrieked.

With all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, you tumbled over Joel’s end table and took a nosedive into the floor. Your hands had no choice but to fly out in front of you in an effort to break your fall, and of course, they had to land on a lone, stray beer bottle on the ground.

One lovely little container of Corona Extra went splintering under the weight of your whole body, and briefly, before the thing exploded beneath your palm, you swore you could’ve heard a tiny, self-righteous voice:

‘¡La Vida Más Fina!’

Fuck you, Corona.

You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. Even if the bottle had managed to roll far enough to nick just the edge of your hand, slicing a minuscule strip of skin beneath your thumb, you still wanted to cry even harder. You looked pathetic, crumpled up beside this man’s couch with your wrist pinched between your fingers and your tears paving two steady streams down your cheeks. Hedged in by a field of shattered glass, you cast a look around yourself and whimpered. Then cursed. And cried.

You heard the shards around you crackle and snap even more when a pair of boots stepped in and crushed them.

Joel made easy work of your deadweight frame—your body hanging limply in his grip as he hoisted you up to your feet. Your vision was still as bleary as it had ever been, nose running and stinging and still struggling to take in breaths, but Mr. Miller’s hold was steady. He guided you into the kitchen and straight over to the sink.

Water ran. Wounds stung. A couple more sobs clawed out of your throat while Joel held your hand under the faucet, dabbed a paper towel across your hand to dry it off, then disappeared, momentarily, to retrieve what you assumed would be a first aid kit from the other room.

Instead, Mr. Miller returned with a fifth of Maker’s Mark. You eyed the bottle of whiskey in his hand and grimaced.

“N-Nuh-uh,” you blubbered, emphatic, “No way, man.”

“Uh, yes way, man,” Joel mimicked your voice, nose scrunching for dramatic effect as he elevated the pitch, “Like, you totally need this antiseptic so you don’t die.”

“I don’t s-sound like that!”

“I don’t so-o-und like that!”

Of course your neighbor couldn’t be assed to show an ounce of compassion to another person for more than two minutes. He drew closer with the whiskey. When he grabbed your wrist, you huffed and shook your head.

“That’s gonna hurt. I don’t want it.”

“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river.”

Though as soon as he’d said it, the man winced a little. Maybe that had been a bit too harsh. You sniffled hard.

“Fuck you, Miller— I-I was doin’ you a favor!” you spat.

Tears and snot becoming the fuel for part of your newfound indignation, you shot Joel a look and scowled. You wrenched your hand out of his grip and made a point to rebuff the bottle of liquor as you moved back, shaking your head again. Mr. Miller stood there and watched you.

“Only time you ever leave this fuckin’ house is when you’re hangin’ out with my dad or your brother, you haven’t got shit else to do around here but mow that fuckass lawn and jerk off— I was tryin’ to help you out! Get you laid like any normal guy would like, but no, no— you’ve gotta go and be the world’s biggest ASSHOLE about it, just like you are with everything else. I’m sorry.”

Deep down, you were and weren’t remorseful at all.

You were sorry you’d gotten caught, ate shit over a side table and got your palm fucked up by a bottle of beer.

You weren’t as sorry that Joel seemed to be regarding you as a joke now—something to tease and poke fun at. Trying to pour his makeshift disinfectant over your cut and force you to obey his orders because you were just too dumb to figure it out yourself, then mock your voice.

Then watch you with tightly knit brows, eyes scanning your face with a skepticism that was almost palpable.

Condescending old fuck.

“What? Ain’t got nothin’ to say to that?” you seethed. Emotions running high—and humiliation momentarily usurped by anger—you stared him down and dared him to speak. You didn’t care what he thought of you now.

If it had been in your interest to care, you probably would’ve looked a little harder at what the man’s body language was communicating to you in the meantime. What his mouth was evidently loath to say, his hands and feet hardly displayed the same reticence: he set the bottle aside and stepped closer to you. He stared back.

It wasn’t until he’d approached near enough, had closed the space between your body and his with barely more than an inch or two to spare, and glowered down at you, face frozen with a frown, that your brain got the hint that he might not be the type to chicken out. Or back down.

He reached behind you and opened a cabinet.

“A favor,” Joel echoed, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to replicate your intonation as he said it.

He’d just marginally checked his douchebag predilection, was closing the cabinet door beside your head and was starting to rock back on his heels, when a little cylindrical glass swung low in your line of vision. Joel held the tumbler loosely, then lifted it and pointed with his pinky.

“You,” he said, accusing, “fuckin’ suck at those—favors.”

Your stomach clenched at the sight of a slight, impish smile just then starting to frame the sides of his mouth. The featherlight grip he kept fastened on the glass, the ease of his stance, even the jab of that stupid, rough finger, still pointing at you, all bordered on nauseating. You fixed him with a pitiless look as he leaned in again.

And when his knuckles brushed your side, you tried not to flinch. You arrested his gaze without a word and let the smug, sun-tanned, sweet-as-shit-pie son of a bitch have his fill ogling you back and closing in on the bottle.

“What? Having half the tri-county population on Hinge ready to suck you off isn’t really your style?” you jeered.

Joel popped the cap and poured his drink. He shrugged.

“They ain’t you.”

As casual as if he’d just told you the weather forecast for the week ahead, his favorite place to eat, or the mundane specs on a construction project he’d been saddled with for months. Nothing of note. Nothing unknown. Just a routine admission of truth that sent your head reeling.

“You wh— w— well that’s—” you stammered, equal parts astonishment and exasperation as he continued to feed you steady, unrelenting doses of that look: “GROSS!”

You were standing stock-still, forced to watch that blip of a grin morph into a full smirk, slowly. He had to be joking.

“You are…fucked in the head, Miller. That’s not funny.”

Now you were the one pointing. Joel was drinking.

“—and I’d never in a million years even think—”

The side of your palm began to throb. It bled.

Blood was trickling down your wrist, roaring like thunder in your skull as your heart thudded away, impatient.

Impatient.

Impatient, impatient, impleeeeeeeeease fuck me, Joel, PLEASE!

Your libido a filthy, rotten traitor to all the rest of your better sense, you continued to stand there and suffocate on words like something akin to acid reflux in the throat. Your thighs snapped together, your back collapsed with equal force against the rigid set of cabinets behind it, and slowly, almost excruciating this time, you felt the pulse between your legs give way to a bout of warmth.

That cockhungry slut governing your bodily functions was actually getting wet for this asshole, and you were powerless to the effects of her wily, DILF-lusting ways.

“Gross,” you uttered out loud, again, reflexively—face overlaid with a look of horror as the heat began to pool.

And, as though the man had been endowed with the gift of infrared vision, or else just an external thermostat to gauge how hot you’d gotten between your two sweating legs, Joel brightened. His gaze flirted down to that soft, unseasonably tepid spot with a knowing look and then—

“Gross,” he parroted back. The smile behind his eyes said he wasn’t disgusted at all, just teasing some more.

When he pinched your wrist to get back to the business of blotting out blood with a paper towel, he kept that smug look painted across his creased, ancient face.

“‘S’that why ya made a Hinge for me? ‘Cause I’m gross?” Mr. Miller applied pressure to the still-bleeding cut, then directed your other hand to hold the paper towel in place.

You shook your head.

“No,” you started, trying not to wince before he turned. Again, the man ambled out of the kitchen, only to come back momentarily—finally—with a long-awaited bandaid.

“I mean…yeah, you’re a perv, but that’s beside the point.”

Joel exhaled a little harder through his nose. He pressed the underside of your palm again, ensuring the bloodflow had stopped, then swapped the napkin for the bandage. The adhesive might’ve been in place for two seconds before he was retreating again; this time, to the fridge.

“Then what was the point?”

Joel yanked one door open. You glanced over your shoulder to the one that led out to the back porch.

The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to go.

Go.

GO!

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

From where you were standing, you weren’t sure why you’d decided to make Joel the profile in the first place. Your curiosity, for one thing, had been one hell of a persuasive motivator to getting you scrolling on Joel’s behalf, but why did you care one way or another if your neighbor was drowning in pussy or enduring Sahara desert-levels of dick deprivation at his big age? It sure as fuck wasn’t your business to care, and nothing about Joel Miller had ever intrigued you consistently enough to venture an inquiry about his personal life before, so…

“Why?”

Joel was looming overhead again, the force of his presence like a fist through your chest. In an effort to steady your breaths, you turned your gaze away from his.

“I should go.” You couldn’t have dodged his last question more clumsily, or pathetically, if you’d tried, “It’s…late.”

Outside, the midday sun was still high in the sky, and there was nowhere in the world you had to be, Joel knew.

“Okay,” he said at length.

Then he leaned in closer and held something out.

“At least take one for the road, alright?”

And he was smiling, almost kind.

You looked down and—shit.

There it was, clear as day: a creamy piña colada popsicle.

The sneaky, conceited motherfucker had remembered what you’d written in his dating profile. You winced.

You accepted the cocktail popsicle without a word.

‘Thanks’ or ‘You’re a fucking pig, Miller’ likely would’ve sufficed for a farewell on any account, but by then, you were far too shell-shocked—and frankly, incredulous—of everything that had just transpired over the course of the last thirty minutes. You didn’t thank Mr. Miller, nor insult him by likening him to swine or any other thing; you left.

Your feet carried you fast out of his house.

Down the steps of his back porch, across pristine, power-washed concrete, past seemingly endless beds of hibiscus blossoms, marigolds, cape plumbago, and those god-awful periwinkle plants—who the fuck enjoyed gardening in a heatwave, anyway?—you practically sprinted away in a fugue state until the toes of your shoes hit the edge of your lawn, then you stopped.

