#And we're back kiddos

[syndrossi]

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Jon, Prince Raymar,” Lord Grafton said. He seemed to have concluded, much like Willam, that a pair of dragons was an unequivocal sign that the boys were trueborn Targaryen children. That, or he suspected that they would be legitimized for that very reason. The children’s confusion was plain in their tiny frowns, and Willam bit back a wince. In all the chaos, he had not had a chance to explain their parentage to them yet. “Prince Rhaegar,” Raymar said, blinking with sudden comprehension. “I'm Prince Rhaegar.” Lord Grafton’s glance at Willam was one of equal confusion. “My apologies, Prince Rhaegar.” He looked toward Jon, as though waiting to be corrected again. “I’m Lord Snow,” Jon said with a giggle. “And I’m Prince Jon.”

[dragonballnewstar]

Hello everyone and good morning!! I hope you all had an amazing weekend. It's the week of August 12th and it's time to AMP! Up Your Week~!!

Life is crazy busy but hopefully you are taking some time to yourself to enjoy the simple nature outside and unplugging. Remember that your journey isn't like someone else's, which leads us to our first story of this week.

Dr. Becs Bradford has graduated with her Doctorate at the age of 41 after dropping out of school at 15. After landing in foster care, she had a rough time digging herself out of the trenches. Working 3 jobs at 35, she bought the books necessary to earn a place in a pre-med course to which she’d drive a six-hour round trip. Becs aced the course but was devastated when she was rejected from all the universities she applied for—until she received an offer from the University of Bristol. Now, she finally graduated and proud of her achievement after years of people saying she can't do things because she dropped out of school, saying "“It doesn’t matter when you get there, never give up on yourself!”

I think a lot of us, especially with the internet, get caught up in comparing ourselves to others. There's so much "I don't travel as much as X", or "Other people my age do Y". Your journey is uniquely your own and your destination isn't framed around what other's are doing.

In conservation news, a Texas zoo has made history with the first back-to back gharial crocodile hatchlings born in North America. Gharials are listed as ‘critically endangered’ animals, with only around 650 adults left in the wild—so every conservation effort matters. I can't wait to see more success with this species!

Now, this is a bit different for my music news but I want to recommend a new album for you all~

This is put out by 2 Mello and it's a simple instrumental but it's a good easy listening album that I think you all can enjoy.

That's it for me today~! I hope you all have a fantastic week, stay hydrated and I'll see you all next time!

[weavewilled]

off to tattoo appointment, back later tonight!! 💜💜

[alittle-delusional]

returning to tumblr after being offline for a few weeks feels like coming home :'3

[nerditudes]

Taunts in butterfly.

[crosaidi]

i am finally done with my hell week and the next few weeks should be pretty much back to normal. lots of veilguard obviously, but i'll be writing starters and sending things tomorrow !!

[varpusvaras]

My favorite fic trope is the "JLA meets the batfam because they arrested Jason as he was undercover and now the family is coming to pick him up" one, but imagine. Jason gets arrested by the JLA while undercover, and is brought in for questioning, but before any of the batfam members even notice that he is gone, Green Arrow walks into the interrogation room.

"It's okay, Superman, you can let him go."

"Green Arrow, Red Hood is a wanted criminal on the JLA:s most wanted list-"

"What? No, no he isn't, that's just Jason."

Superman stares. Jason stares too.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, that's just Jason, my son-in-law. You can let him go."

"...your son-in-law is the Red Hood?"

"No? Jason's not the Red Hood, he is just dressed as the Red Hood. He's in a mercenary group with my son, he does that. It's pretty easy to dress up as someone who doesn't show their face for a job. Jason's no Red Hood, let me tell you that. Or I guess I don't have to tell you that, since you've already arrested him."

Jason's not really sure if he wants to murder Oliver or not.

Superman stares. Oliver raises a brow.

"So? Can I have him back, please, we have a family dinner today and we're already a bit late."

"...sure."

Jason gets let out. Oliver throws an arm around his shoulders as they walk towards the zeta tubes.

"I hate you, Queen."

"You're welcome, kiddo."

JLA does leave Jason alone after that, though, because every time they see him outside of Gotham, they just go "oh that's just Jason dressed up as the Red Hood again, move on" and Jason doesn't know if he should be annoyed or not. It does make his work easier, but at the same time, it somehow feels like an insult.

[c-kiddo]

tmn apogee solstice reunion (live show! ) announced. lets go girls.

[lurkiestvoid]

tbh this tree that fell in the backyard a few storms ago is such interesting whalefall (treefall?) activity

It diagonally cut off half the backyard, landed perfectly between fences (nice) so the lawn guy isn't worried about the back half, it's been allowed to remain as wild as when we moved in. The tree and everything past it has become a rich triangle of mini-biome, connected to the line of kinda-forest that acts as a boundary between all the yards on the block, and like Everything is coming here and hanging out now. It's really cool to watch.

We got some (sadly very aloof) neighborhood kitties nesting in the branches like perfect little dens when it rains. So many songbirds, insects of all layers, squirrels and possums and racoons, butterflies, a few bees, spiders, moths (and seemingly infinite earwigs). I think I heard a couple bats recently. There's a shady corner that stays pretty wet for a while after a rain, I think it might be good for wetland plants, maybe a lil natural pond. There's fleabane and wood sorrel and white clover and pokeberry, lots of ivys, some very old mixed-species trees, bushes, dandelion, wild lettuce, and a couple dozen different "weeds" left to identify. Some of it is technically invasive yes, but it was all here before me and seems to be a well-balanced system as-is, I'd need to be sure to replace any removed plants with local equivalents, and I would do that if we weren't leaving soon.

Like our most recent 'yard' was a hard-packed clay strip with peach-fuzz lawn. Before that it was a literal parking lot. So this is just really beautiful to me, no matter how small. I really wish we weren't moving next week because if we could stay I'd get it certified as a yard habitat and put some good work into it. I might still recommend it if Aunt Landlord would listen/care, but I don't think Designated Lawn Guy is interested in the upkeep.

[yourlocalsurrealism]

DP X DC PROMPT: DANNY'S AN ASSASSIN?!

So Danny gets adopted by the Waynes somehow.

Now, he's a teenage vigilante, he knows all the signs. And he can clearly tell that Damian and Tim are sneaking out under the cover of night to fight crime as Robin and Red Robin.

While ordinarily this would lead to the connection between the Waynes being Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and various other assorted vigilantes, that's not what we're here for, so instead, what happens is that Danny thinks that his two absolutely normal little brothers are sneaking out, meeting strange people dressed in spandex and Kevlar on rooftops, and punching criminals.

He has no issue with this.

The only issue he has is that Tim and Damian are inexperienced, I mean, Damian's twelve or something like that, he can't have been Robin for long. He's not particularly willing to get back into heroism himself, though, so this leads to him casually dropping random tidbits of information that only an ex-vigilante/hero/assassin/other part of the caped community, would know into regular conversation.

Like, if Tim's using bandages on his hand, Danny will suddenly drop the fact that that particular brand is very absorbent and works really well to take care of large, bloody wounds, like bullet holes in important places.

If Damian's reading a book about different knives, and their creation processes (because be real, he totally would) Danny will read over his shoulder a bit and then just point out a knife that would particularly good for stabbing someone in the stomach, or slitting someone's throat. (he knows this because of a. his rogues trying to kill him and b. Dan likes sharp things.)

The three of them are watching some superhero movie or something, and Danny goes on a twelve-minute rant about how the fight scenes would never work that way.

Tim and Damian come to the conclusion that their new brother has been trained by the League of Assassins or something.

Here's the issue. Danny hasn't.

So Damian starts dropping little hints that he knows that Danny was part of the League, for example a reference to a technique that only a League member would know. Danny, who has been trained in hand-to-hand by Dan, who was trained by dead League assassins in the alternate timeline, knows the moves.

Danny is just happy that his baby brothers are taking his advice, and opening up to him too. Damian is even starting to talk about fighting with him, and he thinks that they might actually tell him about their nighttime activities soon.

Finally, the two confront him on it. And by that, I mean that like the emotionally constipated bats they are, they utterly fail in their interrogation because they can't just come out and say it out in the open.

Tim: so Danny, I noticed how you know a lot about fighting. and first aid, and stuff.

Damian: I have noticed this as well. Might I inquire as to where you gained these skills?

Danny just thinks that they have figured out his past as a vigilante and that they are worried about him being hurt.

Danny: Don't worry about it. I don't do that type of thing anymore.

Now that's a deflection if Tim's ever heard it.

Damian, digging for more information: I wish to know. Maybe I can learn from whoever it was that taught you?

Danny grimaces slightly before answering.

Danny: Trust me, kiddo, you don't wanna learn from the people who taught me this stuff. They squash you like a bug.

