#mat and ivy

[bitchinbarzal]

https://www.tumblr.com/bitchinbarzal/726908107658313728/what-is-mats-reaction-to-ivy-having-a-boyfriend

still stuck on this. mom laughs as she hears ivy stomp and pout all the way to her room. mat pouts bc mom laughed. mom laughs even harder when she realizes how alike they are. mama b makes mat bathe the other kid as she goes and talks to ivy, and they talk ab her day and the boyfriend she’s got and as mat is walking by ivys room he hears mom go “we can keep this a secret just the two of us” bc who is she to step in the way if young love. all the kids go to bed and then that’s when mat finally collapses on the couch (literally right in top of mom) and is like why would you tell her it’s a secret 🙁

“Is he Nice?” You Ask, stroking her hair.

“The nicest”

“Well that’s good enough for me baby”

“But daddy said no” she pouts and you chuckle “we’ll keep this our little secret ok babe? He can come over to play when daddy’s in Vancouver next week or you can invite him to come watch the devils game”

She seems content with that and smiles “Thanks mama”

After Ryder and Bailey are both in bed asleep Mat comes down stairs and flops down on top of where you were lay reading your book.

“Hello Husband I was lying here”

He lifts his head and pouts, the exact same pout that Ivy gave you and says “Why would you tell her to keep it a secret?”

You laugh “Don’t eavesdrop on my conversations!”

“You’re turning our daughter against me!”

“She’s in love Mat, who are we to stand in the way of-“

“She’s six!”

You roll your eyes “Mat she likes this little boy let her live!”

He shakes his head and rests his chin on your chest still looking at you

“No, what if this John-“

“Josh”

“Josh, whatever, kid turn out like Hughes when he grows up? Or even worse that Zegras kid what’s his name? Trevor? Imagine Ivy dating Zegras…. Tell me that doesn’t terrify you! Our little girl y/n”

There it was.

You lean forward and kiss his forehead “She can’t be our little girl forever mat, and besides they’ll be married and divorced by recess tomorrow”

[dailydccomics]

Poison Ivy by Bilquis Evely and Mat Lopes

[geekynerfherder]

'Poison Ivy' by Bilquis Evely & Mat Lopes.

Variant cover art for 'Poison Ivy' issue #21, published April 2024 by DC Comics.

[ebechnasheim]

Just my opinion but I love how ANTIVIST has become the song. The fact that Oliver invited members of two of some of the most talented bands of our generation and delivered ferocious performances on multiple occasions makes my heart beat faster. There’s no gatekeeping with him in regards to creative performances and processes, and the amount of love he’s got for his friends is gigantic. And how could we forget Diamonds Aren’t Forever with Olli Appleyard and Obey with Yungblud. Bring Me the Horizon is making so many statements and sharing so much positive energy and vibes. You can’t help but catch that joy and happiness.

[percervall]

oh my god the… the veins?? also just staring disrespectfully at how long his fingers are…. 🫠 And the biceps??? his adorable smile???? i am a puddle?????

I am about to get blocked, but I need him biblically. I need him in a way that is concerning to feminism. He is just so fluffy and all soft smiles, and then he posts a selfie taken at a ridiculous millennial angle and I am nothing but holes. I said what I said.

Also, what baffles me every single time is that he is just also smart? And unapologetically himself which shouldn't be as refreshing as it is

[leonsliga]

bri!! you have some of the best gifs on this whole site 🥹 so in love with your work honestly and for helping fuel our collective insanity for mats 💛

Ivy!! I’m actually crying; this might be the highest praise I’ve ever received 🥹 seriously, you made my day!! Thank you so much babe!!! I love your blog sm and you seem like such a kind person!! And hey, it’s a tough job spreading the gospel of Mats to the world, but I think you and I do a pretty good job 💜

[impossible-rat-babies]

sleeby

[reysdriver]

i need more dad James 🫣🫣🫣🫣

James comes home from a trip to the farm supply store with a wild surprise — dad!farmer!james x mom!reader fluff

warnings: a little bit of fighting but it's absolutely not angsty, some parental nervousness ig

words: 1.3k

a/n: I need more of him too lol (I'm gonna use this ask to test out my new au tho so I hope you're ok with that <3)

James came home right when you were starting to prepare dinner, much to the joy of you and both your children. You scooped up your baby girl from her play mat on the ground, then right on cue, your toddler showed up at your side, rushing to the front door with you. 

“I guess you heard the door too, Haz?” You asked your son, holding out your hand for him to take.

As he looked up at you and nodded, he took your free hand so that the three of you were all going together to see James. 

Once you saw your husband at the door, all you felt were the butterflies in your stomach that still hadn’t flown away even after all these years. But then, you noticed how he was leaving very little space between him and the door as he closed it, and how he was covered in little strands of fur even though he was just running a few quick errands. 

Before you could even ask him about it, he wrapped his strong arm around your waist and pressed his lips against yours. It took you a bit of time to register what was even happening, but as soon as you started to melt into the kiss, James pulled away and flashed you a sweet smile. 

He then bent down to greet both Ivy on your hip and Harry standing beside you. 

“I have a surprise for you and the kids.” James said, mostly excited with a hint of guilt. 

You raised an eyebrow at your husband. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged and touched the door handle, ready to open it. “I can’t really tell you. It’s better if I show you.”

He opened the front door to reveal a ridiculously small horse standing fifteen feet away from you and tied up to the bannister outside. 

It was half your size and incredibly fluffy. You had to resist going over to pet it just because you were so in shock at the fact that your husband came home from the farm supply store and surprised you with a whole horse—or maybe just a third of a horse, based on its size.

A thousand and one thoughts raced through your head but before you could make sense of any of them, Harry giggled loudly and began to run towards the horse in front of you all. 

Panicking, you called your son back and walked him back to the porch. You used your free hand to hold him tightly against your thigh so he wouldn’t run back the animal James just surprised you with. 

“You bought a pony on a whim?” You asked your husband. 

“No, of course not.” He shook his head. “She’s a miniature horse. They’re totally different. The guy I bought it from told me all about them!”

Of course. Now that the horse’s title is settled, everything is fine. 

“James, we need to speak in private. Stay here.” 

His face flushed. He knew you were mad because you almost never called him by anything other than your various pet names for him unless you were upset. 

You then ushered Harry back inside the house to the living room, where you set Ivy back down on her play mat. 

“Play with your sister for a minute, Haz. If she gets fussy at all, you can come get me outside, okay?”

He smiled and nodded, sitting down next to the one year-old. “Can we play with the pony soon?”

You exhaled, unsure of how to respond. “Your dad says it’s a miniature horse, not a pony. And maybe, if you’re good.”

The boy seemed satisfied with that, so you pressed a kiss to the top of his head and walked back outside, where you found your husband looking extremely guilty as he awaited your return. 

Once you closed the door behind you, he immediately tried to make the situation better. 

“Lovie, I knew you’d be reluctant about all of this, but I swear I can explain—”

“You bought a horse, James! You were only supposed to be going out for a new shovel and some paint, then you come back with a horse?!”

 “Well, I got the other stuff, too, it’s just in the truck. I just got to talking with a man at the supply store and he said he was selling some of those cuties right out of his horse trailer in the parking lot.”

You sighed and crossed your arms. “How much did it cost?”

“Not much at all! The guy was selling them for bottom dollar ‘cause he’s moving soon and needs ‘em gone!” James rested his hand on your upper arm and stroked lightly. His voice softened, and so did his expression. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have bought her if we couldn’t afford her. I’m always thinking about our family.”

You were trying real hard not to look into your husband’s pretty eyes because you knew the second you did, you would have no choice but to give in. You stared at the porch swing, the miniature horse, the chicken coop, anything but James. 

And he could clearly tell you weren’t convinced just yet, so he kept going.

“Look, I know we got rid of most of the animals before Harry was born, but those were the more unstable ones, and that was back when we were nervous about everything. Now we’re more experienced, and she’s just the sweetest thing.”

You exhaled, peeking through the window to check on Harry and Ivy playing on the living room carpet. 

“They’re just babies, Jamie.” 

He bit back a smile at the use of his nickname, letting him know you were warming up to the idea. 