“FUCK!”

You’d forgotten your phone.

It felt as though your body were turning in slow motion, and for a second, you seriously considered abandoning the device altogether and begging your dad for another. Then you set your sights on the wide, uninviting exterior of the back of your neighbor’s house, the place you’d just been hauling ass to escape, and almost rolled your eyes.

Joel was leaning back against the frame of his open back door, arms crossed, expression smug as he watched you.

It was extraordinarily difficult to throw a half-decent punch at a man while wielding a popsicle in your hand.

“Give it back!” you barked.

“Give what back?” Joel grinned, easily side-stepping what struck him as neither a punch nor a slap—in fact, the hit never struck him at all. He laughed as it missed.

“You know what.”

Of course, you’d gone back. Of course, Joel had tried to play dumb and pretend like you’d never left your phone behind at all. And of course, he hadn’t budged until you’d threatened to shove your left foot so far up his ass his dentist would be picking toes out of his teeth for weeks.

‘Violent little thing, ain’t ya?’ Joel had replied, chuckling.

Then, when he’d attempted to brush you aside with a patronizing wave of his hand and an admonition to run on back to daddy and quit buggin’ me, all bets were off. You’d aimed right for center mass and nearly dropped your frozen treat with how hard you’d shoved his chest.

That was how the conversation had started.

That was how the so-called ‘altercation’ had come to be—Joel easily swatting you off and indulging you no further than to chuckle and laugh and taunt you like an older brother who was faced with a sibling half his size—and all the while, your injured hand was throbbing again. White, sticky rivers of melted popsicle now trickled down your wrist instead of blood, and you were just as pissed.

“Listen—” Joel began, catching a fist meant for his face.

“Gimme my fuckin’ phone, Miller!”

“—you—”

“Can go to hell.”

“—owe me.”

“Owe you?!”

You stopped. Your weak, one-handed assault was halted just long enough to peer into Joel’s eyes, and the gaze that met yours was solid. Sincere as you’d ever seen it and blinking slow as the chocolate browns of his irises moved lower over you. Whether they were drinking you in, sizing you up, or merely plotting your demise by calculated turns, you could have been no more certain, or prepared to hear, what came out of his mouth next:

“Wanted to do me a favor, didn’t ya? C’mere.”

And the next thing you knew—or felt—was one thick finger hooking into your belt loops. One swift tug in his direction, another light push toward the old wood railing to your side, and then more fingers crowding in, crawling over, seizing the coarse denim material and pulling hard like the thing was the single most annoying impediment.

“Take these off,” Joel grunted.

You were too stunned to move. Even breathing felt like a chore, every last sense elevated to impossible heights, it wasn’t surprising at all when Joel just went and did it all himself. In a blink, your shorts were yanked down and then dropped to your ankles, your legs guided backward in shuffled steps, and then, nearly tripping in the fabric at your feet, you fell back, ass smacking the flat railing. You winced at the warm, knotty texture of the cedar beneath you and, out of habit, shot the old man a look.

Joel cocked a brow in response, likely already knowing what that glare from you was intended to convey, and instead of giving voice to any words himself, just sank.

Lower and lower and lower, until his knees were the only things holding him upright on the floor before you and his hands were pressing—melting—into your thighs.

Audibly, his kneecaps cracked.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

While Mr. Miller’s mouth moved dangerously close to a place you should’ve been appalled to see him go, all you felt capable of doing in that absurd moment, it seemed, was laugh. You gripped the thick white column beside you, scooted back slightly until you were in a comfier seated position, then snagged your lower lip between your teeth to contain the sound, but it was of no use.

Joel was both drooling and scowling between your legs.

“That funny, huh?” he managed in a low, ragged breath, “Sound’a some crackin’ joints on a man as old as me?”

“Yeah,” you said. Smug, for once.

Admittedly, any other normal person in your position would’ve been concerned with about a million different, more pressing issues—namely, your neighbor and dad’s best friend sticking his face between your legs—but really, after all the frivolity, commotion, and fucking insane behavior the two of you that day, it was like your brain had logged off and left the body to its own devices.

You didn’t mind that for right now.

When Joel’s tongue grazed the space between the cusp of your panties and inner thigh, you really didn’t mind.

Fuck it. If this was the favor he’d wanted after all, so be it.

As if reconsidering the foray of his mouth for the time being, Joel tilted back a little: just far enough to get his hands on your underwear and start tearing those down your hips too. One short, hot puff of air from his lips was a bliss unto itself, and your knees instinctively kicked up. With the thin white fabric barely halfway down one calf, you hooked your ankle over Joel’s shoulder and cursed.

“My daddy’s gonna kill you for this, Mr. Miller.”

And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Joel smiled.

Bigger this time, as if to show he didn’t really care at all what the man next door was liable to say or do about his present endeavor as long as he got to stay. You let him.

He pressed a kiss to your slick, puffy lips and hummed.

“Fine by me.”

Without another word the tip of the man’s tongue glided up the length of your slit and curled in, drawing your arousal between his lips in a hungry sort of kiss, and then sank even deeper. Going nose-deep in just one go, the old man looked positively obscene burying his face so far inside; his features alone a cruel, unseemly sort of fixture between legs as smooth and supple and warm as yours—how did a man so many years your senior get to be so lucky?—and somewhere further, in the darkest recesses of your mind, the sight sparked desire. A hunger, really.

Seeing that silver, stubbled chin getting drenched in your wetness, the weathered lines of his face growing even deeper with each new movement of his tongue, the strain in his neck with muscles that were firm and taut and so visibly aged with decades and decades of life—

You adored it.

A man Joel’s age never looked more out of place and still somehow perfectly fit for the space between your thighs.

You lowered the hand that was cradling your popsicle, braced your weight against the railing with the other, and then pressed on either side of his skull with your legs, quiet moans tumbling one after the next off your tongue.

“‘S’all for me?” Joel breathed, licking and suckling kisses along your clit, “This sweet, needy pussy’s all mine?”

“All yours.”

You scarcely recognized the sound of your own voice. Your legs were shaking. Though you loved to see him make you come undone, piece-by-piece, you also couldn’t bring yourself to stare a second longer, stimulation too great and his tongue too good.

If he kept going at a rate like this, you’d have no choice but to cum, and you didn’t want to be done just yet. Or ever. You refocused your gaze to look down and tell him as much, when your mouth fell open around a gasp, rather than words, and the weight in your hand fell away.

Swiftly, Joel took the popsicle in his own grasp and slid it down to the vicinity of his lips and tongue, now grinning.

The thing was half-melted by now, having sufficiently soaked half your forearm and leaving a vague, sugary aroma in its wake, but it was still intact. Still unlicked—unlike you—and still perfectly cool and light and long. The off-white hue was almost taunting in the way it winked and caught rays of the sunlight shining behind you, and as the man slid it even lower, you jumped back.

“Joel,” you hissed.

“What?” he hummed.

“That’s not—” You blinked, swallowing a moan.

“Not what?”

One warm, callused hand pressed the tip of the frozen thing to your bundle of nerves—the first contact it had had since Joel’s tongue—and you let out a low whine.

Even after all that time in the sun, the popsicle seared your soft, wet, aching parts with a biting cold you’d never thought possible. It sent waves of a strange, trembling pleasure coursing through your lower half and left your head with no choice but to moan. And fist Joel’s hair in a vice-like grip when he angled the wooden stick lower.

Suddenly, the white, sticky head slipped from your clit to the rim of your yet-untouched entrance, and that made your muscles leap to attention once again. You cursed.

“Not what, honey?” Joel pressed, with affection—and as he did, sank the tip of the popsicle deeper inside you.

“Th— that’s not—” You were shaking your head, racking your brain for any trace of the English language and failing miserably, “Not…doesn’t…g-go there, fuck.”

Joel sank the pretty, dribbling popsicle another inch inside your pussy and sucked a whistle through his teeth. If your senses weren’t as raw and utterly shot as they were, you likely would’ve seen the expression on his face transform from one of pleasure and amusement to awe, eyes darkening at the sight of your hole opening wider.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he cooed, voice low.

Another couple soft utterances of ‘Joel,’ and your legs only parted wider. Free to grip his hair, the railing, the column beside you, or just the insides of your own palm as the icy sensation sank inwards and into your body, you whimpered. Your hips, instinctively, bucked toward the source, and you heard Joel’s groan join your sounds.

He withdrew his new toy just far enough to make you mewl for him again, then drove it deeper. With the friction of that, a stream of white went trickling out.

Joel couldn’t help himself; he flattened his tongue against the stream and licked you clean from the spot where he’d split you open to the cusp of your clit. He circled that place over and over, worked the object in his hand even further inside and back out again, then, getting a taste of your arousal with the white, wet, sticky-sweet juices starting to mix together, he moaned.

It was a guttural sound, something just shy of the ‘feral’ demarcation but at least ten steps ahead of desperate. You relished the gruff, throaty sound reverberating from his lips to your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around it and for him, and were just about to throw your head back and grind your hips even harder when it stopped.

Joel stopped. He started to get up.

Quickly for him, but slow as molasses from your point of view, the man straightened from his place on the hard wooden floor and expelled a breath. His chest heaved, and his torso twisted to one side, momentarily, to get the strain out of his back as best he could. From where you sat, the spattering of grey in his beard seemed to glisten even brighter with the sheen of your arousal now sticking in it. He wiped his chin and reached in between your legs.