Tim and Damian take this as confirmation that Danny was involve in the League. Danny just means that pitting his rogue gallery, which consists of exclusively ghosts, against living boys would be unfair.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt3 of the Danny is a clone/reincarnation in the DC universe au. Danny meets an alien [pt2 here] [pt 4 here]

Danny was jittery all day, but he is trying to not cling to Cass. He'll definitely give in once Damian's friend is here, but he's determined to not give into his childish instincts before then. And he's being mostly successful!

He ignores the amused and concerned looks Cass sends him every time he forces down his instincts. He wants to stop being so codependent. He won't lie, it's been nice to let these people baby him, but he didn't use to be such an anxious wreck that can't do anything without his hand being held. It makes him hate himself at the end of the day when he only has his thoughts, so he's going to take the effort to do a little better. And this is his first baby step.

"I'm home!" Danny perks up at Tim's voice.

"Green Room!" Cass calls out, and Tim sticks his head in a moment later.

"I want to change out of my suit, but I'll be right back." Tim explains. "Damian and Jon won't be here for at least another 20 minutes, and that's only if traffic is good, which it never is, so it'll probably be closer to 30 minutes."

Danny nods, trying to swallow his rising panic. He hasn't been able to get a single word out all day. Luckily Cass can understand his body language when his hands are full and he can't write.

Cass comes and sits next to him when Tim ducks out. "You're being very brave."

[Doesn't feel like it.]

"New things are scary. Trauma makes it hard." Cass smiles sadly before switching to sign language. Danny can sign too, but he prefers his iPad.《My father was a very bad man. Trained me to be weapon only. I understood no language other than body. When I came to live here, I was scared too. I knew only to hurt, but it hurt to read pain. Had to learn how to be a person, like you are now. It's very brave to face what scares you. Like new people.》

[I still don't feel brave.] Danny fiddles with his stylus [There's too much wrong with me for normal people to be nice. I will be vivisected if people know.]

《Family will not let that happen. You're baby brother and we will fight for you til you can fight for yourself.》

Danny sniffles and manages his first word of the day. "Okay..."

Cass hugs him tightly and kisses the side of his head. "We love you. Trauma and all, baby brother."

Tim enters the room in a stolen hoody, some leggings, and house shoes at that moment. He pauses to look at them before sitting on Danny's other side, rubbing his back.

"It's not too late to tell them you changed your mind, kiddo."

[No. I need to do this. It's unhealthy to isolate yourself or hide from new experiences.] Danny gives a deep sigh. [I'm tired of being scared all the time.]

"Have you thought about going to a therapist? I don't want to push you, but I have found it really helpful." Danny knows Tim started going to a therapist about 2 weeks after Danny arrived. He can't help but wonder if Tim did that because Danny started clinging to him and Danny was too much. It makes him feel guilty, but he read enough mental health papers recently to know even if Danny is the straw that broke the camel's back, Tim was wise enough to get help.

[I'm not sure I'm ready to talk to someone about everything.]

"A good therapist will help you at your own pace." Tim tells him, "I vetted a dozen therapists, and am currently vetting another 6, so you can switch if you need to at any point. I just want you to be as happy, healthy, and safe as you can be."

Danny is thinking it over so hard that he startles into invisibility when he hears the front door open and Alfred greeting someone.

"Oh! Damn, time moved fast." Tim blinks at the doorway before turning towards Danny's invisible figure. "We can still turn them away."

Danny wills himself back into the visible spectrum. [I need to do this.]

"If you say so..." Tim's face is an odd mix of emotions; grief, sorrow, pride, and relief are all there. He calls towards the door. "Damian! We're in the green room!"

With them all sitting, Danny can't hide behind Cass or Tim, so he just buries himself into Cass's hug. A few moments later, Damian and a honey tan guy with black hair and deep sky blue eyes enter the room with a slightly nervous energy. Danny blinks at that. Damian's nervous energy is clearly over introducing them, and who-is-obviously-Jon's energy screams "Please like me! I want to be friends!". He briefly wonders if this is how siblings usually introduced friends to family. All parties scared that they won't like each other. He and Jazz didn't really have friends to introduce, so this is new territory for him.

"See?" Cass smiles at him, clearly talking about Jon's gold retriever puppy energy. Danny nods at her before shyly waving at the newcomers. Jon beams and Damian relaxes a hair.

"Hi, I'm Jon! Dami's told me a lot about you!" Danny sends Damian a confused frown. "He likes to brag about his cute new little brother."

[What is there to brag about?] Danny tilts his head. [I haven't done anything to brag about.]

"Are you kidding?" There's sadness in everyone's body language, but Jon is still smiling at him. "You sound awesome! You can read body language like Cass! And are trying to learn alien languages and history for fun! You apparently memorized every space fact you come across! You like learning in general! Trying to cover all the education you missed because your evil creators! And you want to know the coolest thing about you currently?"

Danny rapidly blinks at Jon's list, actually sitting up straighter and unintentionally pulling from Cass's hug. She lets him go easily.

[What?]

"You're letting me meet you despite your crippling anxiety." If Jon had a tail, it would be wagging hard. "No one would blame you for locking yourself away and hiding from the world after everything you've been through, but here you are! Trying to concur your fear and meeting me!"

Danny can feel himself blushing, but realizes Jon is kind of right. While he can still feel his anxiety wanting to smother him, he doesn't feel like he's drowning and needs to run away.

[I still don't see how any of that makes me "cool".]

"It's okay if you don't get it. The people who care about you do and can remind you to be nicer to yourself." Jon nods to his own statement before excitedly floating off the ground. "I love your hair! It looks like it has stars and comets in it!"

Danny's face feels like it's on fire. He can feel Tim and Cass trying to compress laughter.

"Well, that's a way to win him over." Tim can't quite keep the amusement from his voice. Danny hides his face in his hands, while Jon flounders.

"Wait! What?? What did I do??"

"You told a kid who's obsessed with space that his hair looks like space." Damian sounds exasperated and fond.

"Oh. Oh!" Jon sounds embarrassed, so he clearly hadn't thought about that when he said it. Which is nice.

Danny huffs out a tiny laugh and can feel the room freeze at the sound. It only lasts a second before Cass is hugging him in delight, and the tense moment is gone.

"I can now tell Todd only his ugly face made Danny cry." Damian says with all the maliciousness of a petty sibling. He recognizes it from his time with Jazz. Luckily, none of his new siblings have directed that tone towards him yet, he just knows he'll start crying. He's pretty sure they know it too.

He hates how fragile he is now, not being able to take slightly mean sibling teasing is the worst, but he literally can't do anything about it. He has to take baby steps and heal his trauma at a pace his brain and core can handle, or the potential ghost of Jazz will beat him to a third? fourth? death when they meet again.

Danny reluctantly leaves Cass's hug. He can still feel the steady thum of his anxiety, but Jon hasn't been mean or scary at all. Jon also potentially has advice for how Danny can control his ghost powers that are leaking steadily into his human form. It's like getting his powers all over again for the first time.

[How are you floating?]

"Oh! It's one of the powers I got from dad!" Jon beams.

[I know. But HOW? Can't control mine.]

"Damian! You didn't tell me he has powers!" Jon complains.

"I wasn't going to say anything in public." Damian glares lightly at his friend.

Jon turns a beaming grin at Danny."What do you do? I've got flight, superstrength, durability, lazer eyes, superhearing, and ice breath!"

Danny turns a pleading look to Tim, who flashed an amused but reassuring smile. "So far we've seen; flight, invisibility, intangibility, and we think an ice power is trying to develop. His hearing is advanced as well."

[Ghosty]

"You are not a ghost." Damian is pouting. This is one of the few play arguments Danny has been able to have without having a panic attack.

[Ghost powers. Hides from people. I'm a ghost.] Danny is playfully serious.

"I can see your point, but you're not dead!" Damian seems genuinely a little frustrated, and Danny freezes. Unfortunately long enough to make everyone worried, but he snaps out of it.

[I'm not sure I count as alive.] Danny admits, and the concern in the room skyrockets. He directs the next note towards Jon. [You have superhearing?]

"Yes..?"

[Listen.] Danny pats his chest. Jon's eyes lock on where his heart is.

"No.. no way! Why is it so slow?" A pause. "Your breathing is slow, too. Even though I can tell how anxious you are, meaning this is fast for you... What's that buzzing sound?"

[I'm a freak.]

"Danny, honey, don't call yourself a freak." Tim scolds. "It's not your fault you're like this or were even made. The real freaks are the LoA."

《And even if you were, we like you the way you are.》

"How about we focus on something else?" Jon is frowning in concern, but smiles when he makes eye contact with Danny. "How about we go to the gym, put out the thick mats, and see if we can get you flying on command?"

Everyone is silent as Danny thinks it over.

[Okay.]

The rest of the visit is spent in the manor's gymnastics gym. Danny is still too skittish to let Jon within 5 ft of him and doesn't say anything aloud, but he interacts, and learns some neat tricks when it comes to flying and landing. He still has trouble, but he made some real progress before it's time for dinner. Danny trails after Jon when he goes to leave after dinner, and graces the alien with a quiet.