“Harry’s already three, love.” He removed his hand from your arm and gestured at himself. “I was just barely older than him when I started riding the real horses, and now look at me!”

He smiled and posed with open arms, which in turn made you smile. 

“I love looking at you.” You said sincerely. “You’re the best.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You giggled, then pulled him in for a kiss. And not just one to distract like when he first came home. A real kiss, and a good one too.

When you pulled away, you left your hands where they were and caressed softly. 

“Next time you want to do something extravagant for the kids like this, talk to me about it first, okay? If you kiss me enough, I’ll say yes to anything.” 

James raised an eyebrow, insinuating things that made you glad the kids were inside. 

Your jaw dropped in mock stun. “Not like that, Jamie! What do you take me for?!” 

The two of you both laughed, and he pulled you in for a sweet hug. “My wife, the mother of my incredible kids, the love of my life. I could go on.”

You would have claimed he was just flattering you as an apology for buying the horse, but you had already told him he could keep it. Plus, he says things like that far more than he had ever bought something crazy and needed forgiveness. 

“So I can go introduce the kids to the horse for real now?” 

Your gaze moved over to the animal a few feet away from you, and you nodded as a response to your husband’s question. 

“As long as you have a saddle for that thing.”

He grinned, then kissed your nose quickly before darting away. “Thank you! It’s in the truck! I love you!”

You laughed to yourself, and shook your head amusedly while you walked towards the miniature horse that you now owned. 

“Hi there, sweetheart.” You greeted, brushing her mane with your fingers. “Welcome to the family. James there can be a bit daft, but I think you’ll like it here.”

[razrbladekiss]

HITS DIFFERENT | Chapter One - Summer Bummer

A/N: i’ve never written for mr. miller before, so i’m super nervous for how this’ll be received by everyone…but i enjoyed conjuring this up, and i hope you guys find it not-all bad! any feedback is welcome. i looove getting asks and anons. <3

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

PAIRING: no outbreak, single dad!joel x afab!reader (age gap relationship, joel is in his late forties, reader is mid-twenties.) strictly no use of y/n.

SUMMARY: your neighborly duties begin to stretch farther than simply offering a greeting whenever you and joel cross paths. after he recently becomes a single parent, you take it upon yourself to assist mr. miller in this new, completely terrifying endeavour.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ WORK BELOW THE CUT. angst. tiny bit of fucking on the first date (that isn’t anything reminiscent of a date LOL), fingering, finger sucking, joel being a dirty old man, unprotected piv sex. it’s kinda cute kinda cunty. i’ll leave you guys to decide what you think.

MASTERLIST

He’s the very last person that you’d be asking for help today, and he knows that. Joel knows that you’d rather claw your own eyes out, or rip your flesh away from bone and heave it in the fucking dumpster at the end of the street, than knock at his door and request his assistance. 

He’s the cranky guy that lives across the way. The guy that, really, you know very little about aside from the fact that he has an attitude problem, a daughter, and his partner doesn’t seem to show her face all that often anymore. 

You’d heard—from your busybody neighbor, Clare in No.13–that Joel’s wife had left for a younger, more attractive man from Tennessee. And though you hate to pry, and aren’t very nosy, you can’t help thinking about it the more you see Joel leave the house without the woman that was once fastened to his hip. 

Maybe that’s why he’s been so miserable lately. 

Ugh. You hate to call on him. But you’re desperate. It’s hot—like, the flaming crevices of hell are fighting to burst open the sidewalk outside of your house hot—and you’re dying. You’re sweating from places that you didn’t even know could sweat, and it’s disgusting. 

You step onto his front porch—donning a knee-length sundress and a pair of chunky sandals—and wipe moisture away from your forehead as it beads against your skin, using the back of your arm to do so. 

Joel’s house is significantly more drab than your own. It boasts the same stoney exterior as yours, and ivy flows over the eavestrough above the front door, only it's a little unkempt. And while your humble abode has so much curb appeal, the entire HOA board is actually envious, Joel’s man cave…doesn’t. It has a porch swing, a trough planter full of random succulents, a couple of Texas flags, and a door mat that simply reads “Fuck off.” Which is against the rules, you often remind him. 

But Joel doesn’t care. About anything. And that’s why you can’t find it in yourself to even try to get along with him. Not because of the doormat—you don’t care about that—but because he’s always so mean. To your neighbors, to the mailman, to anyone that sets foot on his property. 

To you.

It isn’t all the time, but you catch it every so often. The way Joel looks you up and down when you’re chatting with Mrs. Kavanagh over the fence on a Sunday afternoon about your week. How he always makes snide comments about the way you drive like a mad woman, or when you offer a friendly ‘hey’ to him each morning when you cross one another’s paths before work. 

You don’t recall a time where you pissed Joel off to the point of blatant ignorance, but you did. And though Tommy believes that the reason for his brother’s more rash behavior is the fact that he might have a crush on you, you feel otherwise. Because Joel is so rude—so crass, on occasion—and nothing about that screams “I want to fuck you.”

Or maybe it does and you’re just oblivious. But regardless, Joel is renowned—street-wide—for being a miserable old grouch. 

You can’t figure him out. And you’re not entirely sure that you want to, either. 

However, he’s the only man on this street handy enough to fix your A/C unit. 

So you press the buzzer—minding you don’t tread on a pair of worn-out work boots that are lazily placed beside the front door—and wait for your miserable neighbor to grumble and groan, when he catches sight of you through the glass. 

You smile when you see some of his daughter’s toys scattered across the wood beneath the swing. You don’t even know her name, that’s how little knowledge you have of the man that’s lived across the street from you for the past year and a half. 

Joel swings open the door, a cigarette pinched between his lips, and a rag over his shoulder. His sweat-slick torso glistens beneath the Austin sun, pecks slightly muddied with oil and whatever other substances that he’s working with, while his shirt is wrapped around his waist. 

He exhales smoke around the stick, swiftly taking it into his left hand. His right comes up—with the rag—to rub at his face. 

“What?” He rasps out. 

It kills you to admit that you think that Joel is attractive—in an unconventional, dirty old-man kinda way—but, fuck. He’s rugged, and rough, and his body looks so inviting. You hate yourself for staring at him like this. 

But you’re only human. Right? And the way he speaks to you, most certainly cancels out any physical attraction that you may have. Right? Right?

“Good Morning to you too, Miller.” Bitchy, you retort. “I just came over to ask if you’re willing to help me fix my A/C unit, but I see that you’re busy being a cunt—“

He laughs, flicking cigarette ash to the ground. Joel leans against his doorframe, watching you, watching him. 

“Your language is vile, little lady.” 

You hate when he calls you that. It’s so patronizing. It’s also one of the only times that Joel addresses you with actual words and not just a glare, or a groan.  

“I don’t care.” Trying your hand at being just as blunt as him, you say. “I just need cool air in my house because the three fans, several wet towels, and kiddie pool in my backyard just aren’t cutting it anymore, and I think I’ll die if I have to put up with the heat any longer—“

He holds a hand up, begging you to shut your mouth. 

“Fine.” He capitulates and you just blink at him, not being able to believe that he’s agreeing to help you with minimal begging and not even needing a bribe.

Because the last time you trudged over to his house in the downpour—soaked all the way through to your bra—and asked if he could do anything about the water leaking through your bedroom window, Joel billed you for your time. 

And when Clare needed her lawn mowed because her husband was out of town and she’d dislocated her shoulder, Joel sent an invoice through the door for his forty-seven minutes work. 

But you try to forget all of that. Because he’s helping you from the ‘goodness’ of his own heart. 

“Thanks.” You reply, watching him shirk the cotton from his shoulder. “I know you don’t really want to help, but I’m grateful—“

He waves you off when he shrugs the tank over his head, the material immediately sticking to his damp chest. Your eyes linger over his form for a few seconds while you fiddle with the keys between your fingers, not being able to tell if Joel is being charitable, or just trying to get you to stop complaining about the fucking weather. 

But you don’t mind. Because when he works his magic, you’ll be able to able to relax in your own living space, and sleep peacefully without worrying about waking in a ravine of your own sweat. 

“I don’t have cash, but I’ve got beer in the fridge—“

“I don’t want your booze.” He says while closing the front door. Joel traipses past you on the steps, padding toward the open garage. 