“Got any favors left in ya, sweet pea?” he smirked.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t sound like a question at all, and didn’t appear to be intended that way, as the next second had Joel pulling the largely-spent popsicle out of your slick and straight into your mouth. He didn’t inquire whether he could push it down on your tongue and make you taste your own cunt on the thin wooden stick, but the smile on your lips assured him that was fine by you.

Nor did he ask for your permission to flip you around, bend you over his porch railing, and take your hips in his hands. You were still sucking down the last traces of sugar and citrus and a vaguely tangy taste when you felt the head of something else prod your soft, wet folds.

Much bigger—and warmer—than the thing that had breached you before, Joel nudged at your hole with the tip of his cock, coated the head of it in light, gentle circles, and sucked in a breath. He didn’t have to ask, and you didn’t need to answer; he just parted your walls with the force of one steadying thrust, and the pulse of that sharp, dizzying pleasure was back in an instant.

Shared this time, and manifesting in sounds from you and Joel alike: you gritting the stick between your teeth and managing muffled cries of his name and whatever expletives you could scream, Joel with ragged breaths.

For a man who ostensibly hadn’t fucked since the Clinton administration, he was off to a pretty good start.

Joel gripped your hip even tighter and started to saw his cock in and out of your dripping, pliant hole, his other fist finding purchase in your hair for more leverage. His thrusts were shallow enough at first to get you used to the new stretch, and you could feel him making space in a way no man’s girth ever had before. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it had come to settle into a mix of guilt, rigid composure, and pussydrunk pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured behind you. Then, groaning, “Good fuckin’ girl, keep squeezin’ my cock just like that.”

You felt a slap on the ass and the speed of his thrusts pick up in turn. Your mouth fell open in a moan, and the stick on your tongue almost slipped out of place when, shortly, Joel leaned over your body and pulled you back. He snagged the popsicle stick between his teeth just in time to get your back flush with his front—in perfect position to get fucked against the nearest column.

Breaths coming out in short, ragged grunts in your ear, Joel teased the side of your face with the stick, then nudged it back in your mouth. You sucked it softly.

“One more favor, baby?” he panted against your cheek.

You nodded, not knowing what it was but that you wanted to be the one giving it. Joel pulsed inside you.

With every stab of his cock, every string of your wet, messy, combined arousals making the most profane noises imaginable between your body and his, you were squeezing him tighter and teetering on release. Joel’s hand snaked down between your legs, and just as the head of his cock nudged against that spot, you keened.

“Any favor?” Joel groaned and nipped at your earlobe.

The heft of his stomach and chest made for a warm, sturdy place to start rocking your hips, greying peach fuzz at the base of his belly a small comfort as you writhed against his body and whined that you’d do anything, anything he wanted, as long as he let you cum.

Joel’s middle finger found your clit, and you nearly screamed at the welt of pleasure coming to a head. Again, the popsicle stick tumbled out, but neither one of you could be bothered to try and keep it in this time.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The man behind you didn’t even attempt to conceal his grin as he leaned closer, hugging your body to his while he circled your clit and fucked you harder, lips straying every now and then to press a kiss on your shoulder. He plunged his cock deeper and was met with a squeezing, leaking mess trickling down his length and onto his balls, growing louder with each new wet slap against your ass. The old man was a tease, but he couldn’t hold on forever.

“Wanna fill you up,” Joel groaned.

“Cum inside?” you murmured.

You were barely able to tilt your chin to him, but when you did, he held it—made you look him in the eyes and, for once, give your unequivocal permission to do it then.

And you did.

You were startled to find Joel’s lips crashing against yours in the next second, mouth overwhelmed with the remains of your own taste, his tongue, and a series of relentless, hammering thrusts. It was only a matter of moments, then, before your resolve gave way and his followed suit, and the waves of pleasure between you both manifested in ropes of sticky, hot cum painting your walls. Joel held you closer, as though needing to feel his seed as he fucked you through it, groaning when he felt it start to move with each sharp, stuttered thrust.

You panted in his mouth coming down. You kissed him back. You almost couldn’t believe the sensation between your legs, soon to come dripping out and undoubtedly bound to make a mess all over the floor of Joel’s porch.

Equally unbelievable was the fact that you’d just fucked your neighbor in broad daylight, outside, with Marlene’s house directly to your left and your own on the right.

You stared out at the sprawling expanse in front of you—Joel’s impeccably kempt yard, one of the reasons why you were standing where you were just then—and, as you’d found yourself before, you felt the urge to laugh.

Not on account of Joel’s old, ailing knees, this time.

Clearly, the man still trying to catch his breath behind you suspected that that might’ve been the case, though, because you felt him shift his weight and grunt, lightly.

“What’s so funny? My knees crack when I cum, too?”

You could feel the smallest of scowls start to take shape, muted momentarily with kisses that he pressed on your cheek, and others, still more teasing, down your neck.

You let him, unfazed and still giggling. Then pointing.

It seemed Joel was loath to detach his lips from your neck—or his cock from the place he’d just stuffed full—but when you lifted your finger to indicate a direction toward the side of his backyard, his senses perked up.

There, along the white picket fence between his yard and Marlene’s, was the furry, merciless, lawn-destroying labradoodle that had been plaguing Joel’s life for years.

The man was out of you in an instant. He yanked his jeans up even quicker, tucking his dick back, clumsily, into its place in a fit of rage, then cupping his hands:

“WILL YOU FUCK THE HELL OFF, SPARKY?!”

#REMEMBER - JUST BECAUSE JOEL PUTS A POPSICLE IN YOUR P*SSY DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD DO THE SAME IRL!!!! I’M SO SERIOUS #PLEASE PROTECT YOUR PH AND DON’T PUT SWEETS DOWN THERE LMAOAKSK #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou

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defmaybe · 2 months ago

Text

last night's mascara

12 Days of Christmas: Day 11, January 4th, 2025

Dreamcatcher’s Lee Gahyun x Male Reader

3.1k words

Christmas Masterlist

What a boring ass party.

It’s the thought that has been lingering inside your head for the last two hours. The decorations? Daft. The song choice? Lame. The conversations? Rote. So, there you are, one hand on your phone, the other fiddling with your fingers restlessly. Should’ve bought Balatro when it was on sale.

You scroll your Twitter feed aimlessly, pressing likes on the fan sites’ pictures of your favorite groups—fromis_9, Red Velvet, (G)I-DLE. It’s the only way to escape this party without raising much suspicion.

Well, not until Gahyun notices you standing in the corner of your eyes.

“Not enjoying it?”

You almost drop your phone on the ground, good thing you can balance it with your hands.

“Shit, y–yeah,” you reply.

Gahyun giggles softly, covering her mouth with the glass of champagne in her hand. She’s in her red and white Christmas dress, one that shows off a lot—her shoulders, her legs, her ample cleavage. Fuck, she looks so tantalizing.

“So,” she says. She’s pulling you into a conversation. Abort. Abort. Abort!

“How was your day?” she asks, “Wait, oh my god, that was a terrible question. I’m sorry if it’s too plain for you.”

It’s over for you.

“No, no, it was–great. I’m fine,” you reply. “How are you?”

Gahyun chuckles. “A bit drunk, but still standing!” she says with a bright smile, twisting her foot coyly. God, she looks gorgeous.

You only shoot a smile back at her. You don’t know what more to say. It’s difficult for you to continue the conversation like this. You can’t do this.

“Hey,” she continues. You’re finished. “I can keep you company here if you want.”

She’s kind, but you’ll have to say no. You aren’t good enough to hold her right here. You don’t have anything to talk about!

“Ah, I–I appreciate that, but I don’t think you’d enjoy my company,” you decline, taking a sip of the champagne in your hand.

She giggles, and you fall victim to your own self-deprecation once again. You just can’t stop pushing people out, can you?

Fuck.

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, come on!” she encourages. You’re taken aback by her enthusiasm to be with you. Is she really enjoying your company? Is it a dare? Is she just toying with you for her own entertainment?

“O–Okay, Gahyun,” you stammer.

The conversation begins at the expense of your solitude. It’s seemingly unending. You’re involuntarily dragged into an exchange with the talkative Lee Gahyun. However, you’re slowly dragged into her charismatic presence. You’re somehow not stuttering anymore? Goodness gracious! She’s a good talker. She’s a good listener. She’s genuinely comforting to be around.

“So–speaking of music, have you been listening to anyone recently? Well, outside of k-pop, it’ll be too boring,” Gahyun asks.

You contemplate a bit before you answer, “Well, I’ve been listening to Gracie Abrams a lot lately. Do you know her?”

“Gracie Abrams–hmm–is she the one who opened for Taylor Swift?”

“Yeah!” you happily answer. She’s really full of knowledge. “I started listening to her a few years ago. Quality can be choppy sometimes, but I still like her a lot.”

“I’m sure she’s great,” she says with a giggle. “That’s why you’re drawn to her.”

You can only chuckle at her warm words. God, she really knows how to reel you in.

“What about you? Who have you been listening to?” you ask her the same question back. Normally, you’d be beating yourself up for not changing the question, but with Gahyun, it feels like you don’t have to worry about anything.

Gahyun laughs, cutely covering her mouth while doing so. “Well, mostly Billie Eilish, her new album. Have you heard it yet?”

“Oh, yeah! I love Birds of a Feather a lot. Wait, let me guess yours–uh–” you pause, trying to guess her favorite from the album.

Gahyun adoringly smiles, waiting for your guess. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the light, but, fuck, are you having a crush on her?

“Chihiro?”

“Aww~ that’s close! It’s actually my second favorite,” Gahyun says, pouting cutely. You can only awkwardly giggle along to cover the embarrassment from the mistake.