"Bye..." Danny doesn't understand the funny thing everyone's face does, but he has to dodge Dick's tackle hug directly after. He quickly hides behind Tim after that, completely done with social interaction now. Tim fends off Dick and gets Danny to his room.

Danny likes how his room has changed over the months he's been here. The giant bed is gone, replaced by a bunkbed that's been modified to have sturdy planks hiding the bottom bunk on 3 sides and sturdy folding doors on the 4th. Danny can't sleep in the open anymore, so they made him a nice hidden bed so he'd stop sleeping under the bed. It's also shoved to the wall where he can see all the exits when he peeks out of his hidey hole. Every available surface is covered in space stuff. The built-in bookshelf near the windows is full of his favourite books and different workbooks for alien languages. Rocket ship models are on any book free space. Different space themed posters are plastered all over his walls, the side of his desk and dresser, even his bunk's sturdy exterior. Glow in the dark stars are placed in his home dimension's constellations throughout the room, not that anyone but him knows that. Inside his bunk, he has star covered bedding and star shaped fairy light.

Danny's space obsession has never been so filled. He feels well-fed and safe in this room.

He ends the day feeling accomplished for once. He starts looking forward to meeting his siblings' friends, even if he's scared shitless by the idea.

[pedgito]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Joel's a pain in the ass neighbor, but fortunately he's fond of you. Alternatively, Joel's a creep and you're definitely into it.

author's note | my entry for my womb mate @chaotic-mystery's challenge WIRED 4 YOU. I got Joel Miller, Uh Oh by Tate McRae and a fucked up thought process & a special thank you to my love @gracieheartspedro for looking this over.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, dubcon, no outbreak au, age gap, joel calls you kiddo, creepy borderline pervert!joel, protective!joel, reader is in college and living with a handful of roommates, mentions of partying and hook-ups, we're very sex positive here, voyeurism level: extreme, joel being an absolute fiend, masturbation, public sex, fingering, (1) one slap to the face, subtle breeding kink, creampies, unprotected piv, corruption kink

word count — 8.3k

It’s downright insidious, freaky—the chances of your upstairs bedroom placed directly opposite of his.

Joel Miller, your neighbor. 

The old, crotchety man who’s called the cops on the house five times within the first month of moving in.

You and your small group of friends, three other girls, decided to rent the place out for the second half of your college semester. Better commute, spacier than the cheap accommodation dorm rooms.

And this was the first weekend you’ve actually been able to settle, the inevitable party streak seeming to wane as classes ramped up and work seemed endless.

Joel works weird hours, too—so you’ve noticed. 

Like, there isn’t a sturdy schedule to his job, coming and going as he pleases.

But now, you’re face to face with the gap between your houses holding the tension, spotting the man responsible for you having to charm the town sheriff every weekend. You’ve got it down, obviously. You’re touchy and sweet and laying it on thick before he’s forgetting what the call was even for. 

It never worked, but he still did it.

You’re halfway through pulling your shirt over your head, cloth tight against your chest with your arms through their designated hole when he turns his head, thinking it was a trick of the light—no, it was just him.

You flip him off boldly and refuse to wait for a reaction, swiping the curtain closed before you’re tugging the shirt over your head the rest of the way.

It seemed your luck that you would end up sharing a window with him—praying that the sight of him would be few and far between.

—

As your luck would have it, you saw him again.

And again, until your animosity had melted to a simple acknowledgement, still full of disdain—he’s always freshly showered when you see him, spotting the wet mop of hair even from a distance. 

You try to ignore how his eyes start to linger.

He knows you can’t be that naive, but you don’t offer any signs, curtains often parted as you changed in the comfort and privacy of your own room.

Joel knows it's wrong, but he’s growing curious.

You weren’t like the other girls; not accompanying them on their rowdy nights out or stumbling up to the front door after a late homecoming and not passing out on his front lawn either. 

Though, you are kind enough to wake your friend up the following morning with a disgruntled expression and a slowly cooling cup of coffee in your grip. Patience wearing thin as you attempt to lead them back in the house.

You liked to party and you liked to have fun, but you had a limit—a hard one that you didn’t break, refusing to let distractions steer you in the wrong direction.

But, the reality was that Joel couldn’t stand any of you.

Maybe it was the gap in age, growing up in different times, spending your twenties in a much different manner than he would have. 

Regardless, he could eat shit.

You’re so hopeful of avoiding him for the handful of months you had left on your lease that you swear you’re dreaming when you hear his voice carry up the house from your front door, raised and rather crass for such an early morning after a long night of dealing with rowdy twenty-something year olds with less sense than you.

The birds weren’t even fucking chirping yet.

“Why the hell are we arguing this early in the morning?” You crease, rubbing at tired eyes as you blindly step down the stairs, turning the corner to see your roommate nearly nose to nose, always combative and never one to stop and think.

You loved her, but fuck.

“One of you little shits fucked up my truck,” He griped, thumb jutting angrily over his back, “I need the information for my insurance and this one’s decided violence is easier than cooperatin’—better yet, I’ll just call the damn cops.”

“Woah—wait,” You interject, yawning as you gently pull your friend away from Joel before giving her a look of pathetic plea, hoping she’d scamper off.

Fortunately, she does.

“God—what is it with you and cops, dude?”

Dude? Joel hadn’t heard that one yet.

“Who’s car is it?” He presses, arms crossing over his chest in an authoritative manner that shouldnt intimidate you, but it does, “It’s the one at the end of the drive with the dent on the bumper,”

You peer over his shoulder with a sudden disbelief, eventually reaching out to shove him aside because there is no way…

“Those bitches,” You hiss, “they took my car?”

He knows you’re not asking for an answer, your thoughts becoming audible at the sheer disbelief.

They seemed to take the mantra of sharing everything to a literal sense, forgoing even asking if you were alright with it after you had turned in earlier than the rest of them.

You knew what would come, pitiful excuses masked with fake apologies—it never failed.

We didn’t want to wake you.

It was an accident, swear.

I’ll cover the cost, don’t worry.

“Trouble in paradise?” Joel tries to tease at your expense of misery, running your fingers through sleep-tousled hair before you mirror his position, arms crossed over your chest as you scowl, doing the mental math over the cost.

“Fuck you,” You bite, “I’ll bring the shit you need over later, but for now, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Hey, that ain’t how this works, I need it n—“

“I’m good for it,” You cut him off, not allowing him a word in edgewise before you’re gone, door slamming in his face.

It’s only minutes after you’re gone and Joel is reluctantly turning back toward his house that he realizes you had bested him, forcing him to walk away empty-handed.

And frankly, Joel didn’t like that.

–

He liked it even less when you showed up five hours later looking like hell, the beginnings of spring prickling the air with the sun beating down in the cul-de-sac but the cool breeze satiating the heat. He looked you over, silent judgment in his gaze that made you want to slap him.

He’d probably press charges.

“Slept good, huh?” he drawled.

“Haha. Very funny. Here.” You shoved the folded piece of paper, all information required for his stupid insurance claim, glaring begrudgingly,. “This wasn’t my fault.”

“Was your friend's fault, though—maybe you should keep a better eye on ‘em,” Joel reprimands, “A house full of ya and you aren’t keeping tabs on who’s comin’ and goin’ in your car?”

“I was asleep—and you—mmm, you know what, no—” You laugh to yourself, holding your hand up defensively before you shake your head, “I gave you the info, file your little claim and fuck off. Also, calling the cops isn’t working. So, maybe…I don’t know? Give it a rest?”

There’s a pause where Joel sizes you up, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, as if he’s savoring the way he can needle you.

“We’re one call away from me offering to fuck officer friendly and accuse you of harassment,” you snap at him, hating how smug he looks, “Is it the noise or are you just so old and miserable you can’t allow anyone else to enjoy anything? No one else is calling the cops.”

To be fair, you kept things at a respectable volume inside–however, the capacity in the house occasionally overflowed and you could only contain so much, the responsibility and leadership always defaulting to you.

“Yes, because I’m a miserable old man,” Joel says flatly, “That’s why.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the sturdy frame of his front door, not at all moved by your outburst, letting the silence stretch until you’re squirming beneath his gaze.

“Jesus, you’re such a prick,” you mutter.

You roll your eyes and start stomping towards your house, and even with your back turned, you can feel the weight of his stare burning into you. You flip him off for good measure, aware of Mrs. Madison across the street curious as she waters her petunias, a look of distaste at your sudden outburst.

That’s when you see the new detail: the side mirror on his truck is held together with duct tape. 

You almost feel bad—you didn’t see that much damage after the mess of last night; whoever was responsible did a number backing into it. But, as quickly as the guilt consumes you, it dissipates. 

Joel could stay in his disdain as long as he wished even as the sway of your hips burned themselves into his memory, tongue filling his cheek before he slipped back into his house.

Both of your reprieves come as school busies your days and work occupies his own, in and out of the house without much of a word or glance, the rowdiness now few and far between, but not the visits—occasionally it was the same boy, a few times before another one inserts himself into the mix, and a few girls. 