You watch him grab a box of tools, wondering how that one man acquired every single skill beneath the sun—well, all but the art of being able to properly communicate with his fucking neighbors—and offer a hand because the thing looks heavy. He waves you off—again—and you nod. 

“Well, then what do you want?”

“Nothin’.” He says honestly. “Gotta start showin’ all you people that I’m not just some haggard old man, and can actually help every once in a while.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly, you feel bad. Awful, actually. 

Had he recently become privy to the fact that everybody knew of his business? Because—try as you might to avoid the buzz—it was difficult, living on such a tight street. And the trials and tribulations of each individual living on Bluebell Drive are always public knowledge, at some point. 

It only took five days for the neighbors to find out when your last relationship fizzled out, and only seven for them to know how and why it ended. 

“We don’t all think you’re haggard.” You say, trying to lighten the mood. You see Joel’s back muscles contract as he pulls the garage door closed, and then turns back to face you with a look that resembles an emotion that you aren’t familiar with. 

“Just old?”

He starts to chuckle after a few seconds, and so do you—once you realize that he’s joking. You’re a bit more comfortable, now. Your attempt to diffuse the sudden thorny tension has worked, and Joel is starting to see that you’re not that bad. 

“I don’t think you look old.” Honestly, you tell him. You begin to walk onto the street, holding tightly the hem of your dress as a gust of wind threatens to blow it up to your waist. “How old are you, Joel? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all.” He follows you onto the path, watching the white linen lift as another gust flits over—showing just the slightest bit of pink lace against pert skin—and smiles. “I’m forty-nine. Never really cared about gettin’ older, but it’s harder with a little one.”

“How old is your little girl?”

“She’s about to turn one.” Joel says—almost gushing with pride. He pads along the pavement and toward the pathway, watching his footing because there’s so many plants and flowers that scatter the sidewalk outside of your house, and he knows that he won’t hear the end of it if he crushes one of them this morning. “She’s a handful, but she’s worth it.”

The way he speaks about his baby is enough to make you see that there is a heart beneath such a tough exterior. There’s something so vulnerable—so candid—about the way he speaks about her. It’s refreshing. 

“Does she spend much time with anyone else?”

“My brother.” He tells you. “Yeah, Tommy and his girlfriend have taken her out this mornin’ actually. To some petting zoo, I think.”

“That’s so sweet.” Truthfully, you say. You’ve never seen Joel so at peace, and you wonder why you ever hated him in the first place. 

He’s a tough nut to crack—that’s always been a given—but perhaps he’s not as hard-faced and complicated as you once thought that he might’ve been. 

“It is.” He replies. Joel follows you through the front of your very well-to-do home—wondering why he can’t seem to keep such a tidy place—and admires how much pride you take in your living space. 

Everything—from the crown molding, to the baseboards—is in a more than pristine condition, and your floor is so clean Joel swears he could eat his dinner off of it. 

“I bet it’s hard to keep up with chores when you’ve got a little one.” You say almost reading his mind. “I find it hard sometimes, and it’s just me living here.”

It sounds almost sad. He catches the way you not-so-fondly declare your living situation, as if you owe him any sort of explanation or insight into your life. You don’t. 

“It ain’t that bad. Tommy helps out a lot.” Joel tells you and you lead him up the stairs—but not before asking him if he’d mind taking off his dusty work boots. “Just neither of us are very good at cookin’. I mean, I can do the basic shit, but Tommy is fuckin’ awful. Sienna—Tommy’s girl—is an amazing cook, but she works long hours, and she’s got a kid of her own to worry about, so—“

“So you guys are just stuck living on pasta and fries?”

Joel snickers, though he does nod. He likes that you can be direct sometimes. 

“I can teach you how to cook. I mean—“ you show him to your bedroom quickly. “You’re doing me a favor by fixing my aircon, the least I can do is show you how to make a pie, or some kind of casserole that you can stick in the freezer and use in emergencies.”

“Thanks.” He’s taken aback. Not for the fact that you’re showing him your boudoir—despite that being where your faulty machine is located—but because you’re offering pleasantries where they’re not usually seen. Joel isn’t one to complain, though. 

He is, however, the type of man to somehow offend somebody on a whim, and so he shuts his mouth when you open the top of the unit. 

“It’s kinda old—ignore that, it came with the house.”

He nods, taking out one of his torches from the tool bag. 

“So…” you watch over his shoulder—irritating him a bit—as he putters and fiddles with the internal mechanisms. “Can I get you anything?”

Some fuckin’ space. 

“No thanks.”

Tight-lipped, you smile. 

Joel’s fingers work the fan to ensure that it’s still able to spin, and you marvel at his uncharacteristic gentleness. With fingers as calloused as his own, you’d be sensible in thinking that he has a tendency to be heavy handed. But apparently not. 

And that just adds to the fact—as blatant as anything—that you really don’t know the man that you share a zip code with. 

“It needs refrigerant.”

“Oh—“

“It’s a quick fix. I can run to the hardware store and pick some up—but you’re gonna have to wait ‘cus Tommy’s taken my truck.”

“We can take my car?” You offer, leaving him to mull it over for a few seconds. “But I’ve just gotten it valeted—“

“I’ll wait for my brother to get back. Should only be another few hours.”

You blink at him. Your stare is blank, completely fucking empty. How does he expect you to sit—to simmer and literally marinate—in your own sweat? 

But before you can whine and make Joel’s day ten times worse, he proposes an idea. 

“You can uphold your end of the bargain, in the meantime.” Smug, he says. “My A/C works—and I got fans in my kitchen. If you come ‘n help me out with making some cookies and a pot roast, then I can go get you what you need when Tommy gets back.”

You don’t even need to consider the offer before you’re running downstairs and grabbing vegetables and spices, and whatever else you’ll need that you know Joel won’t have in his pantry. 

He gets you to take a few beers across the street, too. And you do because you’re kind, and want Joel to feel comfortable when doing something that he’s not all too familiar with. 

You give him time to clean up when you get back to his house, and find all the appropriate utensils to start cooking. Joel spends at least fifteen minutes in the shower, and you take time to indulge yourself with the icy flurry in his kitchen. 

It’s a feeling almost orgasmic in nature. The bitterness against your skin—cold and lurid, almost—and breeze that catches the hem of your dress, hiking it to the middle of your thigh, is wonderful. You find yourself leaning into it like an embrace, letting the skin of your chest catch the cool. 

And in your moment of pure superfluity, you somehow drown out the background noise of footsteps approaching the linoleum floor of the kitchen. 

Joel clears his throat. “Nice?”

You spin around—the neckline of your dress slightly garbled—and bleed crimson into your cheeks. “Yes. It’s lovely.” You stutter, completely embarrassed. “Sorry—“

“Don’t be. You’ve been meltin’ all day, sugar. You need this.”

Sugar. Your heart skips a beat at the pet name. 

Joel walks to the refrigerator—like he hasn’t just rocked your entire fucking world after doing a brilliant job of convincing you that he hates you over the last god-knows however many months—and puts his hands on his hips. 

“Can we use Chuck Roast?”

You nod, not being able to formulate a verbal response. 

You’re still trying to cross the sugar bridge. 

“Fantastic.” He says. Joel reaches down into the cupboard beside the range and takes out a roasting tray that you’re sure has never been used before. “This?”

“Yes.” Finally, you manage. And though the cool against your flesh is lovely, you can still feel heat stippling across the apples of your cheeks. 

You wonder if he heeds it. 

Joel turns back to you with a shit-eating grin. He does. 

“I can’t wait to make this. Sarah’ll love it.”

You lift a brow. 

“My little girl. That’s her name.”

“Oh.” Your eyes soften. “That’s beautiful, Joel. She’s a cute kid.”

He nods, padding over to stand beside you at the counter. “She is. And she loves her food, so this’ll go down a damn treat…And if you’re lucky, then you can stay ‘n eat with us.”

“Joel, I couldn’t—“

He raises a hand as you pull oil, salt and some more herbs from your bag. “I insist. We don’t really know one another, and I can’t help feelin’ like we’ve got off on the wrong foot. It’s the least I can do, especially ‘cus of how nice you’ve always been to my brother.”