“I actually love Lunch the most, to be honest,” she says. “Makes me click my heels, you know?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean–I also like Lunch, but–uh–it’s just not as sad as Birds of a Feather.”

“Oh. Oh! Well, that’s definitely interesting!” Gahyun says. “So, you like sad songs? Do you like–uh–have any to recommend to me?”

You give her a few songs. She nods in acknowledgement. The exchange continues into the night. It flows so lively that you get lost in her charm, over and over again. You find out about her dog at home—Bae. You find out that she loves pineapples on pizzas. You find out that her favorite TV show is Goblin (yes, that Goblin).

As it goes on, you can’t help but steal glances at her body, even if you know how inappropriate that is. You’ll use the opportunity when she looks away to take in the view of her ample cleavage or her meaty thighs. She looks so good, so deli–

“Hey,” she derails your train of thoughts. “Did you just–stare at my tits?”

Your eyes widen in shock. You didn’t realize that you’ve been looking at her for a little too long. Your hands tremble in fear of getting called out. You should say sorry, now!

“F–Fuck, I–I’m so s–sorry, Gah–”

“Zip it,” she cuts you off, putting her index finger on your lips. “I don’t want excuses.”

Tears start to form in your eyes. You’re being mentally cornered by Lee Gahyun, the company darling. God, you’re beyond fucked. Your whole life is being undone because of a slip. Fuck.

Then, she whispers into your ear.

“Meet me at the women’s bathroom in five minutes.”

You nod with your eyes closed slowly, before she departs from you, giving you the view of her hips swaying before disappearing into the crowd.

—

The women’s bathroom smells of air purifier, it’s taken care of well. It’s brightly lit. You find Gahyun standing in the middle of the room—arms crossed, tapping her foot. She’s waiting for you.

“Come here, lock the door,” she orders, gesturing you to her. Her voice is much, much more stern than in the ballroom, but there’s also–something else. Is she mad at you, or is it something else?

The door clicks shut, leaving the bathroom only for you two. You slowly walk towards Gahyun, who’s looking at you expectantly.

The air thickens with anticipation. The silence is heavy. You’re stuck in the bathroom with Lee Gahyun. She doesn’t seem too pleased with your presence here, but why would she be calling you here, then?

“So,” she starts. You close your eyes shut in fear. “Anything to say before we start?”

You shake your head vigorously, hoping that the admission would lessen the punishment directed at you.

You hear a wicked laugh, as she starts to circle around you. Your body trembles in fear. Fuck, what is she going to do with you. Is she going to beat you up? Is she going to berate you?

“Are you sure that you’ve locked the door?” she asks from behind you. You can feel her breath on your neck. It’s terrifying.

“Y–Yes, Gahyun,” you stammer out.

“Good. Now, take off your pants,” she orders sternly. Wait, this isn’t going where you’ve expected.

“Wait, do you want me to–”

“Take off your pants, yes,” she finishes your sentence without any hesitation. Determination shines in her eyes.

“O–Okay?” you utter, before reluctantly unbuckling your belt. It’s so hard to come off when your hands are literally shaking like this. Your breathing becomes erratic with each second that passes by.

“Faster,” she sternly commands into your ear. Her warm breath touches your skin, eliciting goosebumps everywhere. Your hands quickly take off your trousers as she orders, leaving your lower body in your boxers. The outline of your erection becomes visible under them.

“Good,” she says, the warmth of your hand emanating into your firm ass. “Now, if you’d show me what you’ve been hiding under this–garment.

You immediately comply with her order, sliding down your tight boxers in a hasty motion. Your hard cock springs free from its confinement. It twitches in the anticipation of what’s to come. Gahyun presses into your body from the back, making your ass touch her warm crotch. Her perfume pervades your nostrils, making your legs wobble like jelly.

“Hmm, excited, aren’t we?” she coos. Her right hand reaches from the back to tease you. She leaves just a little space between her hand and your cock. You wish you could just grab her hand and make her touch your hardness right now, but that’s not how you play this game. You can only wonder how Gahyun can hide this side for so long—the side that dominates the shit out of you.

“Do you want me to touch it? Say it.” Her hot breath brushes against your ear, teasing you, pushing you towards the limit.

“Y–Yes, I want you to touch it, Gahyun,” you utter, mind going all haywire from the sheer intensity of her body warmth against your back.

You hear Gahyun giggle mischievously from the back, before her hand latches onto your cock firmly, making you groan in sheer ecstasy.

Slowly, she begins her dirty display on your cock. She lazily drags her hand up along your length, eliciting a shudder from you. When she’s at the top, she makes sure to take a swipe on the tip to make you moan. Your brain is now filled with nothing but her otherworldly handjob she’s giving. She feels so good.

You moan and whimper in her tight restraint, naked from below the waist. Her hands are slowly jerking you off with an unmatched mastery. Her smell is intense—her perfume, and something that’s explicitly her.

She slowly finds her rhythm, knowing when to pump, knowing when to swipe. She goes faster, eliciting guttural groans and whimpers out of you.

Your cock is being fondled by the company darling, and that thought alone sends you into rapture. She’s the same woman you see every day. She’s the same woman you’ve talked to. She’s the same woman who everyone loves. Now, she’s jerking you off in the women’s bathroom, making you moan and whimper.

Maybe it’s the sheer intensity of the situation, you can feel your loins tightening. Your body becomes rigid. Your breathing becomes erratic. You’re going to cum in Lee Gahyun’s hand!

“You know, I’ve been told a lot that I have nice lips,” she says. Her hands remain a little too eager to finish you off. It’s becoming too irresistible to cum right now. You can feel the tension rising within your loins. You do want more than her hand, indeed. That pair of lips are a little too tantalizing for you to not be on your cock—so plump, so pouty.

“F–Fuck, Gahyun, I–I’m gonna cum,” you utter. Time is running low, and you have to make her stop before you blow a load all over the bathroom floor and get short-circuited for the rest of the night.

Gahyun lets out another wicked giggle. “Say please, then.” She’s not going to stop so easily, not before you profusely beg her to.

“Nghhn~ p–please, Gahyun,” you plead, voice already shaking in the intense sensation.

“Again, and I’ll lift my hand off,” she teases, jerking you off even faster. Your mind is all hazy from the sheer pleasure you’re getting from her hand. Your blinking becomes rapid. Your vision becomes blurry.

“Nghh~ please, G–Gahyun.”

Gahyun suddenly removes her hand from your cock, leaving it twitching in the air. You sigh, as the tension slowly drops back to normal. You’re happy not to cum before you get to take on her mouth.

“Close one,” she says, letting go of you from her warm embrace. You feel like you can fully breathe for the first time in years. She was suffocating, but you won’t deny the pleasure she gave you, of course.

Gahyun slowly walks back to your front, putting the highlight of her next act for you to see—her lips, those dick-sucking lips. You and the guys have talked about this behind her back (well, behind everyone’s back) about how good her lips would feel on your cocks, head bobbing up and down in a hypnotic motion, bringing intense pleasure to whoever gets their dick sucked.

Now, it’s your turn.

Gahyun kneels, not without seductively swaying her wide hips as she goes down. Your cock twitches at the sight violently, so ready to be taken into her mouth.

“Say please, just like when I jerked you off,” she commands. She seems to know when to raise her voice and when to not.

“Please, Gahyun,” you utter, your voice all dry from the moaning and the internally burning desire.

The first contact is nothing short of divine. Gahyun starts slow. She starts by taking in just the mushroom tip into her mouth. She feels so warm, so tight, so right. Gahyun gives the underside of your cock a playful lick, making your body jolt in response.

She then begins her show, pushing herself further on your cock. It’s a lewd sight, really—the direct eye contact, the sound she’s making (it’s kind of a low, satisfied hum), the way she fondles your balls with her fingers. Pleasure just shoots through your body like a bullet. Without any restraints, you could just cum into her mouth right here and now. She pushes further and further, making you groan in pure bliss, until she starts to gag.

“Y–You don’t have to take it all, G–Gahyun.”

She says nothing, instead diving deeper onto your cock, all while using her tongue to play with the underside of your length. No woman has ever given you a blowjob as good as this—the deliberate movement, the will to gag, the pouty lips. Gahyun really has it all.

She keeps the eye contact intact, a reminder of her control. The gagging sounds she’s making don’t hinder her dominance by a little bit. She lets you know who’s in control here. It’s her and only her.

She finally pushes herself up to the hilt of your cock. She gags. She chokes. She sputters. Globs of spit leaks out of her mouth. Your head falls backwards from the pleasure. Her eyes are barely opening from the sheer size of your cock. You love this. You love the sounds she’s making. You love how she dominates the shit out of you. You love that she’s willing to suck you off like this (even if she’s the one in full control).

She stays there, gagging, choking, sputtering on your cock. She’s taking in the pungent scent of you, judging by the way she takes a deep breath through her nose. Her lips look so good on your cock like this. The base of your length becomes saturated by her red lipstick and spit. Streaks of black mascara run down her cheeks. You’re revelling in it. You’re revelling in the sight.

“G–God, G–Gahyun,” you utter.

With that, she slowly pulls back from your cock, leaving a trail of her rosy lipstick on it. Her eyes are fluttering violently with the thickness and length of you. She can barely breathe, and you’re loving it.

Instinctively, your right hand goes to the back of her head, tugging her hair to pull her out of the predicament called your cock. She gets to breathe again, and she quickly dislodges herself off you.

“Ah, y–you taste good,” she says, still trying to catch her breath. The marks from the earlier act are evident.