At first he assumes you may have downgraded your house parties to smaller get-togethers in hopes that Joel wouldn’t call the cops anymore—which truthfully, he does stop. Only as his workload has increased, his mind occupied and less time spent at home—he finally catches sight of you after two weeks of near silence, it’s through the window of his bedroom into yours.

Joel’s breath catches when he realizes you’re not alone. There's a guy, unrecognizable, only his arms visible as you’re nearly naked and strewn out on your sheets, your bra clad against your breasts but your legs bare and parted, hands curled around your thighs and a head working furiously under the guide of your hand.

He watches you throw your head back and laugh, a pure elation. 

He rubs his eyes, certain the late hours must be playing tricks on him.

You’re in his goddamn head, he thinks.

But, what really grabs his attention is your slightly opened window, the sound from your room filtering into his own, through the screen, the shadow of the curtains and his dark room keeping him hidden but he can hear you. See you.

An itch tangles deep in his chest, something raw and consuming trying to claw its way out.

The moans and giggles tangle in his mind like vines, wrapping tighter with every glance. The days pass in this strange voyeuristic rhythm; more nights than not, Joel finds himself watching, captive to your parade of lovers, growing jealous of the returning faces.

He tries to tell himself there isn’t anything wrong with what he’s doing—it was you leaving the window open, you keeping the lights on for him, curtains parted for him, but the build-up eventually makes him cave and the stress from work leads him to palming his cock on a night when you’re climbing on top of your chosen suitor, breasts on full display and bouncing with a delicious rhythm, and Joel’s hardly hidden now, resting back in his desk chair with his jeans pushed down just enough to tuck his briefs underneath his balls, drawn tight as he fisted his cock.

His hand is rough and calloused, opposite to the way he imagines yours might be if you’d ever stoop to touching him this way. The thought is absurd. Dirty. 

He needs your soft hands on him.

It only makes him buck harder into his palm, sweat pouring down his chest and every muscle strung tight with need. Your moans slip through the open window, finding him in the dark of night like a searchlight.

He pretends you know he’s there—wants him to hear, wants him to see—imagines your eyes on his cock as he grinds his palm over the head, his thumb slipping over the slit and suddenly he’s spilling over his hand with a pathetic grunt, breathing out shakily.

It really has become his routine.

When he gets home late at night, it’s the first thing he checks for: the light in your window.

Sometimes it’s on and you’re alone, studying on your bed with a face of focus, brow drawn in tight as you tapped away on your laptop, but the release you crave is never far away. If Joel watches long enough, eventually you succumb to your own insatiable need, pulling out the small, handheld toy from your dresser and locking your door, afraid your friends might interrupt the precious time but not giving half a shit about your open window or the man watching carefully from across the way.

Then it’s just you and the feeble little toy, and Joel can’t look away.

He can’t do anything other than wish he could give you what it does—what it never seems to: the satisfaction his big, experienced hands would. He watches you edge yourself repeatedly, almost to the point of pain, whining and gasping as you work yourself up, on the brink of the release that only a real cock could give. His.

You drive him mad this way.

He fucks his palm until he sees stars some nights, every part of him feeling feral and raw with need, but it’s never quite enough.

You have to know—with him easing up on calls and complaints, rarely heard or seen, giving you the peace you craved as you settled back into your schedule with school and focused on the necessary parts of your life.

It’s his secret, he’d die with it. With as much sin as he’s committed in his lifetime, there wasn’t guilt so much as shame, but you were just so goddamn tempting.

-

The next conversation you have with him is tense, a culmination of events rising to a nasty head of anger and frustration, all the while unfoundedly attracted to the way he asserts himself. 

It’s pathetic, really.

But, you couldn’t help it—it was kinda hot.

Joel likes to smoke on his porch at night occasionally, with summer in full swing and his yard giving him the perfect view of the nightly neighborhood entertainment, he seems to examine the scene critically, that permanent scowl on his face.

Truthfully, you’re thankful the partying has died down and often found the house emptier than normal as your roommate had started to find fun outside of the comfort of home, often leaving you alone—that is, relatively speaking.

Joel’s come to memorize a few names, the one that stands out most is Dean.

He’s a confident little shit, all suave and little empathy, he’s seen him treat you roughly in a few ways but more importantly, he’s an asshole. He’s the same kid he’s caught kissing another one of your roommates behind your back—a classic dick move, but breaking your heart?

Well, Joel wasn’t going to stand for that.

He had to protect his girl—even if you had no idea what that meant to him and his nightly meet-ups with his bedroom window. Joel waits until Dean is alone and your front door is slammed shut after a tense exchange of words and the inevitable fuck you—that you’ve mastered throwing at Joel plenty of times—slips out.

Joel emerges from the shadow of the porch with an air of defiance, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes full of skepticism and Dean is on the defense almost instantly. He’s seen Joel before, always perturbed by his presence.

Dean spins around as he approaches his own car parked at the end of your driveway, face already sour. “You got a problem, old man?”

“I don’t wanna catch you back over here,” Joel explains, approaching with a slow reverence, the hand not occupying the cigarette stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans, “that clear?”

“You think you’re some big protector, huh? She doesn’t need you to fight her battles. She’s fine.” Dean retorts, a forced bravado floats from his chest to his mouth, dismissive of how poorly he had treated you about five minutes prior—how easily the words selfish bitch had flowed from his mouth.

“You leave and don’t come back—I see you around here again and I’ll snap your ass like a twig, got it?” Joel threatens, tapping out the ash over the cement, his face unnaturally relaxed.

“Whatever,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “she isn’t worth this shit, anyways.”

With Dean, you weren’t all that upset.

He ghosted you completely, but he was already on his way out.

Then, there’s a small illness that spreads on campus, leading to a week off strictly online classes that comes as a welcomed break, spending extra time outside as you lounge in gaudy furniture your landlord had left behind, a thick chair that reclines and swivels, curled up in the seat as you work your way through an assignment as Joel’s truck roars up the street and into his driveway, toolbox clutched in his hand as he fished for his keys at his front door.

It wasn’t that Joel had been kind to you as of late, but rather less…frustrated?

He smiled on occasion, filtered through misdelivered mail and stuffed it into your mailbox instead of approaching your front door with annoyance, hell—he even apparently offered to clean up the front lawn last weekend while he mowed his own, knowing that none of your girls even owned a lawn mower.

There had to be a catch.

When he catches you looking, he raises a hand in a half-wave, and you feel an unexpected flutter.

What the fuck was that?

It happens a couple more times, no words, just a simple exchange.

Your roommate, Julia, catches it one morning.

“How’s your boyfriend?” she teases as she passes by, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

She’d yet to have a run-in with Joel, unbothered by his presence and rather clueless.

“Please,” you snort, “he’s like fifty.” But there’s no denying the strange gravitational pull you feel, like the man has some secret to him that you want to discover—curious to what has changed.

Days slide by, punctuated by Joel’s presence.

You’d spent the last few days waiting for it—the favor he’d ask for in return or some comment about how you’d better not let the weeds get out of control again, letting the overgrown grass put a bad mark on the neighbors' normally well-kept lawns. But there’s nothing. 

Absolutely nothing.

Friday afternoon, Joel was back on his porch, quietly watching your house while pretending to tinker with something wrapped in a blue tarp in the back of his truck. You pretended not to notice at first, keeping your head bent over your laptop like it was giving you the meaning of life instead of a LATE warning on your English assignment. 

What did this guy want?

Later that evening, you watch him sand down a piece of wood against a table on his porch, lost in his work. You and your roommates had already enjoyed dinner for the night and cleaned up, the rest of them retired to their rooms but here you were, approaching Joel.

The sun bakes the street, turning everything into a mirage of heat waves and distant hums of cicadas. An impulse catches you; before it fully registers, you’re already at his driveway with a couple cold beers clutched in hand, one already open and half-empty.

“Hey,” you called. Joel squinted up at you like he wasn’t sure who he was looking at for a second before his eyes landed on the beer, even more confused, “—it’s a peace offering.”

“Alright,” he responds slowly, unsure as he reaches for the bottle and twists the cap off with a natural strength, “what’s the catch?”

You shrug and Joel hides his instinct to let his eyes fall upon your breasts as he takes a sip and tilts his head back, wanting to reprimand you for wearing such a revealing top despite the sweltering heat, almost like you were begging him to look, sweat clinging to your chest.

“No—no catch, just…never got to thank you for the lawn,” You tell him, spotting the newly replaced mirror on his truck, “Oh, finally got it fixed?”

Joel turns back over his shoulder and nods, eyes squinting as he spotted the still very visible dent to your car, “Can’t say the same for you—some friends you got,”

“We’re college students—we’re broke,” You reply with ease, “It’s just a dent, anyways. It still drives and—”

“I can try and fix it,” Joel offers, “Next weekend, if you’re around,”

“Aren’t I always?” you tease, testing the waters, a flirtatious smile forcing its way onto your face but you catch it at the last second, reprimanding yourself over it.