It’s true. Tommy has always been somebody that you’ve regarded highly, because he’s such a delight. He might’ve accidentally stumbled into your life—and your back—at the supermarket last year, but he’s been a lovely permanent fixture in your life. And you can’t seem to think of having it any other way. 

He’s a good friend. And even better confidant, with a brother whose chocolatey hues are scrutinizing your form—top to bottom—while you oil your pan, and throw in a handful of onions and carrots. 

Joel’s head grows fuzzy, the more he watches and listens to you. He can’t seem to wrangle any rational thoughts, now. Because you’re actually down-to-earth—when it’s just the two of you—and he wonders why it’s taken this long for him to invite you into his home. 

The angsty nature of your relationship has always put a downer on things. Whenever he’d catch sight of you talking to his brother, Joel’s green-eyed monster would consume him and any sense of reason would become distorted. And he always knew that he was the sole reason for the bitter tension—because you’re never this way with anybody else—but can never bring himself to admit just why he feels this way. 

Tommy’s inconceivable idea about him having a crush on you—that, really, isn’t so odd now—might be ringing true. 

You explain to Joel each step that must be taken in order to achieve the perfect pot roast. From browning the vegetables, to adding the beef and stock and all of the herbs that contribute to the meaty flavor, Joel listens intently to your every word. 

He’s completely lost in you, now. The way you speak. How you explain things with metaphors, and examples that Joel will understand. How you use the back of your arm to wipe away perspiration as you stand over the broiling pot, never taking your eyes off of the meal that you’re helping your neighbor to prepare. 

Joel is infatuated. 

“Now we let it sit for a few hours.” You say while walking over to the sink to wash your hands clean of any food. “Did you still want to make some cookies?”

“Maybe later. I’m kinda fed up of being in this kitchen now.” He lets out a laugh and puts down the big spoon that you’d given to him to stir the pot. Because that’s his job, now. “You want a drink?”

“What’ve you got?”

“Wine, beer, lemonade, orange juice.” He recites from memory. “Not sure what else is in the refrigerator.”

You glance at the clock. It’s barely pushing one in the afternoon, but you’re gasping for a cool glass of white. Or red. Or whatever the fuck Joel has cold. 

“Wine, please.”

He pulls out a bottle of Merlot—not something you’d associate with Joel—and you reach for two glasses from the open cabinet above the stove.  

“I didn’t put you down as a wine drinker, Miller.”

“Well, I guess that I’m full of surprises.” He says teasingly, sliding over your almost-completely-full beverage. 

You hum when you pull the glass up to your lips, indulging in the heavy-handed pour from the man who can’t take his fucking eyes off of you as you stand at his kitchen island, helping him make dinner. 

Joel is transfixed by the way that your chest—shiny and glistening—raises as you take each breath. How the strap on your dress falls to the middle of your arm when you lift the stem of the glass, or lower it back to the island. 

He’s kicking himself. But he’s enjoying the sight too much to look away. 

“See something you like?” You ask and lick your lips, almost pandering to the internal quandary that he has suddenly found himself entwined with. And you’re never usually this forward, so the ventricles of your heart begin to seize as the organ batters against the cage of your ribs, pulsating vividly beneath your sundress. 

Joel is surprised by the tone of your voice, almost pinching himself to ensure that this isn’t some kind of convoluted alternate reality. 

But he soon realizes that this—you in his home—is not a figment of his imagination, but something very real. 

“I guess.” Joel says, and rounds the island until he’s standing beside you. He looks you up and down, setting his glass against the wood grain. “What about you?”

You nod, letting your gaze flit between Joel’s face and the protruding bulge in the taught denim decorating the lower half of his body. He feels his heat begin to temper, getting strangled by his jeans the more he eyes you. 

Joel urges you to sit on the counter—his hands affix to the meat of your ass as you lift yourself up—and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist in a bid to pull him impossibly close to your body.

“Is this a good idea?”

“Probably not.” Joel all but growls before he’s fastening his lips to your own, and you’re moaning into his mouth while he’s starting to unbuckle the belt on his pants. 

It’s needy. God. It’s so fucking needy that you’re at risk of unraveling right here, but you manage to contain your arousal, and allow yourself to add more intensity to the embrace. 

Joel’s tongue is blanketed by the taste of wine, cigarettes, and a hint of the broth that the two of you made before he was trying to get into your panties, and you’re basking in it. You’re basking in the way that his nose pushes into your own as he adds more force—more desire—to the kiss, and how much he craves you after so many months spent despising your presence. 

“Joel—“ You whimper out when he comes up for air, putting your hands against his as he palms his cock through the material of his underwear. “Joel, this isn’t right—“

“‘Course it is, baby.” He croons in your ear, seeing the goosebumps stipple down your neck and across your shoulders. Your head falls backwards. “See how much you like it? This is just fine.”

You take a deep breath when his prick—still endowed in his Calvin’s—dances along your clothed heat. “But—But what if Tommy gets back.” 

“Then we’ll have to make it quick.” Joel states, letting his member spring free of the confines of his boxers, and your eyes widen. It’s bigger than you thought—not that you had thought much of it until this moment—and the girth is commendable. You’re not sure whether you’ll be able to take him in one fluid motion, but you don’t doubt that Joel will try. 

He lifts the hem of your dress until it’s sitting just above your panty line, and rubs his thumb over your clit that suddenly feels trapped beneath pink lace. Joel massages the bud for a few measly seconds before remembering that this was meant to be a quickie, and pushes your underwear to the side. 

“Wow.” His jaw drops. He lets his forefinger run up and down your seam, gathering the pooling wetness on the tip of it. Joel brings it to his lips and sucks it clean, before he’s going back in with another. 

Joel’s fingers pump slowly—seductively—in and out of your pussy, knuckle fucking deep until he’s pushing at the spongiest part of your cunt. He feels resistance, and you begin to tighten around him, but he continues. 

He paws at his cock in time with the hilt deep finger-fucking he’s giving you, moaning your name. You claw your nails against the counter, hardly able to hold yourself up while you begin to leak liquid arousal around Joel’s calloused fingertips that’re working you to your finish. 

“If you—Joel—don’t fuck me, I’ll cum all over your hand—“

“Is that a threat?” He digs, hastening his pace. He curls and contracts his fingers within the chasms of your core, unravelling you very quickly. You whine and write beneath his hold, striving to keep onto your dignity for a little bit longer than this. “‘Cus, darlin’, I can live with that—“

You cut him off with a moan as he pulls his fingers out and—like the dirty old man that he is—makes you suck them clean. He shoves them down the back of your throat until you’re gagging with tears in your eyes, lining his cock up at your slit while he’s choking you like a fucking masochistic psychopath. 

But it’s hot. 

Joel is so hot, and you can’t believe that you’re fucking him—in his kitchen—when, really, you should be spending your afternoon trying to get your A/C unit fixed. Because that’s the only reason you left your house, today. 

He pushes into you—filling your cunt nicely—and you can’t help hastening your movements at the first ounce of touch. Because you’re growing impatient now. He worked you to an—almost—premature release, and now he has to let you have it. 

Joel grips firmly onto the flesh of your thighs, pushing and pulling you into him as his cock spears you open—rutting into you like a mad man that hasn’t felt the warmth of a pussy since the dawn of time. But it’s been three months since Joel Miller got to dive into a woman—fingers first—and he’s determined to get every last ounce of pleasure out of you. 

“How does it feel, pretty girl? How does my cock feel, pounding into you?” He asks, knowing that you won’t be able to formulate a verbal response. Joel writhes above you when your walls start to clamp down around him, giving him the answer that he craves. 

He hums his approval—hammering into your cunt—letting his knees hit against the island as he doesn’t miss a beat. Joel pulls down the neckline of your dress and exposes the supple flesh of your breasts, immediately taking your right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He massages pebbled skin, eliciting a string of broken moans from the deepest fissures of your chest. 

“So beautiful.” He praises, urging you to moan louder. Joel’s cock stutters at the sound. He can feel his release looming and, though he hates the thought of finishing after not even a whole five minutes of driving into you, he knows that prolonging is no longer an option. 