You say nothing, letting Gahyun catch her breath again, waiting for the time she can take in your cock once more. She breathes in, she breathes out, and finally, she’s ready again.

“I��m not holding back this time, alright?” she says, determination sparks inside her eyes.

“S–Sure.”

She grabs onto your cock with her right hand, pulling you close, before she takes your cock into her mouth. This time, it’s more violent, more fervent. She catches her rhythm and doesn’t look back. She starts to bob her head back and forth on your cock, and doesn’t that make you whimper like a bitch?

“Nghhh~ s–so good,” you mewl.

Gahyun only replies with a giggle on your cock. Her grip is still firm. Her free hand fondles your balls gently, trying to coax cum out of you.

She catches her rhythm, moving her head in a hypnotic motion. She really wants you to cum under her influence like this. You hear her gag. You hear her choke. You hear her sputter.

The tension in your loins starts to rise again. You’re on the verge of cumming with the help of the earlier handjob, and she doesn’t seem to stop at all. That’s it. You’re unloading your cum inside of Lee Gahyun’s mouth, making her taste your white essence.

“G–Gonna cum,” you utter.

Gahyun responds by going as rapidly as she can on your throbbing cock. The sensation is electric. It shoots through you like a bullet. The knot tightens, and you can do nothing to stop it.

With the final stroke, you unload your pent-up lust into Lee Gahyun’s throat, making her taste your essence. Your body jerks forward in pure pleasure. You let out a low, guttural groan at your precipice, unable to make sense of the situation. She lets out a satisfied hum as she feels your white, hot cum hit the back of her throat. You’re probably salty, like the other women have said.

You slowly come down from your peak, finally catching your rhythm again. Your cock’s spurts turn into soft drizzles off the slit. Gahyun pulls off of your cock with a loud pop. What an obscene sight. Her face is a fucking mess—mascara, lipstick, it’s all wrong. You’re still too dazed to say a thing, though.

“You taste good,” she says, opening her mouth, sticking her tongue out lewdly to show the emptiness of her wet cavern. She drank it all.

“I–I wanna do this again,” you involuntarily utter from the depths of your heart. “I want you to suck my cock again.”

Maybe it’s the sheer absurdity of your words. Maybe it’s the wake of your climax. She bursts out a laugh, a genuine one. You watch her laugh awkwardly.

“Ask me–ha–properly,” she says. “Will you, Lee Gahyun–”

“Will you, Lee Gahyun–”

“Suck–”

“Suck my cock again?”

She lets out a chuckle, before answering, “Definitely, maybe.”

—

#gahyun #dreamcatcher #gahyun smut #dreamcatcher smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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band--psycho · 5 months ago

Text

Sylus x Reader - A Little Birdie Told Me

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support! I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over.

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Thank you the anon who sent in this request, it was such fun to write this!

L&DS Masterlist / Sylus Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: Jealous Sylus, hints of mature themes towards the end

Sylus was fully expecting to get back home to feathers, metal and blood everywhere; what else was he meant to expect when leaving you and Mephisto together for a prolonged period of time.

You two didn’t get along.

Sylus knew this.

But you owed him, since he looked after the dove you found, just before going away on a work trip.

Much to his own surprise though, you didn’t argue with him when he asked you to check in on Mephisto; which naturally only made him more suspicious.

You were planning something.

He didn’t know what, but the mischievous glint that was showing in your eyes as he left, confirmed his suspicions.

That’s why he was expecting at least part of his mansion to be somewhat trashed.

But it wasn’t.

There were no stray feathers.

No shards of metal.

No specks of blood from where Mephisto could have pecked you.

There was nothing; everything was exactly how he left it.

And instead of his home being filled with the sound of yours and Mephistos petty squabbles, something that he’d gotten quite used to recently, his home was silent.

‘Maybe Luke and Kieran were right,’ he thought to himself, hanging his leather jacket on the coat hook by his front door, thinking back to what the twins had told him a few days ago as he made his way down the hall.

According to the twins, you and Mephisto were getting along fine; more than fine in fact, according to them you two were almost inseparable, like you were friends.

But that was a ridiculous thought, you two didn’t get along, you’d both told him that, which is what made the picture he got sent even more puzzling.

The picture was of you, reading, as you so often do, but this time Mephisto was perched on the arm of the chair next to and your free hand was on his head, petting him.

Was that part of the reason he came back a few days earlier than he’d intended to from his trip?

Yes.

He needed answers.

Though it was also because that picture made him realise just how much he hated being away from you and how much he hated that he wasn’t the one being given your attention.

Granted you could be a pain in the ass at times, sassing him at any given opportunity as well as always pushing him to do the ‘right’ thing…but he’d grown to love those qualities about you.

You changed him.

He knew you’d had an affect on him long ago, however it wasn’t until recently whilst he was away from you that he realised two things, 1) How much of an affect you’d truly had on him and 2) How much he’d missed everything about you; your witty and sarcastic remarks, the way your infectious smile could light up a room, the way you hummed along to whatever song was playing through your headphones as you danced in his kitchen, completely oblivious to his presence.

Everything.

And now that he was home, he just wanted to see you.

Needed to see you.

That was the whole reason why he asked you to look after Mephisto in the first place, not that he’d ever tell you that.

He walked into the living room, a soft smile quickly forming on his lips as he saw you fast asleep on the sofa, your body wrapped in the blanket you’d claimed as yours after a few visits, your music blaring into your ears at the loudest possible volume.

Though Sylus’ smile faltered as he took a few more steps closer to you, allowing him to see his mechanical bird nestled in the crook of your neck, little satisfied coos left his beak as the two of you continued to sleep peacefully.

Of all the scenarios he thought he’d be walking into, this was the most unexpected; a complete juxtaposition to what he’d assumed he’d be walking into.

He should’ve felt relief in the fact that neither of you had killed the other, but relief was not the emotion he was feeling.

Jealousy however was.

The same feeling that he’d tried to push to the side when he saw the picture from the twins

That’s how maddening his feelings were for you, only you could ever make him jealous of Mephisto.

What had happened whilst he was away?

Had he somehow ended up in an alternate reality where you and Mephisto were friends?

He shook his head at the absurd thoughts racing around in his head; but what he was seeing was exactly that, absurd.

He wanted to wake you so he could get some answers, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so, mainly because of how peaceful you looked.

Mephisto though was different.