What were you even doing?

“Seems that way,” Joel decides, taking another long swig of the beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—he’d know.

Well, it was decided.

 And it seemed after a month of tense interaction, things were finally settling. Joel was less tense, you were less combative. It was great.

Curiosity wins, though. It always does.

Joel doesn’t mean to interfere. Really, he doesn’t. 

But when he’s heading out to his truck Saturday morning, grabbing the tools to approach your front door and start working on your car, a familiar guy slips out your front door, tall and lanky—hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, looking a little too smug for Joel’s liking—he can’t resist.

It’s the same spiel that Dean got, though slightly more effective, filling the younger boy with fear.

It’s only when he glances back toward the house and at the living room window—he sees your narrowed eyes watching him through the glass—that he realizes you saw the whole thing, filling you with a rage you’ve never felt before.

And even moreso, there’s no smile this time—just a quiet challenge in his gaze that makes your pulse skip. Joel knew exactly what he was doing.

“Asshole,” you mutter, slipping on your shoes before bursting out the front door. Joel’s at the curb, hands stuffed in his pockets, like he’s waiting for you to come storming over, the remnants of your friendship dissipating as the car speeds away.

“What was that?” you demand, crossing your arms tight.

He shrugs, a maddening little smirk pulling at his lips. “Who was that?”

You nearly choke on your response. He doesn’t deserve an explanation. 

Instead, you jab a finger in his direction, eyes narrowing as you move into his space, his head turning to squint off into the distance before you let the urge take over and unfurl your hand to smack his across the jaw, the sickening crack catching Joel off-guard.

 “How long have you been doing that? Fucking with my friends?”

Joel looks amused. “The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Friends—alright, sure, he thinks.

Joel catches sight of your wrist as it winds back again, his fingers wrapping around it with ease and tight, a silent warning, you ask through clenched teeth “Do you do this with everyone? Is it some kind of hobby? Being a shitty neighbor? Or are you obsessed with me?”

“Obsessed? Oh, kiddo,” Joel laughs, a low rumble that you feel in your bones. “You think pretty highly of yourself.”

Your stomach flips, and not in the way that you want it to. “Says the guy who can’t keep his nose out of my business. I don’t need your help.”

“You should stay outta trouble,” Joel suggests

"He’s not trouble," you shoot back. "And I don’t need you to play watchdog for me."

“Are you sure about that?” Joel flicks an eyebrow, the challenge in his voice making your skin prickle.

“Is that a threat?” you ask tensely, attempting to wretch your hand away and failing.

"Wasn’t a threat," Joel says, voice dropping lower. "Just know you like to push buttons. Seem real fond of keepin’ your curtains wide open at night." His head tilts slightly, "Almost like you want someone watchin'."

The connection clicks in your mind after a moment, turning to catch the open panels of your bedroom window in the space between your houses before your eyes lock on him, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“You’ve been watching me?”

Joel chuckles, his grip easing enough to let you pull free. “Not like you’re makin’ it hard.”

“You’re sick,” you spit at him, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs help,” Joel counters, taking a step back. “Or, maybe it’s attention.”

The words sting, and it takes everything not to lunge for him again. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m just being honest.” He shrugs, and it infuriates you how little he seems to care.

Your mouth works around a reply that won’t come out right; all that escapes is an angry huff. 

Joel can see it simmering underneath, the realization that he might be right.

“Lemme show you somethin’,” Joel suggests, nodding toward his house.

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” you say, but there’s hesitation in it, a crack that Joel doesn’t miss.

“And you’re curious,” He’s already heading toward his door, leaving you to decide if you’ll follow.

You know you shouldn’t. 

You know this is the worst idea.

But you can already feel the pull—of him—and it’s stronger than anything else.

You trail after him, every step a little betrayal of your better judgment.

Quietly, you follow him into his dark living room and up the stairs, met with a half-open bedroom door that he spears wide with his fingers, footsteps following quietly behind as he leads you to the inevitable window in his room that peers right into your own.

“There’s something wrong with you.” It comes out weaker than you intend, unable to meet his eyes as your fingers wrap over the edge of the windowsill, his presence lingering behind.

Joel just steps aside, gesturing toward the view. “Then I guess there’s somethin’ wrong with both of us.”

You stare through the window into yours and your breath catches. An unmistakable pang hits you when you see it—how clear the sight is in your own room, how well he must have seen everything. Heard everything. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually closed it, annoyed with the constant stuffiness.

“Seems like you want me watchin’,” Joel says, there’s a taunting edge to his voice, but it’s laced with something else you can’t decipher

“Or maybe you’re just lonely,” you suggest, turning to him.

“Maybe,” Joel responds cooly.

“So just like that? You spy on me?” you accuse, but there’s less bite in it than before.

Joel’s grin is slow, infuriatingly confident. “Just lookin’,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d mind much—’round here when we want privacy, we’re intentional about, we don’t leave our windows open while we’re naked and moaning for half the neighborhood to hear,”

The embarrassment hits you quick, palms sweating at the mention as you look away and back out the window, feeling Joel move closer.

“I didn’t think—”

“Yeah, you didn’t think.” he cuts in, but he’s not angry. 

There’s a hint of laughter in it, and it makes you tense, but not in a fight or flight type of way, rather, anticipating his next move, expecting it.

“So, what?” you challenge, “What happens now?”

“Depends on you,” Joel says, his voice low now. Dangerous, almost. “You gonna close it?”

“What if I don’t?”

There it was.

Joel’s eyes darken with interest. 

“Then, I guess you’ll know I’m watchin’ you,” he admits, the words sending a shiver down your spine, his hand soothing the shock as it spreads over the small of your back and down, curving over your jeans as he squeezed your ass between the heel of his palm and fingers, “that alright with you?”

Your heart hammers in your chest as you turn to hold his gaze, feeling the heat of him so close. 

It’s a game—a risky one—and he’s playing it well. You’re hooked, unable to challenge him.

Now that he’s presented you with his reasoning, his motives, you’re entranced. 

He’s always had a rugged way about him, devastatingly attractive despite his age—not that had any affect anyways, but you found yourself intimidated because of it, admiring from a distance before he showed how much of an asshole he could be.

Still, you weren’t blind. 

If he was lonely, it was by choice. Not by lack of interest.

You’re aware of his wandering hands as they slide around your hips to unbutton your shorts, the zipper following quietly before the warmth of his hand is pressing against your mound as his fingers slide into the front of your underwear, simmering with the same heat as his middle finger slides through your obvious slick, a laugh catching in his throat as he crowds you against the open window, his chin hooking over your shoulder as your lips part in a gasp.

“Guess I got my answer,” he teases, voice thick with satisfaction.

You feel exposed and alive, heat pooling low and your fingers clutch at his arm, needing an anchor as your knees threaten to give way.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you breathe, but the tremor in your voice betrays you.

“Yeah?” His middle finger slides up, circles slow and deliberate, “feels good, don’t it?”

His words are like a spark; you tilt your hips into him, a silent plea for more.

Joel obliges with a low chuckle, teasing you with expert precision. 

“How are they?” Joel asks curiously, unsurprisingly calm as he quietly shifts your shorts down until they fall, pooling at your ankles while he unoccupied hand squeezes at the inside of your thigh, “Do they touch you this good?”

“Good enough, they can make me come,” You admit, eyes falling shut at his practiced movements, the hand squeezing at your thigh sliding up to press inside of you, two thick fingers spreading you open while his other works over your swollen clit, rubbing in furious rhythm with his fingers

“Are you good enough, Joel?” You ask tauntingly, a small waver in your voice, “Or is that why you live alone?”

“I am, kiddo,” Joel reassures, “And I do because s’better for me that way.”

“Or you can’t make a girl come, can’t keep them around so you watch me through your window,” you explain to him, momentarily pausing as his finger rubs over your clit harshly, no circles or practiced motion, just pressure—delicious fucking pressure, “Do the neighbors know you like to be a creep?”

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” he bites, his hand moves with a kind of confident hunger, your breath hitches as you feel it building, raw and electric.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you manage, voice shaking.

“Am I?” Joel’s lips skim the side of your neck, a hot whisper against your skin as his finger presses rough and insistent. “Seems like you wanted me to see just how needy you were. Somethin’ about those boys ain’t satisfying or you wouldn’t fuckin’ be here lettin’ me touch you like this,”

He’s good—fuck, he’s good.

You can’t find the words to deny it, not when he’s curling inside you in perfect tandem with the dizzying friction on your clit. The heat is coiling tight in your belly, pulling you closer to the edge.

“Admit it,” he pushes, “let me hear what those pretty little cries sound like up close as you come around my fingers,”

You’re panting now, thighs trembling under his relentless pace.

“I—fuck—” The admission is lost in a choked moan, grabbing blindly for his wrist as your orgasm crashes into you, eyes squeezed shut as you gasp, hips moving insistently into the motion of his hands as he guides you through intensity of it, almost like he’s rocking you in place, soothing you.