“Joel—I’m—gonna—“

“I know, darlin’.” He reassures, still relentlessly fucking into you. Still hitting you hilt-deep, and fighting against the fluttering walls around him. “You just let it go when you’re ready.”

And just from that—the way that his velvety tone oozes consolation—you find yourself unwillingly unraveling beneath your sexy older neighbor, giving your entire self to him on a random Saturday afternoon. 

“That’s it, baby girl. Cum for me.” Joel coaxes you through your orgasm, praising your movements and the way you shamelessly coat his cock with your sweetness that he can’t help but taste. He moans around his finger, letting his movements hinder slightly as he works toward his own release. 

But watching you—how the sensitivity is consuming you and making even the slightest touch the most overstimulating thing in the entire fucking world—is enough to drive him to the edge. 

“Give it to me, Joel. Fill me up right here.” You brandish the man whose prick is threatening to spill inside of your cunt. 

He ruts into you for a few moments more, before his spend is exploding into you like the most erotic of fireworks, and threads of cum paint your walls, thighs, and clit as he pulls out and rubs his head along your warmth one last time. 

Joel collapses into your chest, sticky and dripping lust. 

“That was amazing.” You say through bated breaths, panting like a fucking dog. 

“Bet you didn’t think an old guy could fuck that good, huh?”

Your head shakes and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. 

“Think we’ll have to make a thing of this, don’t you?”

Without hesitation, you’re nodding at him. Your arms lazily drape over Joel’s shoulders, and he pecks kisses along your neck and chest. “Absolutely. I’ll never be able to fuck a man my own age, now…”

For the first time since forcing his way onto this street, Joel Miller feels like he didn’t make a mistake moving back to Austin. 

[anlian-aishang]

Levi with an (Episodically) Depressed S/O

Tags: levi x reader, angst, hurt-comfort, gn!reader Word count: 900

Levi invites you to shower with him, making the obstacle less daunting and much more attractive. In his black robe, leaning on your bedroom door, two towels slung over his arm indicate the knowledge that you will say yes and accompany him. The way that he looks, the low plea in his voice, how could you say no? 

It would be more accurate to say that he was bathing you, but he does not phrase it that way. Instead, he is humble, letting his actions speak louder than words. He does not tell you that he will shampoo your matted hair, does not flaunt how deliberately he exfoliates your limbs, he just does them for you. Some days, even just tipping the bottle or pumping some soap into your hand can seem mountainous. On those days, he sees those activities not as tasks, but as privileges. It is his honor to be the one looking after you in your most dire time. He would always prefer someone to take care of rather than someone to miss. 

Showering together not only ensures that you stay clean, but his company prevents you from those timeless sessions sat on the tile floor. At the moment you look refreshed but before you become sleepy, he jerks the handle to the left and halts the devastatingly relaxing rain. 

Always, your clean clothes are already folded atop the bathroom counter, waiting for you. Some times, you fail to remember that you did not put them there. Other times, you notice the sign of his relentless consideration, but are artificially silenced from expressing your gratitude. No matter in his mind. You are clean, clothed, and out of bed, and that’s already better than you were before. 

Without one complaint, Levi scoops your dampened towel and old clothes from the wet bathroom floor and drops them in the hamper for you. He has seen the piles that can amass, and if it were anyone else in any other circumstance, the clean freak would be quick to chastise, but any sight or thought of you disintegrates any instinct to discipline. You are sat in the living room, admiring the ivy that swirls around the balcony’s posts, thumbing the petals of the bouquet vased on the coffee table. White-gold rays move just a tad west to cast your figure in therapeutic light. You’re too tired to move away from the sun, and for once, Levi finds your fatigue favorable. As the morning temperature rises, he can see that your resting smile does as well. 

While you are entranced with the scenes of summer, Levi swiftly searches for and alleviates the areas you have left neglected. He dumps your sock drawer upside down and mends the pairs that you have discarded as singles. In your closet, he finds the clean pile and dirty pile and either folds it or washes it accordingly. Under your bed, on your nightstand, in your bedside drawer, he discovers the dirty dishes that have been missing the sink and returns them to their proper place. 

Between those tasks, he rolls his shoulders back or rubs the side of his neck and allows himself to sigh. It is difficult - not to bandage these tiny wounds - but to see the harsh bruises left by the illness. Sure, you were forgetful, and not quite as tidy as he was, but still - the mounds of laundry, hidden dirty dishes - this wasn’t like you. Levi lives for your joy - not the superficial smile, your peace - not the misleading silence. He lives for you - in sickness and in health. The times you forget your worth, that is when he whispers it in your ear. When the world is overwhelming you, he lets his touch communicate it. 

Once your space is in order, he can start to work on getting you to leave it. Rather than annoying reminders or obligations, he mindfully manipulates the steps of treatment into desirable invitations. Rather than Do you want to… or Would you like to…, his proposals are statements, taking the responsibility out of your hands. Concerts in the park this afternoon. Let’s go to the farmers market. Apple orchard just opened.

Or even less far away. 

Plants look thirsty, water them with me? Rain just cleared, read on the porch with me? Full moon tonight, stargaze with me?

To you, with me frames the activities, frames your presence as favors for him, and even in your lowest state, you are always keen to help him with anything. To Levi, it is no framing, your relationship is the greatest gift that fate has bestowed on him, and he treats you as such. It is in his selfless actions and his careful words, but it is more than that, traits you can’t quite categorize. The near flat, subtle smile you wake up to in the morning. The tight yet painless combs through your hair that leave you feeling divine. The low, calming timbre of his voice, decorated with a tender tone that he reserves for you. 

Even before the haze you’re in now, you’ve never been able to label those qualities of his, and instead settled: it’s just who he is. 

Like the sentiment that motivates his care: it’s what you deserve. 

// masterlist //

[bitchinbarzal]

Ivy is wondering what’s going on with Mat and mama. She’s so worried their gonna separate again.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah meatball?”

“Are we gonna come have dinner at your house again?”

Mat frowns “What do you mean babe?”

“When you and mommy live in different houses”

It dawns on him then and mat scoops her into his arms “me and mommy live in the same house princess”

“But-“

“I love mommy so much, mommy maybe not so much me right now but we love you and that’s what matters”

“Daddy I heard you yelling”

“That’s ok… we all yell, why don’t you go play and I’ll speak to mommy”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Outta left field.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The brick facade stares back at you. You have to keep from gaping in awe. You're not a sightseer, you're there to work. A job. Your first ever. A bit late, but better than never.

You stop at the gate and hike up your kit as you shove your hand in your pocket in a cramped search. You slide out the flip phone and pop the top, clicking through for the email. The cheap burner is all you could afford and you needed a cell to get any sort of employment. Even just to live, it seems.

You click on the agency's email. A concise list of instructions for your first day. Alone. Last week, you shadowed a woman named Florence as she took you through an east-side home, but this week, you're on your own and uptown. The property is much nicer than any you've been in before. The sort you gaze at longingly in passing. A true urban palace.

You follow the first point on the list, keying in the code awkwardly with spaced-out punches. The last beep triggers a buzz as the mechanism releases and you turn the haandle to let yourself through the iron gate. You close it, pushing it to make sure it catches. You look around at the greenery; expertly trimmed hedges and a stone bench, flowerbeds clustered artfully in all shades. A mini Versailles in the heart of the city. The owners must be very well-off.

You gulp as you follow the stonework of the winding path along the curved driveway. Your shoulder aches from the weight of your kit and your spine is still rigid from the tense bus ride. You approach the front door and stagger to an awkward halt as you check the screen again. In all caps; DO NOT USE THE FRONT DOOR. You peer up over the stone steps and give a nod. Of course the help should go through the back.

You circle around to the rear of the house, the scent of pollen and the freshly groomed hedges clouding around you. You find the door nestled beneath a net of ivy and key in the next code. The very modern security contrasts the antique veneer of the house. You step into the silence of the grand home and listen. You're not sure if you're alone. What do you do if you aren't? It might be awkward to wash someone's floor without an introduction.

You move to the next directive; cover shoes. You squint and suck your lower lip in. You see the small box on the corner table tucked beside the door. You stay on the mat as you pull on the plastic shoe covers. It makes sense. You don't want to track in another mess to clean.