Sylus had no issue in waking him up and thanks to the music you were listening to, you wouldn’t be disturbed by his annoyed caws once he was awoken.

~~~~~~

Safe to say, Mephisto was very unhappy at being woken up.

And his grouchiness was naturally directed towards the person who’d disturbed him.

“All I’m asking is, what suddenly made you two so close?” Sylus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to ignore the jealousy remarks the crow was making.

One thing was immediately clear to Sylus, Mephisto had certainly adopted your sassy retorts to questions.

“I’m not,” Sylus denied; only to be mocked by the bird in front of him.

He was becoming as infuriating as you were.

“Are you two arguing?” You asked, your words catching Sylus off guard; he’d been so busy interrogating Mephisto that he’d been completely oblivious to you waking up or finding them in the study that they were currently standing in.

“No,” Sylus answered simply, turning around to look at you.

You were leaning against the doorframe of his study, your eyes meeting his and holding his gaze; it was like you were trying to read his thoughts.

Thankfully, mind reading was not a skill you possessed.

Much to Sylus’ dismay though, he didn’t need to answer you, because Mephisto answered for him.

“Mephisto says you’re lying,” you stated, biting back the triumphant smile that wanted nothing more than to spread across your lips.

Sylus didn’t know what was more shocking, the fact that she understood the Crow now behind him, or the fact that said crow had betrayed him in such a way.

“I’m aware of what he said, sweetie,” Sylus pointed out, his voice laced with frustration as he quickly shot a glare at Mephisto.

He knew you were going to ask why he was lying and just like that, those very words fell from your lips.

Once again, Mephisto answered before Sylus could even open his mouth to speak; before flying very, very quickly out of the study, leaving you and Sylus alone together.

“You were jealous?” You asked, taking a few steps closer to Sylus.

Sylus didn’t want to admit it, but you were annoyingly persistent when you wanted answers.

So unless he wanted to be continuously asked about Mephistos comment (Which he didn’t) he had no other choice to answer your question honestly.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice low as you continued walking towards him, only stopping once you were directly infront of him.

“Why?” You pushed.

He hated to admit that he was jealous; let alone saying the reason why…revealing how much he really craved your attention.

“Because I-” his words trailed off as he began to notice a playful smirk tugging at your lips, the realisation dawning on him in that very moment.

You already knew why.

This had all been some elaborate plan to get him to admit his feelings for you.

“Who told you?” Sylus questioned, watching as your smirk grew.

“Who told me what?” You teased coyly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a terrible liar, sweetie,” he whispered, leaning down slightly so that his lips were brushing over the shell of your ear.

His words alone were enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Who’s idea was this, yours or Mephistos?” He asked, placing a feather light kiss just under your ear.

“Both,” you breathed out; reveling in the closeness between the two of you.

“Thought you two didn’t get along?” He asked quietly.

Granted, you and Mephisto had your differences, and you didn’t always get along, but recently you’d grown quite accustomed to one another.

Of course you squabbled, but the same way someone would with a sibling.

You knew Sylus was going to ask you to look after Mephisto, because the crow had told you so in secret.

That’s when the two of you came up with this plan.

A plan to make Sylus jealous.

You were never one hundred percent sure of his feelings towards you, you flirted often enough, but some people just had that type of connection, it didn’t mean he felt the same way about you, that you did him.

“Things changed,” you answered back, your voice just as quiet as his.

“Is it true?” You asked, changing the topic of conversation as you turned your head slightly, so now your lips were inches apart.

“Is what true?”

“What Mephisto told me about how you feel about me?”

Being this close to him was torture for the both of you; both of you waiting for the other to make the final move and close the little distance that was between you both.

He saw the anxiety creeping in your y/e/c orbs as you waited for him to answer your question.

But he knew that he could do something better than telling you how he felt, he could show you.

And with that thought in mind, he closed the distance between your lips.

It took you a few seconds to actually process what was happening; but once you did you wasted no time in allowing your eyes to flutter shut and melt into the kiss.

The kiss started off gentle, soft, the two of you clearly processing what was happening; but everything changed when you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, deepening the kiss.

His hands found a home on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified.

“Does that answer your question, kitten?” He murmured, pulling away from you slightly.

“I don’t know, I think I could use some clarification,” you breathlessly chuckled before his lips met yours again, obliging to give you all the clarification you needed.

Taglist:

@xacatalepsyx @the-slytherin-poet @deathkat657 @book-dragon03 @fangirlsfandomsss @evilldentists @hao-ming-8 @worm-in-a-bug @babygirl-panda19 @tasha-1994 @popcorn-mochi01 @cheesemachine44 @thegalaxysedge22 @inlovewithsylus

#sylus x reader #sylus imagines #sylus imagine #sylus love and deepspace #lads sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x you #lnds sylus #love and deepspace imagines #love and deepspace imagine #l&ds imagines

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avocado-writing · 7 months ago

Note

i'm not a very big chain person, but in my head i can picture so perfectly Logan getting him and his s/o a matching pair of chain necklaces or bracelets to quietly express his love and commitment. because, in comparison to other forms of jewelry, chains are durable- it's hard for a quality chain to break. to him, they signify how the bond you've fostered together is unbreakable too.

if he manages to get them in adamantium, there's the added layer of gifting you something made of the same material as his skeleton. his way of gifting you a part of him, of always being with you... ;-;

He used to wake up to a pounding skull and a truly bitter hatred of the world. A constant stream of alcohol had managed to silence the first issue - or, at least, make it tomorrow Logan’s problem - but had just made the second one far worse.

He knew he was a mean drunk. Wade never shied away from letting him know what a cunt he was when he was ten drinks deep, but it was easier to face life when he stopped trying to be gracious to it.

The world had never cared about him, so why should he care about it right back?

That was… before, though. Before you. Not exactly some sort of holy light but you’d been damn well close. Someone he’d wanted to get his act together for, try to break free from the cocoon of rot and misery he’d made for himself.

So, nowadays, he wakes up to soft singing and the smell of frying eggs.

You’re an earlier riser than he is, slipping out of his grasp somehow - he always tries to grab you and keep you in bed with him, despite your dramatic but insincere protests - and getting a start on your day to make the most of it. You’re so much more of a functional person than he is that it’s laughable (Wade has pointed this out a couple of times, while laughing, and you’d talked him down from giving the merc a claw through the eye).

He drags himself to his feet and heads into the kitchen.

The radio is on quietly and you’re half-humming along with it, trying not to be too loud so as not to wake him. You can’t help but sing and secretly it’s one of those little things he fucking loves about you. It’s how he can tell you’re happy, so he never wants you to stop.

You hear him appear and turn with a smile so bright it outdoes the morning sun. Ahh fuck, and you look amazing. Those short pyjamas that highlight the curve of your ass, those stupid fuzzy slippers you constantly leave around the apartment for him to trip over…

… and there, around your neck and resting on your clavicle, the chain.

He’d never been good at gifts, but he knew he wanted a way to match you. Something to look at in his own reflection to remember you’re waiting for him at home; a part of him to carry with you so you know he’ll always keep you safe. Your eyes had lit up when you’d opened the jewellery case he’d handed over, neatly wrapped by the store, and then welled with tears when he’d shown you his own one. With blunt, uncareful fingers he’d fastened the clasp at the back of your neck, breathing in the comforting smell of you when you’d wrapped your arms around him.

“I’m so lucky to have you, Logan.”

He’s more lucky to have you. You shine in the sun and so does every adamantium link. A fucking beacon in this world for him. A lighthouse. Bringing him home.

“Hey, baby. Sorry, did I wake you up?” you ask, turning the music off now he has your full attention. He considers this and smirks.

“Mmm, if I say yeah, do you have to find a way to apologise?”

You grin at the huskiness of his early morning voice and the promise of what’s next, turning off the heat on the pan before inevitably forgetting and burning the eggs. As you step into his arms he knows what the rest of the morning will entail: he’ll take you back to bed and show you how much you mean to him, three or four times if he can coax it out of you, then you’ll head to the diner across the street to eat because you’ll be too boneless to do much of anything else.

Sounds pretty fucking perfect to him. His mind flashes to the ring he has in its little box, the one he bought at the same time as the chains and keeps stuffed in one of his jacket pockets, and is sure one day soon he’ll have the courage to give that to you too.

Taglist: @mildly-salted @belilwen @malfoys-demigod @falsewordz @tvwebs @getmeoutofhell @rush-the-stars @s1eep-o @yrthr @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @childeslegstrap

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom #lovely gif by asgardswinter!!

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hanasnx · 1 year ago

Text

MINORS DNI 18+

“You did what?” HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN questions in amused disbelief, picking himself up off the bed a centimeter when his abdomen flexed from his powerful scoff.

Nestled into his side, a thick arm wound around you, you’re playfully incredulous when you animate inquiring gestures at him, frowning over his obvious skepticism. “Why would I lie about that?”

“No, baby, it’s not that you would lie, I just-“ He squeezes you tighter, and jostles you gently. Once he glances at your pout, he softens his delivery, “I’m saying, it’s hard to wrap my head around. I never thought that a fan could… you know,” he trails off, gesticulating vaguely to finish his sentence by drawing attention to your naked and tangled bodies underneath the covers.

You squeak a noise of offense, sitting up and out of his embrace clutching the sheets to your bare chest. He doesn’t deserve to see them right now. “Oh, my god.” you exclaim, and when you swing your legs out to land your feet on the cold floor, you draw the sheet with you.

“Now wait, c’mon, I didn’t mean that. Come back, you’re taking the warm with you.” he scrambles to find an excuse to keep you close, but you’re already walking away as he’s reaching for you.

“I’m going to find the picture. I know I have it somewhere.” you insist, more to yourself than him as he settles back into bed. The way your hips sway catch the thin material between your ass, and he rolls his tongue between his lips as he watches. You bend down over a box next to your bedroom desk, sifting through its contents hastily until you move onto the next one. Hayden adjusts in his seat, picking at his halfie that’s perking up at the memory of what you look like under that sheet, underneath him. “Ugh, it was right here!”

“If you don’t have it, sweetheart, don’t worry, I believe you. Come back to bed,” he coaxes, eyes hooded as he keeps them glued to you. You reach behind you, wagging a shaming finger at him to which he chuckles at.

“No, no. I’ll find it.” you scold him for his attempts to derail you from your quest, striding to the other side to check a drawer. “Ah-ha!” you interject victoriously, smug in your success as you flick the photo out of its place.