“Good enough?” Joel murmurs, the cockiness in his voice matches the satisfaction flooding through you.

His fingers slide out slowly, leaving you empty but tingling with sharp aftershocks. 

He shifts beside you, smirking like the self-assured asshole he is.

“Admit it,” Joel encourages, “only time I’ve ever seen you come like that is when you’re playin’ with that cheap little toy, alone in your room.”

“Just stop meddling, alright?” you plead with him, quietly adjusting your shorts back over your hips with a small modicum of shame, but the look on Joel’s face reads as insatiable.

“I’ll keep scarin’ ‘em off,” Joel admits, “‘til you realise you don’t deserve to be treated the way they’re treatin’ you—yellin’ and sneaking around behind your back. I see everything, kiddo.”

“Well, stop,” you reply without much bite, “just—go back to being insufferable—”

Joel smirks at the small revelation on your behalf, “I thought you were aimin’ for a peace offering the other day, I’m keepin’ the peace. For you and for me,”

The back and forth was pointless, you begin to realize.

Joel was a natural protector, whether you needed it or not.

–

He does keep his word, though.

It takes a week for you to face him again, but eventually you’re wandering back to his front door and accepting defeat, hushed on the fact your bedroom window has stayed closed since the day in his bedroom and not a single person for Joel to run off.

He answers the door shirtless, thin shorts hung low on his waist and the scowl you return to his own is too natural, trying desperately to stuff down your ego. He must have been sleeping, hair mused and his eyes blinking rapidly as he rubbed at his thick facial hair, scratching at his cheek.

“Whaddya need, kiddo?”

You roll your eyes and turn your head impishly over your shoulder.

Joel chuckles lightly, though tired.

You don’t even have to ask.

“Let me eat dinner and I’ll be over,” he tells you, “no plans tonight?”

“We’re all studying for some big tests coming up so no, I just—I don’t wanna look at it anymore.”

“Gotcha,” he replies easily, “go on—I’ll come knockin’ later.”

He throws the orders around with such ease, ones that you follow without argument.

Joel shows up later that night, hand rapping at the door at the same time you pull it open.

You follow him outside, listen to him explain, and then you’re turning on your heels and half a second from escaping the torture of having to be around him any longer before he speaks up and the inevitable comes out.

“Oh, you’re helpin’,” Joel explains, “get your ass back here—teach you a thing or two this way.”

“Uh huh,” you reply tersely and while it is excruciating to sit through, Joel gets the dent out and fixes your dimming taillight free of charge, that is, for the moment. He’s well-versed with cars and his hands work quickly, and frankly, the way he moves is distracting.

Annoyingly.

You can’t help staring at the expanse of his back and the taut muscle underneath, only able to imagine it and clearing your throat awkwardly as he has to repeat himself a couple times before you realize he’s talking to you again.

“Pop your trunk,” he repeats, following the order quietly before he’s stuffing a few tools in the back that has you eyeing him skeptically, “just a few things, in case you end up with a flat or something, you won’t be completely helpless,”

“O-kay,” you reply with hesitance, watching his fingers curl around the trunk as he shoves it closed, “is that all?”

“A thank you’d be nice,” Joel admits, lowering his tone as he murmurs, “fuckin’ kids these days,”

Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you approach him again, hand mirroring his as it curls around your trunk and you invade his space, nearly chest to chest as you retort, “Oh, boo-hoo,” there’s a faux frown forming, “do I need to remind you of your behavior? I think this is payment for being a total dick to me for the past couple months.”

You catch the glimpse of his hand flexing as you stand your ground, mouth opening in another sharp sting of words before his hand is squeezing at your cheeks, the curve between his thumb and pointer finger curling around your chin as he forces it up.

“I’ll scream,” you threaten, fingers twisting into his shirt as you attempt to shove him back but he’s completely unmoving, “let—me—go,”

“Do it,” he challenges, “or—I deal with that little problem you got goin’ on,”

He knows it—how unsatisfied you felt, even without having to voice it.

Your silence is the answer, slumping slightly in defeat as you wait him out.

“Let me see your hand,” he asks, surprisingly softer, his palm extending in wait.

As you offer your hand, his fingers curl around it, guiding it to the front of his cotton shorts and you can feel the heat of his cock underneath, hard against the fabric and tucked up to avoid showing the obvious arousal he was dealing with—you weren’t sure how long he’s been sporting it, but the rigidness of it has your breath catch, intimidatingly large even by the feel as your eyes flicker down slightly,

“It’s a shame,” Joel says, “how disrespectful you’re being—seems like you need to learn manners, kiddo.”

“Stop. Calling me that—” you struggle to say, the words half-daring and half-pleading. He slides his thumb down, brushing your bottom lip as his eyes flash with something dark and dangerous.

“What?” he teases, watching you squirm as he keeps your hand pinned to his shorts, “you don’t like that?”

“I’m not a kid,” you insist, trying for defiance but it comes out breathless.

He grins, and you’re startled by how it transforms his face—softening all those hard edges you’ve come to know. For a moment, there’s a flicker of sweetness before he leans in close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath, whispering low.

“Then quit actin’ like one.”

His mouth is over yours before you can find more words, catching on the gasp that slips out as instinct takes over. His kiss is rough but not forceful; it’s got a bruising sort of gentleness that makes your knees weak and you wobble slightly, his hand removing from your face as they wrap under your elbows, keeping you upright.

You’re not surprised by how quickly you melt into him. Your hand never leaves the front of his shorts despite his own hands now elsewhere, one creeping around your waist, pulling you tighter and tighter until there’s nowhere left to go.

His body is a wall, hot and solid, against yours.

Your fingers twitch where they’re trapped against him, squeezing at his shaft as your finger grazes the clothed head, weeping under the fabric, and he makes a noise in his throat that surprises you—a low, gravelly sound that sends a shiver down your spine. 

You feel that dark edge of satisfaction from him, knowing how affected you are.

 How predictable.

“Ain’t got much to say now,” he murmurs against your mouth,

His grip changes, dragging your hand up under his shirt until it’s pressed against the bare skin of his stomach. You can feel him breathing, deep and steady.

It’s not fair how calm he is while you're barely hanging on.

Suddenly, his tongue traces your lower lip and a whimper escapes you, muffled against his mouth. Joel groans, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, “Lift your dress up,” he directs, quietly guiding your chest flush with the trunk as he shuffles with the fabric of his shorts under the darkened sky, thankful the streetlights in the cul-de-sac needed a fresh set, barely buzzing.

“You’re makin’ a mess,” Joel mutters, voice low and rough. It sends you reeling, your face hot as he slides the fabric aside, parting you with his fingers, testing your resistance as you welcome the gentle press as the digits slip inside, your hand squeezing desperately at his cock, a silent plea, “we’re gonna rectify that, alright?” 

You nod dumbly, filled with an undeniable lust for him, even if you couldn’t admit it out loud.

“Ain’t got protection, do ya?” He asks, suspects, “Damn shame you’re lettin’ them fuck you like that, sweetheart,”

“It’s none—none of your business, just because I don’t doesn’t mean—”

“You lettin’ them fuck you raw?” he asks curiously, noting the way your thighs spread to accommodate another finger, you shake your head weakly.

“S’good,” he decides, “but you’re gonna let me aren’t you?”

Your nod is too quick, proudly pathetic.

“That’s right—no need worryin’ about me, right? “Cause, I’ll take care of ya,”

“I just—don’t—dunno if it will fit, Joel,” you admit and Joel chuckles, a subtle noise of agreement before he soothes your worries.

“It’s fine,” he assures, eyes locked on yours as you turn to look at him, voice both commanding and reassuring, trading his fingers for the head of his cock as he pushes you forward and forces your ass on display, pushing the thickness of himself through your folds, coating it with your slick, “You can—fuck—you can handle it.”

There’s something reckless in the way he moves—only Joel could get this from you. Only him.

He eases into you slowly, each inch coaxed through the tight resistance until he’s seated, until you’re stuffed full and squirming. His breath hitches, a low groan vibrating through his chest as he holds there for a moment, letting you adjust to the heavy stretch.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, a hint of pride in the words as he draws back slightly, hand bunched in your dress to enjoy the view as he rocks forward again, “Takin’ it so damn well—it’s like you were made for me.”

He builds a rhythm with each of his ragged exhales, using the weight of his body to keep you pinned beneath him, to bury himself deeper than you’ve ever felt. 

“You like this,” he decides, “no fuckin’ denyin’ it—your friends could look at those windows, open that door, and they’d catch you like this, cryin’ over gettin’ fucked just like you deserve—”

“Joel, please,” you’re not sure what you’re even begging about, but you are, gasping with each rapid thrust he makes, his fingers working in tandem over your clit like he’s done this a million times over, knowing your body better than you do,

“Could be watchin’ right now, but I know you,” he taunts, “You like being watched, don’tcha?”

You nod again, absentminded as he moves against you. There’s nothing gentle about the way he fucks you toward oblivion; it’s intense and raw, overwhelming in a way you’ve never experienced before. He’s got you teetering the line, your orgasm begging for release.