Again, your breath flies away from you. Even just the back hallway is divine, or maybe you're just brutish. You're not very hard to impress with what you're used to. A job won't cure it, but it'll make it bearable.

The next point; gloves. Okay. At least it's straightforward. The owners must be very particular. Or germaphobic. You let your assumptions write a story as you advance into the house. The email directs you to a closet where you are permitted to hang your things and where a mop, broom, and vacuum await you amid other supplies too big for your bag. Next point…

You proceed inside, slowly. The instructions are written almost to guide your every step. You move down the hallway with duster, broom, vacuum, and finally the mop. You're sweating by the time you get to the first doorway. The kitchen. Despite your employ, the place is already near immaculate. The only sign of life is a single black mug beside the sink.

It's eerie as you cross the tile, investigating with your eyes, almost too afraid to touch. You're going to have to if you mean to do good work. You continue down the list, doing your best to be thorough. When you return to the hall you're caught in place by a thought. There are no family pictures. It adds to the emptiness of it all. There are portraits of famous landmarks and imitations of reknowned artworks, though you wouldn't be surprised if they were genuine. But no family.

Next point. A bathroom just diagonal from the kitchen, spacious with dark wood and shining gold. You leave it smelling with the sterile scent of the cleaner. Back in the hall, you pause to drink from the water bottle in your bag. You head back down the hall intent on your next task. An hour already.

Another large room; a dining room that opens into a sitting room with a large fireplace. It really is amazing. Your father won't believe how nice it is here. You don't have time to worry about convincing him as you dive into your work. It isn't difficult work but you want to do a good job. You get this knot in your stomach just think of your boss, Clara, telling you otherwise or going home with bad news.

You finish the sitting room and go back to get your water. You nearly finish it. You check the time again, then the list. You can refill before you continue. You go back to the kitchen and cross to the fridge, pressing your bottle to the lever beneath the filter. It'd be nice to have something like that at home. You listen the hum of the fridge as you fill your bottle.

"Ahem," the clearing of a throat startles you and you jump, splashing yourself with cold water as you spin to face a tall man. He stares at you imperiously from the doorway, his figure lithe as he holds his chin up in dissatisfaction. "And who said you could do that?"

"Um," you swallow and look at your water bottle, fingers numbed by the water, "sorry, sir, I ran out--"

"Clean up your mess and get back to work," his lilted accent slices into you.

"Sorry, sir--"

"Bullet number one, A," he says tersely.

You frown as you struggle to understand. You replace the cap on your bottle and fish in the pocket of your black pants. You take out the phone and check the email. 'Do not speak unless permitted.' Well, he spoke to you first. It's the only reason you said anything. You're not very chatty yourself.

You keep from repeating sorry again and dip your head down. You take the cloth tucked into your pocket and bend to sop up the water from the floor. You don't look at him as he looms and you exit the room, sidling past him in shame. Oh no, you hope he doesn't tell Clara.

You replace your bottle in your bag. You'll go without. You look at your phone again. You can do this. No more mistakes.

You march back down the hall and dare a glance into the kitchen as you pass. He's already gone. That must be Mr. Laufeyson, the owner noted in the job description. Is it just him? He doesn't seem very fond of others. Or just you. You're just a maid, after all.

🧹

Your father's apartment is in the south. The fence is crooked and missing slats and the grass is patchy and yellowed. The porch groans as you climb the steps and let yourself into his side of the duplex. Cigarette smoke greets you with a cough in your throat. You open the window he shut in your absence as the TV blares in the next room. He's on the couch, puffing tobacco into the air in gray swirls. The place is even grimmer after a day amid your client's spotless halls.

"Hey dad," you say as you stand just beside the couch, "how was your day?"

He grunts and offers nothing else. That's about what you get from him. The effort of just that noise sends him to hack and his wrist tangles in his oxygen tube as brings his hand up. He knocks ash from the end of his cigarette onto the floor.

"First day alone went well," you say as he settles, breathing loudly as he tries to steady his breaths. "Think I did pretty good."

"Oh, big whoop, got a job, at last," he sneers, "about time. What're you? Thirty-three?"

"Thirty," you correct him, but don't add that your birthday is coming up.

"Same difference," he croaks and sucks on the smoke until he's coughing once more.

You try not to let him defeat you. It's just the way he is. You brought home A's from school and he wondered why they weren't A+'s. And when you got accepted to college, he asked you who was gonna pay for it. And when you filled out an application at the drive-thru window, he asked you if you were going to be another deadbeat flipping burgers.

"What, they got you scrubbing floors?" He spits, "you don't do it for free or something?"

He looks around venomously. You do clean but you can't get the yellow stains out of the wall or the stench out of the carpet. You won't say so.

"Did you eat yet?"

"Can't be near the stove with this thing," he taps the top of the tank on the other side of the armrest. He's also not supposed to smoke near it. Or at all.

"I'll heat up the hamburger helper from last night."

"Fucking dog food," he barks.

You wince. You love your father but he's a very picky man. Things must be his way or no way at all.

"Might have a frozen pizza," you suggest.

"Cardboard," he mutters.

You stand, silent and helpless. There isn't much else left in the fridge.

"Could afford better if you'd got your ass up ten years ago," he buts out his smoke and just as quickly, opens the pack to slide out another.

"I tried..."

"Not hard enough, eh," He takes off the oxygen tube and leans away from the tank to light the next cigarette, "not hungry. All your talkin' spoiled my appetite."

You apologise and leave before you can annoy him further. You're not very hungry either. Just sore and tired. Your feet hurt from being on them all day and your eyelids droop lower with each blink. You climb the stairs and drag your feet into your bedroom and shut the door gently. Your father hates when you slam. You don't like it much yourself.

You fall into bed as the musty air clings in your nose. You close your eyes and roll onto your side. You sigh. You figure if you can handle your father, you can handle Mr. Laufeyson and his list.

🧹

Your next job is in the eastside. It's not as precise or overbearing. The instructions are standard; a list of the rooms that need cleaning and a tip left on the counter. The email says the family is out of town. How nice it must be to come home to a nice, clean house. You pad out the three-day week with two more home in the northwest suburbs. The money would be better if you could work a full week but so long on you're in your probation period, you only get part-time hours.

Your second week starts again in the north, outside the Laufeyson property. The codes are different but the list is the same. You begin your work diligently. This time, you ration your water, and pay special attention to each step. Once you're through this week, you get your first check. Dad should be happy about that.

As you get to the front room, a living room or what some might call den, you set first to dusting the ornaments on the high mantel. You find the more you do it, the work is almost soothing. It's simple and mindless. You admire the silver candlestick, careful not to loosen the tall candle placed in it.

"Shiny," the slither frightens you. You quickly replace the candlestick at the corner of the mantle and face that man; the presumed Mr. Laufeyson. "Somehow, I feel it wouldn't belong in wherever you call home."

You lower your eyes. Florence says most clients are friends but she warned you about these ones. Those who deride you and the work they don't want to do themselves.

"The previous one did think they were lovely," he muses as he struts forward, his long steps like a cat's, "too bad they were too big for her bag."

You flick your gaze back up and blanch. "Sir, I wouldn't--"

He tilts his head as his eyes flash dangerously. You snap your mouth shut and give an apologetic frown. You press a finger to your lips to say, I'll be quiet.

"She was chatty too. You girls always are."

You nod and listen. Your throat constricts as you wring the cloth in your hands. You think you might not be very forgiving if someone tried to steal from you either.

"But..." he looks at his watch, "you are quick."

The comment drips from his mouth as if it tastes bitter to him. It isn't quite praise, only a fact, but it isn't a reproach. He smirks and snickers.

"And you do look rather terrified. We're understood then."

You give another nod. You think you understand. You wouldn't think to steal but you can't blame him for putting down rules. You squint and your brow twitches as your ears tinge.

"Point one C," you whisper to yourself; 'Do not steal.'

He pauses as he goes to pivot on his heel. He lifts his chin and shifts as if he might look at you. He doesn't as he carries on to the door.

"You may refill your bottle once per shift," he pauses by the door, tapping the frame before he leaves you.