“Is that it?” he asks, craning his neck to see past you, but he sounds nonchalant, as if he’s still skeptical of your claim.

“You are gonna eat those fuckin’ words, baby,” you muse as you march right back to him, the paper flipping in air from your rush. “Take a look at this.”

You shove the photo into his view, and gingerly he takes it, his thumb at the very edge of the white line so as to not soil the quality with his fingerprints. Quietly, he observes it through the bottoms of his eyes, tipping his head back, demonstrating his aging sight as he takes a gander at it much like an old man might. Uneasily, you glance between them. “Oh.” he finally says with knowing. “You changed your hair.” he notes, tilting his head at the picture of you and him. Years ago, you’d gone to a con with the sole purpose of meeting Hayden to take a photo with him. The day you bought that photo op ticket was one of your happiest, replaced as soon as you first laid eyes on him in that booth.

“See? You believe me now.” you tell him cockily, popping your hip out.

“I remember you.” he muses in a tune, scratching at the scruff off his cheek with a pensive parted smile. “You had the cutest little ass—“

Promptly, you go to pluck the picture from his grasp. “Okay, that’s enough.” but he’s much too quick for you, jerking it away to continue ogling it.

Keeping it from you, his voice raises in volume and glee as you continue to fail to retrieve it from him. “No, no, it’s coming back to me. You tripped on the way in. Sweet little thing. Couldn’t even say anything to me, you were so nervous. Held eye contact like a champ though,”

You reach fully over him, stretching out over his lap as you struggle to grab it from him. “Hayden! Give it back!”

“Your little hand was shaking when you offered it to me. Asking for that pose. Still the same naughty girl.”

#1k #indy: drabbles #ch: hayden #hayden christensen drabble #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen x fem reader #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen x y/n #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen fic #hayden christensen fanfic #hayden christensen fanfiction #reader insert

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merlucide · 10 months ago

Note

POOKIE I CUT MY HAIR AND THIS SOUNS STUPID BUT CAN I PLEASE HAVE A RIN, CHIGIRI, OTOYA , REO, HIORI AND KURONA REACTING TO READER CUTTING HER HAIR AROUND SHOULDER LENGH AND DOING CUTE LIL HAIR SLYES WITH PINK BOWS AND STUFF AHHHH WHEN SHE USED TO HAVE LONG HAIR?!!?

(If it’s too much characters just do a few 😭💀)

BLLK BOYS REACTION TO YOU CUTTING YOUR HAIR

Notes: OFC POOKIE🤩🤩 and hair slays so hard omg 🤭 slay the house downs boots Houston I’m deceased😍😍

characters: Rin, Chigiri, Otoya, Reo, Hiori, Kurona

warnings: cursing

Edit: oh my god I freaking misread this. ARE U KIDDING ME?!?! IM SO SORRY OMG. UH??? IM SO PISSED RN

ITOSHI RIN

He was stopping by your house to give back your hair tie (yes that is his excuse to see you)

He did not expect you have cut your hair and NOT tell him

Bc girl who do you think you are for not telling him?? 🙄

He likes to feel involved😔

“You cut your hair.” No shit Sherlock 😐

lmao he kinda glares at you for not telling him.

When yall cuddle (only way he’ll be in a better mood) he twirls you hair around and mumbles ‘it’s looks pretty on you’

And you’ll be like “what did you say?” 😯

“I didn’t say anything moron.” 😡

damn bro chill🙄🙄

Anywho he totally tries to do your hair, he’s not bad but like he’s not good

He can do basic braids, he tried French braiding and he got so pissed he couldn’t do it.

He went home and YouTubed how to French braid so next time he can’t do it 😘

CHIGIRI HYOMA

He thinks you look so pretty!! He really loves this look on you

He of course loved your hair before, but this one in his opinion, suits you better

He totally does your hair bc come on.

You want French braids? On it. Dutch? Ofc. Fishtail? Rope? Infinity? Carousel? Mermaid? Check, check and check mf 🤩

Beware, he yanks you head back if it’s tilted. He’s like a mom getting you ready for picture day 😭

He makes you do his hair after lol

OTOYA EITA

He looks at you hair and then back at you

“Your hair looks fire bro”

Bitch I’ll strangle you

Please, please don’t let him touch your hair.

He make make it look horrendous.

It will be full of knots when he’s finished.

Seriously, don’t let him near your hair.

He’ll try to do piggy tails and they will be so uneven and wonky looking 😭

He blames his mistakes on you cus it’s “not the right kind of hair”

🙄🙄

MIKAGE REO

He gets so excited to see your new look

Makes you do a spin and all :3

He’s literally fangirling you lmao

“Y/N-san you look amazing! This haircut suits you wonderfully!!”

He insists on buying you new hair accessories.

I’m sorry I know I use the ‘he’d buy u stuff’ sm 💀

He’s actually pretty decent at doing your hair.

Puts a big ass bow in you hair lmao

HIORI YO

He loves you new look!

He tells you that it was time for something new and he loves it (not in a negative way)

he ruffles you hair lmao

like it was so pretty 🥲 why

he fixes it dw

Puts you hair in piggy tails and then y’all take those cute aesthetic couple pictures

KURONA RANZE

AH HE THINKS YOU LOOK JUST SO PRETTY!!!

he’s so blushy and gushy cus he thinks it looks really good on you.

He flicks the bottoms out and spins you around so he can see everything.

Obviously he braids your hair🤭

he does like small braids into a jumbo braid

It looks weird but he just likes braiding lmao

you braid his hair after :3

seriously idk why this took so long for the low quality that this is 💀💀

Made April 7th 2024

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istjisung · 23 days ago

Note

hii can u write perv jisung with younger reader? include as much noncon/dark/kinkier things as u want, tysm ♡

content warnings perv!jisung, slightly younger reader, perving on your friends sister, noncon body pics, recording, somnophilia, male masturbation, facial cumshots, mentions of noncon touching

don’t like it? don’t read it!

notes happy belated birthday jisung!

jisung knew he should feel bad. he knew he should feel bad about creeping on one of his friends’ younger sister., but how could he feel bad when you prance around in nothing but an oversized tee or tiny shorts that leave nothing to the imagination? he should be glad that you feel comfortable enough around him to dress comfortably, but he can’t help but sneak glances when you aren’t looking.

however, instead of glances, it’s pictures.

he has perfected the art of taking sneaky pictures of you. when you’re lounging on the sofa, legs bare and inviting, or when you’re bent over in the garden playing with your family’s pet dog, shorts doing nothing to stop the bottoms of your ass cheeks from hanging out.

at first, he would cough to cover up the sound of the camera shutter, and you would turn around and look at him with wide, innocent eyes, asking if he felt sick. he does feel sick—sick in the head. because eventually, taking pictures of you in broad daylight got tiring. they were all the same; low quality, zoomed in photos, and none had your pretty face or tits in them, both of which jisung adored and wished he could see more of.

one day, jisung snuck into your bedroom during the night as you slept. truly, he was just going to make sure you were asleep before he jerked off in the bathroom, which was close enough to your room that you’d hear if he failed to stay quiet. upon walking in, though, he couldn’t help himself. you were asleep and had tossed and turned, kicking your duvet off of your body, and your pajamas—which looked more like a piece of lingerie—had bunched up at your waist to give jisung a full view of your plump ass covered by your panties, and if he looked close enough, he could see the outline of your pussy lips eating the fabric between your legs.

he felt lucky that you were a deep sleeper, otherwise you would’ve woken up when he pulled his phone from his pants pocket to snap a few pictures. he hesitated for a few moments, but against his better judgement, he walks toward you. from this new angle, standing directly above you, jisung can see everything. your naked legs, your cute panties, your tits threatening to spill out of your loose top, and your gorgeous face with your lips fixed in a pout.

it was wrong, dirty and disgusting, but he couldn’t stop himself.

with his phone still in his left hand, he presses the button to record a video. the only light in the room was from the moonlight through your window and the hallway light seeping through the crack in the door. he focuses the camera and gets the best angles, getting close ups of all of the areas he’s been aching to see. you startle him when you shift in your sleep, turning over to face your front towards him. luckily, you remained asleep. the movement had jostled you just enough for your breasts to fully spill out, and jisung made sure to get a good view of them in his camera.

he fumbles with his pants, pushing them and his underwear down to his thighs. his cock springs out and he immediately takes it into his large hand, pumping it slowly. his thick tip was leaking precum and he had the sudden urge to spread it across your lips—an urge he resisted. he couldn’t risk you waking up to his cockhead being on your mouth, as hot as it would be. but he still jerks himself off, making sure to get the right angle to catch when he spills his cum over your lower face and pillow, leaving you to wonder why they’re so sticky when you wake up in the morning.

and maybe, next time, he can touch you, too, if he was sure you’d stay asleep.

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leftneb · 5 months ago

Text

There is Something Seriously Wrong with this Logo..... Chapter Two

So. Lots of you have seen this post by my dear partner ( @lailau7904 ) in which the Williams F1 design team get absolutely torn to bits. In the case you haven't read it yet I highly recommend you do because a) it's really fucking funny and b) it makes what I'm about to tell you even funnier. Though you don't have to, this post touches on entirely different things still regarding this one goddamn logo.

The original post starts like this:

Innocent enough, we made an assumption in good faith that the logo displayed on the Wikipedia page would be the same one as the official version used by Williams. Buckle the fuck up because I'm about to tell you why that was the worst mistake we could have made.

Please. Please I beg of you keep reading this took YEARS off our lifespans. Like the original post was fun and all but it was merely the top of the iceberg. If this were an hbomberguy video this would be the part where he reveals that the background was a greenscreen the whole time. More below the cut!!! :333

The Truth

Already after only a few hours after hitting "post" on the dissection, people started pointing out to us that we'd missed an absolutely crucial detail on the Wikimedia page we got the logo from, pay careful attention:

See THIS?

Yeah this means that that image is not, and never was, the official logo of Williams. All along it had been the work of a Wikipedia user by the name of Juanchocarbonero. Here you can even see the (admittedly painful) history of the file as provided by Wikimedia, this image was uploaded all the way back in 2016, it even underwent an update when the team changed their colour scheme to a lighter blue without getting fucking fixed.

But to me the absolutely most painful part about this page is the "File Usage" section. Which gives you a quick preview of just how deep the goddamn disease that is this piece of graphic design sin really spreads.

And just to clarify: the official version of the logo used by Williams on merch etc is perfectly fine. It's a nice piece of graphic design. I still quite like it. But the story doesn't end there. Not even close.

Consequences

When you look up "williams logo" on Google the image provided by Wikimedia the very first result that pops up, if you're looking for a high-quality .png of this logo that, logically, is what you'll end up using. And I mean, why wouldn't you? What reason do you have not to use it? As long as you don't look to close (oops) it's a perfectly fine, high-definition, clean and transparent image of the logo! No shit people are going to use it!

But this raises a question: Why IS it the most widespread version of the logo? That's fucking weird isn't it? Surely if the actual logo used on ex.: the official Williams F1 website (which, again, is perfectly fucking fine) was available they would've just used that, right?

Now. Small problem. If you want you can go ahead and open whatever search engine you use, if you do that I'm gonna need you to type in "Williams logo" into the search bar, and just try finding a picture that is