“There it is,” he says in a low rasp, feeling you clench tightly around him, “she’s beggin’ for it, you need me to fill ‘er up, sweetheart? She need to be stuffed full ‘f me?”

“Y—huh, yesyes, please,” you ramble, your eyes falling shut as your climax washes over, his finger insistent on your clit as he pumps his hips lazily, his warm seed spreading inside of you.

“I’ll take that as thank you,” Joel decides with a lazy tone, pulling out of you without warning and adjusting your panties and dress back over your body, “though—still would be nice to hear it.”

“Thank you,” you reply breathlessly, unable to meet his eye, “thank you—for…yeah, thank you.”

“You know where to find me,” Joel tells you with an amused smirk.

And unfortunately, that was often.

–

It's a bad habit—coming to Joel when you need things.

But, he just fixes the problem so easily.

Sprinklers broken, Joel’s got a tool to replace it.

Squeaky hinges? Joel’s got just the fix to quiet the insistent noise.

A hole in your bathroom wall after a fight that wasn’t your fault at all, but ultimately ended up being your responsibility to fix—well, that was a bigger ask.

And your roommates' jaws can’t even begin to remain shut as he walks through the front door on a free weekend, all of them lounging on the couch with admiration in their eyes.

There was a similar sentiment of disdain for Joel, but they could all agree he was attractive.

You tried your best to ignore the strew of late assignments that have become more and more apparent as Joel invaded your life—moments when you would try to slip away and Joel would beg for a little bit more, coerce you into staying over for the night when your mind was battling with the idea.

He was good like that, convincing you of making the bad choices you normally wouldn’t.

“Ignore them,” you tell him over your shoulder as he offers a kind wave, guiding him toward the bathroom and showing him the sizable hole in the drywall.

He whistles low, rubbing the back of his neck, "Hell of a punch."

You shrug, "You can fix it, right?"

Of course, your roommates weren’t oblivious to your growing absence over the following weeks into now, eager to ask questions but knowing you weren’t the type of person to share. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out and ultimately, they couldn’t even blame you.

It was your education and social life that had taken the hit, but for Joel, you couldn’t complain.

Given the opportunity, they would have jumped his bones just as quick, though, you’re not sure if Joel had eyes for anyone but you, always watchful even from a distance.

He still met you at his window on occasion, but you’re more purposeful with your performance.

As is he, watching as he fists his cock to your fingers spreading down the seam of your cunt, pressing the brightly colored toy inside of you wish it was him filling you out.

You always moan a little louder than necessary, letting him know just what he does to you even from afar. He’s perfect in his window—broad shoulders and strong arms flexing as he strokes himself, pumping in time with the rhythm you set. His free hand grips the frame, knuckles white like he needs the support.

The anticipation builds slowly and sweetly. You drag it out for him, teasing your clit with languid circles, hips lifting off the bed. He swears again, and you can almost taste the frustration rolling off him.

“More,” you mouth, knowing it’ll drive him wild.

He doesn’t disappoint you. 

His pace quickens, and you can see every detail—the veins in his forearm tensing, thumb swiping over the head of his cock. Your cunt clenches around the toy at the sight of his impatience.

It always ends the same way, though. Not nearly as satisfying as the real thing.

When you girlfriends catch you sneaking in late on occasion, it’s matched with a smirk that you brush off with a fond insult, an endearment you’ve all come to use out of love.

“Bitch, I swear,” you warn, “not a fucking word. I’m serious.”

“No judgement,” She shrugs, “The dick must be good if you’re leaving the house for it.”

You snort, “Fuck you.”

He’s nearly got the whole patched when you peek your head through the closed bathroom door, house empty for the evening and a curious look on your face as he peers over his shoulder, shirt stripped from his body as he wipes the sweat from his face.

You’ve got that look, one he’s come to read well.

“Can’t even wait until I’m finished?” Joel asks.

“You’re almost done,” you shrug, “finish up after.”

“Bet they’d die if they knew you were sneakin’ around for old man dick,” he taunts, settling you back on the counter as you push your spandex shorts down, spreading your legs out as he moves between them and kneels, already mouthing at the inside of your thigh, “Payin’ for my labor with this,” his fingers spread through your folds, exposing yourself to the cool air as he licks at you teasingly, “delectable little thing.”

“Bet you’d die if I stopped,” you shoot back, breathless but defiant, “fuckin’ heart attack, aneurysm, take your pick—fuck!”

His teeth nip at your clit in warning, eyes flickering up to you as they crinkled around the edges in amusement, “Quiet, unless I speak to you,”

You nod shakily, giving over to his dominance fully like you have plenty of times now.

He’s relentless, holding you right there as you twist and writhe against his mouth, hands gripping his hair to try and guide him, but he pins your hips with a low growl that almost undoes you on the spot.

“Tight little pussy,” Joel pants, thumb circling your clit while he watches intently for the next crack in your composure. It doesn’t take long before you’re clutching at his shoulders, incoherent curses spilling from mouth.

“Of course,,” Joel drawls, “can’t keep that damn mouth shut for nothin’.”

You pull him towards you, needy, as he rises to his feet, fingers hooked into his waistband as you fumble with the button of his jeans, eagerly pulling his cock from the confines, his mouth opening with another witty retort that never comes.

“Shut up,” you mutter, “just—”

He presses inside of you in one harsh thrust, your gasp cutting off the rest of your response and echoing through the house. He grins down at you, smug and rough and exactly what you wanted, your hand slamming against the mirror as you wince, his hand immediately coming up to soothe the ache.

“Shit, babygirl,” He groans, for a few reasons, “you okay?”

“Better, if you’d shut up and fuck me,” you retort, “take a lesson out of your own damn book,”

“Got it,” he agrees tauntingly, before his pace changes on a dime, relentlessly pounding into you, “not a fuckin’ word.”

And it continues like that, his gaze intense on your face and quiet aside from his occasional strained grunt, his eyes staring you down like he’s trying to challenge you, determined to win a battle you weren’t trying to fight—either way, he always seemed to win.

Because, as much as you tried to fight the urge to stay away from him.

You always ended up like this.

And bad, impulsive choices like Joel have become your new normal.

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, part 1

Jason was at first hesitant about the floating white-haired green-eyed child that offered to be his sidekick. Evermore so when the kid told him that he knew that Jason had been dead. He explained that he could tell because he himself was half-ghost. Despite his hesitations he decided to take the kid on for a trial period.

The kid proved to be skilled, and knew how to deal with the many criminals that made business in Gotham. Over the last month he found himself growing closer to the boy, and upon learning that his parents tried to kill him for his half-ghostly nature, he decided to take a page from his old man's book and "legally" adopt the kid, this black-haired blue-eyed kid, his new son, Danny.

Now came the hard part, introducing him to his family. He had sent Alfred a message saying that he would make an appearance for the weekly family dinner with an additional guest. The following day they arrived at the manor. As they walked into the dinning room the rest of the family were already seated, he and Danny made their way to their seats.

Alfred: Master Jason, thank you for joining us tonight.

Jason: Of course Alfred. Jason looked at Danny and stood. Everyone I would like you all to meet Daniel, he goes by Danny. He's my new sidekick... and of a week ago my adopted son.

The rest of the family stopped eating and looked at Jason.

Bruce: You... adopted?

Damian: I'm rather surprised, I would have expected Richard to be the first on of us to adopt a child, he is the most like father. Nevertheless I shall take my new responsibilities as an uncle with great humility.

Dick: Damn, Damian what did I ever do to you? How am I the most like dad?

Bruce: What's wrong with being like me- No, where getting off point. Jason you adopted?

Jason: I did.

Bruce: I- hi Danny, welcome to the family.

Danny: Hi grandpa!

Snickering could be heard across the table.

Bruce: Hi kiddo, so how you two meet?

Danny: I followed him home and in through the window. I became his sidekick, then his son, and now we're here.

Jason: Danny is a meta, an experiment gone wrong caused him to become half-ghost, it's a little complicated, but he has some neat powers.

Tim: What happened to your parents?

Danny: They tried to kill me because of my powers.

Cass (signing): We know our next targets then.

Bruce: Cass no. Jason how did you even adopt Danny?

Jason: I stole one of the pre-notarized adoption papers you keep in your desk.

Bruce: Ahh. Well I'll still ask Barbara to make that 100% official.

Stephany: Don't worry Danny at one point or another all our adopts legally were questionable at best.

Danny: Ok.

Bruce: Well it's good to have you here with us Danny. You two are welcomed to spend the night and join us for training in the morning?

Jason (looking at Danny, who was looking at him): Sure.

Alfred: Splendid, now let's eat, supper is getting cold. And I don't want Master Daniel's first dinner as part of the family to a less than perfect.

They all started eating.

Danny: Oh, I'm also the Supreme King of the Infinite Realms, High King of the Ghost Zone, and King of all Ghosts.

Jason: I knew I was forgetting something.