You stay stuck to the floor, wavering as you watch him go. He wasn't nice, but he didn't dismiss you either. You can stomach his disapproval if it means you still have work.

[comethead]

Wrong Number

MDNI // smutfic // Jason Todd x Reader

“You accidentally take an edible laced with sex pollen, and unbeknownst to you, you called Jason instead of Ivy. Smut ensues.”

(gender-neutral reader, no use of y/n, recreational drug use, sex pollen, missionary, creampie, aphrodisiacs)

Ao3 Link

[dedicated to @fcthots ]

Your breaths come out in short puffs, sweat beading on your forehead. Your skin is on fire, and there’s an undeniable ache between your legs you can’t ignore anymore. Stripped naked, you laid on your bed, legs squeezed together to try and alleviate your burning desire. Dammit. You reach out to your phone, sweeping your hand over your sheets until your fingers make contact with the smooth surface of your screen. Opening it, you scroll down your contacts. F, G, H, I, J. You hit Ivy’s contact, and close your eyes while you let it ring. Hearing it connect, you groan, “Ivyyyy, I don’t know what was in that damn edible you made but I feel- I don’t- ugh.” You smack your bed in frustration, tears welling up from the tension in your stomach. This was embarrassing. You were high, and then horny, but now the high has worn off and you’re still trying to get off. “You know what- never mind, I’ll talk to you later.” You clicked the end call button, and rolled onto your back. Okay, time to try and finish.

Jason stared at the phone in his hand, the screen on ‘call ended’. What the hell was that about? Shit, you weren’t in trouble were you? Edible, huh… He heard from you that Ivy was dabbling in making some after growing weed, which, whatever, she’s not destroying city blocks with her plants anymore so he’ll take that any day. But by your words, it seemed like she’s up to something, he’ll have to check on that later. Or…

“Hey, Oracle. Do me a favor and look into Ivy for me?”

“Sure, what for?” came her reply.

“Mmm, well my friend took one of her edibles and-”

“Wait. Edibles? You better not be doing some stupid prank Hood, or I swear-”

“No! No, it's-,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose,”She just sounded like she was in trouble, but whatever, I’ll deal with it.”

“Oh.” He could hear through the comm link the way her voice softened, which he’s not sure if he hates or is grateful for. “Alright, I’ll send someone over to Ivy’s location.”

“Thanks.”

He shut off the link and looked over to your fire escape. Parking his bike in the alley that ran next to your place, he scaled the wall and clambered onto the escape. It was dark in your room, but you left your window open. Pulling the screen aside, Jason stepped into the room and onto the little welcome mat you put there as a stupid joke. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped.

You were on your side, moans muffled by your pillow as you worked your fingers faster, the slick noises accompanying your voice. His eyes widened, heat shooting through his body as he felt his dick twitch in his combat pants. Fuck, oh how he’s thought of you like this for some nights now. But not now, he thought, must’ve been some of Ivy’s aphrodisiac in that edible. Clearing his throat, he stepped closer. You squeal, and bolt upright, looking at him with wide eyes. “Wha- Jay, what are you doing here?”

“You called me,” he shrugged, ”Wrong number, I guess.”

You stared at him, gears turning in your brain. Maybe, maybe not ‘wrong number’. He could help you, couldn’t he? He’s always been on your mind like that, you might’ve had some unholy thoughts about your best friend.

“Jay,” you whisper, crawling on your hands and knees toward him, “Please,” you’re reaching up to his face now, settling your hand on his mask, “fuck me”.

“Uhh.” It’s his turn to stare at you, eyes trailing over the slope of your chest. “I- I mean, no, you’ve been dosed with some aphrodisiac-” You’re taking his mask off now, sliding your other hand down his chest- “And- and I can’t-”, his breath catches as your hand is placed right on top of his tummy, “-you don’t know what you want,” he finished, glancing from your hands to your half-lidded eyes.

“I don’t?” You gaze back into his eyes, looking down to his lips as you move closer, ghosting your hands over his body and placing them on his shoulders. Your lips connect, and he deepens the kiss, placing his hands on your waist. You pull him closer to you, shifting back until you can bring him down to your level, lips still on each other as he runs a hand through your hair. Your hair catches on his fingers and it pulls, but it feels so good the way he’s bringing his hand through from your scalp and grabbing a fistful of your hair at the back. You moan into his mouth as your kisses get sloppier, as he releases your hair and his hands wander down over your nude body, caressing your thighs. You don’t know if you can take it anymore. Pulling back from his kiss, you breathe,”Jay, please, I need you so badly, I- I can’t-”. You gasp as he suddenly grips your thighs and curses.

Straightening, he starts to strip as you watch, flushing as you spot his happy trail and finally, as he pulls his pants down you can see the bump of his bulge in his boxers. You rub your thighs together, scooting back onto the bed to give him space to mount you. You can see him tracing the shape of your body with his eyes, finally locking onto the wetness between your legs. Jason pushes his boxers down, letting his cock spring free and you can see he’s already leaking precum, which threatens to snap that tight band in your stomach. Throwing your head back, you moan and spread your legs for him. “Yeah,” he breathes, “Yeah I’ll fuck you alright,” as he looms over your needy body. He kneels on the bed, lining his stiff cock with your entrance and begins to push in.

“Fuuuckk, baby you gotta relax,” he moans, pressing into you slowly as your mouth gapes from how he’s stretching you open. You swear you almost cum immediately from his intrusion, but your arousal heightens as he thrusts all the way in. You cry out in pleasure, gripping your sheets and squeezing your eyes shut as he starts to fuck you, slowly at first but quickening his pace as to seeing how desperate you are. You were practically rolling your hips onto his cock until he held them still and fucked you at a punishing pace. He groaned, his ear tickled with your pleading and moaning. It felt so good, the burning feeling turned into pleasure as Jason rocked his hips into yours, and you were sure you were going to finally cum.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me aren’t you?” he moans, the sounds of your sex filling the room.

“You’re close, aren’t you baby? C’mon then,” he lowers his face towards your ear, “Cum for me sweetheart,” he whispers, and finally that tension snaps and you cry out, your orgasm forcing your eyes shut as you cream around his cock that’s still pumping hard into you. You pant as he curses and thrusts into you faster, chasing his own high until he’s spilling his cum into you, the warmth making your belly tingle. He’s panting too, as he pulls out of you and stands up, reaching over to grab a towel from your dresser. He cleans you up and you stare up at him, eyes half-lidded and the only sounds that fill the room are of you two breathing hard. You don’t talk and neither does he, and you move over on the bed to give him room as he lays next to you. He moves onto his side, propping his head up with a hand as he smirks, “Not bad, huh?”

You snort, and snuggle closer to him.

“Not bad at all, Jay.”

[nicohischierz]

a mat(t) for every situation: hughes sister

tagging: @ivy-34, @francesfarhadi, @hzstry8, @cixrosie, @itsnotgray, @estapa94, @trevs-swiftie, @heartz4hisch you want to join the taglist let me know!!

when she got drafted by the islanders in the 2020 nhl draft, no one was expecting it.

sure she was on the zoom with all the top prospects but she thought it was for show and really she’d only been present to watch her friend brendan get drafted.

but alas, her name was called before his. brendan jumped onto her immediately bringing her into a hug before her mother brought her into her arms .

adelaide’s brothers stood shocked as she placed an islanders hat on her head. quinn and luke congratulated her after jer interviews and jack just lifted his head in acknowledgment.

that was four years ago.

now she was in the big leagues, leaving the university of michigan in her sophomore year and finding a permanent spot on the islanders roster.

“barzy, should i do one braid or two for the game?” she asked, barging into her teammates room.

during her rookie season, mat had been tasked with looking after her. it didn’t take long before the two of them started acting like siblings, going as far as to call each other such in interviews.

“i don’t know addy. tito should she do one braid or two?” mat asked his former teammate over the phone.

“two!” tito replied.

“anthony!” adelaide squealed jumping into bed with mat. the man on the phone laughed as mat chastised the younger girl, he truly did miss the two.

“hi mon chou, how are you?” he asked.