of the actual official logo (you can tell the bootleg from the real thing by checking if the middle segment of the W has spiky ends or flat ones. We're looking for flat ones here)

high quality (no pixels or blurring visible to the naked eye)

a transparent png (none of that chequered background bullshit)

NOT a logo with any words (such as: Williams or Racing) visible in it. those don't count.

If you didn't feel like doing any of that, I'll just tell you the answer: you fucking can't. Nothing like that EXISTS. The closest I could get are these two, both of which are mid to ass quality, so they don't count either.

No sensible individual is going to scroll google search results for 5 minutes straight just so they can use a 200x200 image, especially when they think a perfect alternative is right there.

I even found several recoloured versions of the diseased logo, including one as a sticker on Redbubble! Fuck me that's a horrible sight!

The Search

Because I wrote the previous paragrahps after we'd figured out exactly what had happened, you might be under the impression that by this point in trying to answer the question "Why the fuck is that image on Wikipedia instead of, idk, the real fucking thing?" we'd at least established the existence of said "real Williams F1 logo". You'd be wrong, because for somewhere around 24 hours after we'd made the initial, horrifying discovery of just how fucked the Wikipedia version is, we genuinely could not tell if that was the official logo or not.

The ones displayed on their website weren't at all downloadable or even copyable, a non-ass quality of the damn thing just didn't seem to exist anywhere, so we didn't dare draw any conclusions. And we were still foolishly operating on the assumption that Wikipedia wouldn't just lie to us. (this is why your teachers hate it when you use it a source btw. like this is the ONE time it's actually been reasonable)

So, in the hopes of finding the offical Williams Racing logo, the non-scuffed one because clearly it exists, somewhere, we consulted an expert on Intellectual Property: my mother!

What this "consultation" actually roughly looked like was: we went on a walk and I started rambling about the Situation from Last Night before she cut me off and pulled up the website of the World Intellectual Property Organisation, aka the place they store all the Copyright information of like, everything.

BEHOLD:

(pictured; THE ACTUAL FUCKING LOGO I CANNOT BELIEVE IT'S EXISTED THIS WHOLE TIME)

Link to the actual real official legal document because goddamn this rabbithole just kept getting deeper so I like, have that now.

For refence, here is the official copyrighted version and the Wikimedia file overlayed on top of each other. As you can tell, it's disgusting. It's a poor, eyeballed imitation at best.

The copyrighted logo is horrifically low quality because, guess what, that image also isn't downloadable or copyable from the page. I really really cannot blame Juanchocarbonero for uploading his own version to Wikimedia because there legitimately does not exist a version of this logo that is freely available to the public. Like that goddamn abomiation is all we have. It's the effort that counts I guess.

My mother suggested that a possible reason for this could be avoiding the production of knockoff merch, or at least making it recognisable in case it is sold. Think about it, when your logo Doesn't Exist online, no one can use it without a license! It's kind of genius! I'm also about 99% sure they didn't orchestrate it so, it was good luck I guess?

interlude: How the FUCK does Copyright even work

I did immediately think to myself "we should REALLY fix the wikipedia version, like, stat" because I cannot in good conscience have this information available to me and not do anything with it, for the good of the people. However, this poses an issue: was the logo really not scuffed on purpose? Could it be that that version uploaded to Wikipedia isn't a 1:1 of the official logo because of copyrighting issues? To find out I had to look deeper, by comparing the official, website-available logos of various other F1 teams I came to conclusion that: [........................]

Yeah so I wrote that paragraph before actually checking for refences, but even after probably an hour of trying very hard to make sense of the copyright documents and copyright law in general we could not make sense of any of it. According to my mother (again, the closest we have to an expert, like she actually works with copyright in the context of companies but she's not specifically an IP expert. just to clarify) it's actually a lot worse for Wikipedia to have a falsified version of the Williams logo, than it would be to use the copyrighted version. This is because they're spreading misinformation by pretending that's the actual logo. And yet.

According to the Copyright Tag (the one on the top) in the Licensing section of the Wikimedia page for the thing pretending to be the Williams F1 logo, it's fine to use it because just a bunch of shapes. The thing is however, that it says that for pretty much every F1 team's logo, most of which are sourced straight from the official website. So this doesn't really mean anything tbh. According to our local expert (still my mother) it's fucking confusing. So I've decided to leave that at that.

update October 20th: as far as the Wikimedia pages on copyrighting tell me, uploading the official logo could, potentially, get me into serious legal trouble with Williams because of copyright laws. Which is still confusing because as said, every other team's logo is sitting uncontested on their respective Wikipedia pages. So basically we still don't know.

Okay. Backtrack. We forgot to ask something very important:

HOW?

HOW does one fuck up a perfectly fine logo THAT BAD.

WHY does one make their own scuffed tracejob and HOW does it end up like THAT. Clearly something must have gone horrifically wrong for it to end up like that.

I have a theory as to what might have happened:

It was either drawn or painted by hand, for a physical paintjob it's actually sort of impressively precise, but still objectively fucked. For a while I outright refused to believe that it could have been done in a digital program with the types of mistakes that were made, but you'll see this theory (partially) disproven later on so I retract it for now.

Operating on the assumption that it wasn't done digitally, a likely theory could be one involving a picture of scan of the paintjob. If the picture was taken at an angle or the logo itself was on a curved surface that COULD potentially explain the weird sort of slide everything has to it.

From then the picture might have been inserted into a digital art program, and the area of the logo might have been automatically selected using the magic wand tool, which could explain the weird growth at the top and that odd rounded off corner.

We also drew the conclusion that the file itself had been "tampered with" (aka cropped manually) by a human, because no computer would generate a resolution of 3356x2543 (you can that this is the original resolution on the Wikimedia page)

WAIT HOLD ON IS THAT IT?

The question of how the Fuck this guy managed to mess up the logo, and even more specifically why some edges were fine and some weren't (ant colony looking thing on the top left) bothered us so much that I at one point started just looking up "WIlliams logo" with the results filtered down to pre-2017 in an attempt to find when exactly the messed up logo was created. As if that would be any help.

Now what I definitely didn't expect to find was THIS

ENHANCE

Yes, you're seeing it right, THAT is the original 'Williams logo with the fucked up arm angles and lenghts'. Which PROVES that, contrary to our previous belief, Juancocarbonero was NOT the origin of the mistakes. Instead it was [checks notes] a DeviantArt user by the name of Nerdkid56?

The original DeviantArt post, which as of 9:47pm CET on the 13th of October 2024 I am about 90% sure is the actual first appearanace of the scuffed logo, is from May of 2015, which lines up well with the original upload date of the fucked up logo onto Wikipedia (November 2016). At the time that DeviantArt post was almost the only source for the logo.

And in the case you needed any convincing that those two logos are the same, here they are overlayed. You may notice that it's one shape (excluding the rounded corner which isn't visible at this resolution.)

This discovery is essential to understanding why the current scuffed version is the way it is. You might remember our confusion about the way some edges are fine while some are attempting to leave the image, the whole thing is a weird Frankensteinian amalgamation of vectors and magic wand mistakes. With this knowledge we can now assume that the mistakes happened in 2 layers:

Nerdkid56: likely just eyeballed the proportions. I'd guess he drew one arm before the other and flipped it around without really checking the angles. Also didn't give a shit about whether the arms lined up with the base or not. Legitimately bad design made in a digital program.

Juancocarbonero: why he used the scuffed W logo instead of the normal ones that were also perfectly accessible by 1 goddamn Google search is a mistery. HOW he even got access to it is another question I do not think we'll have answers to. And I've already explained some of the things we think may be responsible for the uneveness and bumps. Point is he fucked it up even more.

My theory for why Juanchocarbonero used the scuffed version instead of any other available picture goes like this: it was the only png he could find. Practically every other search result for "Williams Logo" that predates 2017 is a jpeg or absolute ass quality (sometimes both for good measure) so, despite it's flaws, Nedkid56's trace of it could have been the best option available at the time (the quality is actually very very good since it's a vector image, and I guess our friend Juanchocarbonero doesn't have an eye for design considering he didn't notice uhm, everything that is wrong with that model.)

Conclusion

The only way to right these wrongs is to go back, to the very beggining of this saga. Wikipedia. Williams I'm so sorry for what you've had to endure. I know what I have to do now. When I eventually make a proper vector image of the official logo and upload it to Wikimedia it'll all be over. And I WILL do it (but not rn this has already robbed me of like 3 whole days of my life. soon)

All of this is, admittedly inconsequental, but also absolutely fucking hilarious. Like imagine. you. one single guy, you make ONE mistake in a silly little "tracing this logo" project because you couldn't be arsed to check the angles of a silly little W. And some other guy, who you likely don't even know, over a whole ass year later, takes your flawed piece of design, makes it even worse somehow and uploads it to a site from which your little tiny innocent mistake becomes the most widespread version of a logo used by an actual real company worth over 700 Million US Dollars. HOW. HOW DID THAT HAPPEN. WHY HAS NO ONE FIXED THIS??? IT'S BEEN 9 YEARS

Just to give you a final look on just how widespread this plague is, here are some examples of media the fucked up version of the logo is featured in:

this Mr V's Garage video (the original reason we started this conversation in the first place)

the thumbnails of these two videos by Tommo, this one by FP1Will, and this one by RicksF1Addiction

such an amount of random places. likely fanmerch and fanart, and like, pretty much any place someone wanted to use the logo. it's everywhere. if you've ever had the Williams logo displayed in anything you've made I can guarantee you 99.9% chance you used the fucked version

and late thank you to everyone ( @bumblewyn @mid-nighttiger @vro0m @lemonsgovroom @mikraas @leclerced fucking hell I kept needing to add people to this list because compiling all of this took absurdly long) who pointed out our misconception in the reblogs of the original post and contributed to us actually looking into this further. and sorry to everyone for accidentally spreading misinformation lmao (it's too funny not to have been worth it tho) (ALSO it's not really our fault is it)

and to keep the tradition of ending on a live discord reaction:

#please please consider reblogging this if you read through considering the original post (as funny as it was) was just spreading misinfo #williams slander themselves enough already they don't need us to do that #f1 #formula 1 #williams #williams racing #williams f1 #james vowles #williams formula 1 #f1 analysis #technical #lai core #nebrain #neb50 #neb100 #neb200

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