Danny and Jason went back to eating as the rest of the family looked at them bewildered.

(Master Post)

[pseudowho]

"--n'then...n'then we put on our Welly boots and we put on our skirts and then we're explorer-dancers and we go, go, go--"

Your daughter led Yuuji for his next great adventure; he followed gladly, for being big brother was preferable to any mission. You sank into the relief of being ignored.

Moments passed, and you felt Kento approach behind you, feigning snores into your shoulder and crushing you against the kitchen counter. He chuckled as you reached back to pinch his hips.

You smiled into your tea, leaning back for a morning-coffee-breath kiss.

"Morning handsome."

"Not handsome," Kento rumbled, his voice scratchy, "scruffy." You hummed to yourself, closing your eyes against the curling steam from your mug.

Despite the random noise vomit coming from your daughter, some obnoxious children's morning TV show, and the bustle and the clatter, this was peace.

There was something odd to your daughter's noise vomit, though. Something strange; her series of squeals, grunts, deep rumbles and tiny screams, told the tale of a bunny rabbit being chased by some enormous bear. You frowned. You whispered back to Kento.

"What on earth is she doing?"

"Don't ask questions. Just take the break. You know what she's li--"

"Hey, baby," you chirped, your daughter stopping her odd noises and looking up from her colouring, "those are some funny noises."

"Heard them!" She piped, her tongue between her lips as she surveyed her pens for the right shade of green. You waited for her to elaborate, and she did, "From yours and daddy's room, last night."

You felt yourself pale at the edges, and almost choked on your tea. Kento was washing dishes behind you, and you heard him fumble a glass into the sink.

Yuuji didn't look up from his colouring, but mused aloud, "Huh, I didn't hear that. Just lots and lots of thumping nois--"

Yuuji gasped, a filthy gasp, his jaw dropping and his head snapping up to look at you and Kento with absolute outrage. He clapped his hands over your daughters' ears, as if to prevent her from hearing any further debauchery.

You sunk your face onto your arms, feeling steam rise off the top of your head. The silence was thick.

"You and daddy should play quietly," your daughter mused, mulish and sage, "I am very sleepy this morning."

"Don't worry, darling," Kento toned, his face and voice carefully schooled, "I'll get your mummy a gag--"

"Shut up Kento, I'll get you a muzzle--"

Yuuji all but shouted, shooting to his feet, "Hey, how about we go to the park, huh, kiddo? Just me and you!"

Your daughter squealed with delight, abandoning her pens to dart to the door for her coat. Yuuji fumbled past the kitchen counter, pearl-clutching with his nose in the air.

"And--and you two-- you should think about what you've done," Yuuji scolded. You felt Kento vibrate with mirth, with his face hidden in your shoulders. You hung your head, truly mortified, and Yuuji continued, finger-wagging, "Disgusting-- get a room--"

"--we were in our room, Yuuji--"

"--shut up-- horrible-- gross-- ugh!"

Yuuji swept out of the door with a slam. Your daughters' voice faded into the distance. You felt Kento's hand slip up under your shirt, moaning into your neck as he found your breasts.

"Does this mean we can be louder now?"

"You're never touching me again, Kento, I'm chaste forevermore--"

"--alright...after this one."

A silence. Another hand coming up to slip beneath your panties, and you shivered, huffing.

"...alright. Just once more. Then chaste, forevermore."

"Sure. Absolutely."

[witherby]

what would be littlest wayne's first word be?

I was thinking of something simple or sweet, but then I got the funniest idea on the planet.

The Littlest Wayne: First Words

You were babbling a lot more lately. Your family all knew it meant you were likely going to say your first words soon, and the fighting over who got to have your attention increased tenfold. It had gotten to the point that your brothers were practically kidnapping you to monopolize your time and attention. Bruce put his foot down and ended that whole charade when it stopped being endearing and became dangerous.

("Really, Damian? Your skill in combat is not in question, it has never been in question, but you cannot bring them on patrol with you on the off-chance they happen to say their first words in the middle of the night!")

So, Bruce takes you to the Watchtower anytime he has a Justice League meeting. It pisses off all of his sons, but he's arguably bringing you to the safest spot in the galaxy. Also, he's your father. It's not kidnapping if you're kidnapping your own child. Okay, it is, it very much still is, but that's not the point.

"Okay, Mouse," he murmurs, easing you onto the floor and handing you a stuffed teddy bear. "The meeting's only an hour, then we're going back home. Dada will take you home."

(Maybe he wants to steer you towards your first word himself. Sue him, he's just a man at the end of the day.)

You take the bear, staring openly at your father. You don't see him often in the Batman suit, so he's very visually appealing at the moment. Bruce allows himself a small smile, gently pinching your cheek, then he steps out of the way when Diana arrives.

"The babyyy!" She whisper-yells, kneeling next to the playpen. "Hello, little one! It's such a treat when Batman brings you around!"

You make some soft, babbling noises. Mostly you're making raspberries. It's a fascinating sound. Diana melts and wipes some drool from your chin.

"Someone's getting close to their first words. My mother said mine was "maim." I remember that conversation fondly..."

Bruce has to remind himself that Diana grew up on an island inhabited by immortal warrior women. "Maim" is a perfectly normal first word for an immortal warrior baby.

The other Leaguers start quickly filing into the meeting room, each of them stopping cheerfully to greet you. It makes something fond bloom in Bruce's chest, and you coo and openly admire all the people with bright, primary colors all over their bodies. You're busy trying to chew on Superman's cape when a glowing, green light enters your periphery, and you drop the fabric in favor of staring at the Green Lantern.

"Oh, bring your kid to work day, huh, Spooks?" Hal actually scoops you up out of the pen and cradles you to his chest, grinning down at you. "Hey, kiddo!"

"Mmmnnn," you mutter intelligently, reaching for his mask. Every time you manage to pop it off, he just wills another one on. You think this is the most entertaining game ever.

"The kids are taking them out into the field, now," Bruce sighs. "They all want to be the one to hear their first word. Which is fine. It's adorable. I love that they love the baby. But the baby does not belong on Gotham's streets in the middle of the night, especially if guns are involved."

"Oh, yeah, that's pretty bad," Hal says, smiling at you. You pop his domino mask off again, squealing when it dissolves in your fingers and another one materializes over his face. "Uncle Hal would never do that to you, would he? No! No he wouldn't! That's very dangerous!"

"Huh...Hal!"

Everyone freezes. Bruce's jaw actually drops.

"No fucking way," Barry blurts across the room.

"Language. There's a whole baby here, Flash," Oliver says, but he's grinning like an idiot.

"Hal!" You chirp again. "Hal!"

Bruce sinks to his knees. Clark looks like he's trying not to laugh. Barry and Oliver are definitely laughing. Diana is pouting over the fact that your first word was so tame and boring. J'onn doesn't understand why your first word is so important when it just means you'll eventually learn to say more.

Hal is nearly trembling with the flood of emotions. His thing with Bruce is very new, and he's been by the Manor often enough that you obviously know him, but he really hadn't anticipated his name being...being...

"The boys are going to kill me."

"Maybe," Bruce admits, still on the floor. "...it couldn't be dada? It couldn't be uppies? Or Mouse, or any of the other words you hear ten thousand times a day? Even Alfred thought you might try his name first."

"I think we're going to need to postpone the start of the meeting," Clark declares, coughing as a way of clearing his throat and definitely not to disguise his amused huffs. "Let's push it back fifteen minutes."

"Hal!" You chirp again, delighted. You finally pulled Green Lantern's mask off and it didn't disappear. You win!

[encantresse]

"not everything," dorothea corrects hastily, quick to fall in line with his strides. belatedly, comes the realization that she'd placed a greater burden on him, foisting upon his shoulders a weight consisting of all matters unjust. "only the things i've done to you."

when his lips pull into that reassuring beam she’d grown newly accustomed to, she finds herself taken aback for a moment, footsteps slowing as she takes it in—how he encouraged her as if it were second nature. and carefully, having now spotted the weaving crowds nearing from the periphery of her vision, she twists about to avoid bumping into familiar faces in pursuit of this little game of follow-the-leader.

think of us for what we can be.

it gives her pause—fleeting, but a pause all the same. dorothea works her bottom lip, blinking in surprise before she astounds even herself when own mouth curls into a smile not dissimilar to his.

their start was not perfect—far from it—and nor was the middle part, but perhaps there was solace to be found in an ending of their choosing. after all, her bonds with the other eagles had strengthened, elevated to unimaginable heights… was it so terrible a thought to consider that the same could one day be said of theirs?

"i do. we could be friends, maybe. that doesn't seem too far off, does it?"

it’s her turn to cant her head in an encouraging manner, her heart seemingly relieved of a certain weight until she catches sight of his fallen expression.

"ferdie…?"

dorothea leans in, peering at the roster he studies. scanning it with a smidge of curiosity herself, brows knitting together in recognition of what's caught his attention.

"…huh. a new setup this year?"

[ ♫ ]  ─  * 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧

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