“i’m great! super excited for the game. except for the fact that my brothers will be there and jack hasn't been in the stands to see me play like ever," she ranted.

tito and mat both gave the girl a sad look. but adelaide brushed them off, giving anthony a smile and asking "how's the checklist going?"

when the news of anthony's trade dropped, adelaide provided the boy with her personal nashville checklist. she had covered a pretty good chunk of it and wanted her friend to do the same.

"you seem distracted," tito pointed out.

adelaide shrugged, she looked over to mat hoping he didn't spill her secret. but then she was reminded that tito and mat knew her better than her brothers.

well, those two are her brothers.

"mon chou whatever it is, we're here for you," tito's toned softened and mat pulled the younger girl into her arms.

"um, there's this guy i met ..." adelaide was cut off by tito yelling

"barzy you let her near a guy! i thought we agreed no boys till she's 45!" he joked causing the two in the hotel room to scoff. tito smiled, happy to change the girls mood slightly.

"as i was saying, i met this guy and he was really tall tito and he was so sweet. he was canadian for sure, but he didn't know who I was which is awesome and he said he;s going to be in new york for a bit," she explained.

in the three years of knowing adelaide hughes, tito and mat had never seen her talk about a boy this way. she always presented a cold front and if someone tried flirting with her at a bar she'd shut them down.

"that's not all is it?" tito pressed.

"like i said earlier, my brothers are going to be there. tito, whenever I have something important jack is always there to steal the spotlight," you murmured the last part.

mat remembers the comments under your draft post about jack not wanting to be there at all, or how he hadn't even congratulated his sister for her achievement.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮

when it was time for the outdoor game, adelaide had focused her attention on the game and not on the two boys in the stands. the only thing that really threw her off was the announcement that a rookie was debuting at the game.

"oh you're kidding me," she whispered when she saw the guy making his debut.

mat looked over at adelaide and saw her staring at the new rangers players. the new player doing the same upon seeing adelaide.

the older boy kept the interaction in his head as a reminder to ask adelaide later.

the game was a bit up and down as adelaide and matt got distracted by each other. however, the former did a good job of not letting it affect her game.

the islanders lost in overtime and adelaide's frustrations were evident on her face. she skipped out on media and headed to her parents, calling the boy that plagues her mind.

"meet me at the same bar tomorrow night," she told him ending the call immediately.

ellen wrapped her arms around her daughter and praised her efforts during the game, calling the overtime goal sheer luck. luke teased his older sister about the devils win and jack was preoccupied with his phone.

adelaide didn't need jack's attention but she craved it. even when she was a child, all she wanted was to make her brother proud of her.

the awkwardness within the hughes family didn't last long as mat came around, wrapping his arm over adelaide. he greeted the parents and the two boys before stealing the girl away from her family.

he could see the hurt in her eyes when jack didn't acknowledge her. mat knew that inside her head, adelaide was listing all the bad things she could've possibly done to have her brother hate her.

"addy, the canadian guy from the bar. it's rempe isn't it," mat stated as soon as the two reached adelaide's apartment.

the hughes girl stilled. "barzy, i swear i didn't know. we never spoke about hockey and I was shocked when I saw him today," she rambled.

mat pulled her in for a hug as her eyes started to fill with tears, she was overwhelmed and mat knew she needed some comfort.

"you're the best brother a girl could ask for," adelaide whispered.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮

the next day, matt and adelaide made their way to the bar in the morning. the latter had been pacing around the entrance with a cup of coffee in her hand.

"didn't see you as a day drinker hughes," matt quipped.

adelaide couldn't help the smile that made its way on her face. however, one look at the boy's cut reminded her of why she was here.

"you didn't tell me you were a hockey player,"

"you didn't tell me either princess,"

in all honesty, the two weren't sure where the conversation was going but matt called adelaide for a walk.

the two spoke freely about everything and anything. adelaide forgot why she was angry at the boy and matt enjoyed his time with the pretty girl.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮

that exchange happened three months ago.

"is your family coming down for playoffs?" matt asked. the two of you were currently enjoying a lazy day in bed, matt was playing with your hair as you scrolled through tiktok.

you shook your head.

"well my mum and da may come down but they've got to see quinny too and he's stressed cause he's captain. then jack's got his shoulder surgery and luke's going to worlds. but I don't mind," you answered quickly.

matt's heart sunk.

in the three months he'd known you he learnt three things

one: mat barzal was more of a brother than your actual brothers

two: jack was an asshole

three: you would always blame yourself for anyone's flaws

"when you guys play at home and if I've got nothing going on I'll come watch you," he whispered, pulling you in for a kiss.

you smiled giddily at your boyfriend and snuggled into his chest. he truly was the perfect boyfriend.

[percervall]

on my knees actually… he looks so fucking good. Help???

Oh my god 🫠

[queenie-avenue]

The smell of you drives him insane.

—> why was daniel carrying amortentia in his pocket?

⤻ inspired by @mngo-jii 's post about daniel with the love potion, love potion is not used on you, mutual pining, lovey-dovey, reader is gender neutral, reader is the mc of the game, and reader is charming (in line with the canon of the game), reader is referred to as [y/n], no content warning.

🦋 ⤻ archives.

For days, you had been wondering what in Merlin's beard was Daniel — Daniel Page, the oddball you liked so much — was doing with a potion of the strongest love potion there was, just sitting idly in his pocket. Where had he even learnt to brew such a strong potion? Or did he buy it.

If so, for what purpose.

You rolled around in your bed, rustling your sheets about as you tried to get your mind off the thoughts of Daniel and his love potion. Your rustling had seemed to even disturb Lottie as she groaned and told you to stop rustling about your bed.

"Sorry, Lottie. Just a bit restless is all," you apologised as you got up. You would hate to wake up Lottie or Ivy with your ceaseless thoughts of Daniel, and you couldn't help but flush at the thought of you struggling to stop thinking of Daniel.

God, I really need to stop, you thought.

Still, your curiosity burnt like Incendio. You groaned and finally decided to head to the common room for some reprieve. You were clearly keeping others awake with your brooding, even if they didn't know that it was about Daniel of all people.

"I'll go get some tea from the common room," you whispered to Lottie, informing her of where you'd go before heading outside and descending down the staircase.

Just from the corner of the staircase, you could already hear the bubbling coming from the common room.

"Hey Daniel," you greeted.

"Oh, hi [y/n]," Daniel yawned, as he looked lazily over you.

Was it just you or did his eyes linger a bit too long?

"You couldn't sleep?" Daniel inquired, eyes retreating back into his cauldron of whatever new potion he was brewing.

"Yeah, I kept tossing and turning but I didn't want to wake Ivy and Lottie up, so here I am!" You jokingly added jazz hands to your words.

Daniel seemed to appreciate the joke as he burst out in soft laughter. "Yeah, I couldn't fall asleep either." He continued as you decided to take a seat on the couch, watching Daniel on the opposite side as he continued to stir the cauldron. "You want a potion to help you sleep?" He offered, helpful as usual; even if he didn't like to admit it.

"No, no, it's fine." You shook your head. "I think I'll just watch you brew potions."

"Great, added pressure." He chuckled snarkily. "If you distract me and I ruin this potion, you're helping to clean up."

"Alright." You shrugged your soldiers. You were used to helping around with a lot of things, really. On your first day, you had already helped make a search team to try and find Ivy and well... the rest was history. Heck, even some strangers asked for help, and you couldn't reject them. You thought back to your muggle days and couldn't help but compare it to a video game.

This time, it was your turn to glance over at Daniel. You watched as he skillfully poured some concoction into his cauldron before stirring it. It was like your eyes were some kind of magnifying glass as you zoomed in all the smaller details of his face. His hair was matted to his forehead thanks to the sweat. You knew that the heat needed to brew certain potions was quite strong. You wished you had a handkerchief to pass to Daniel. Or better, to wipe his forehead off with.

Finally, your eyes wandered down to his cauldron, and the questions you kept asking in bed persisted. Just what was he doing with amortentia? Why did he have it? Was he planning to use it on someone? Why didn't he tell you? Why did you feel hurt by the idea the potion was not meant for you?

Just what were you doing with that amortentia in your pocket, Daniel?

His head suddenly snapped up to meet your gaze. Oops, did you say that aloud?

"What?" Daniel asked, his eyes widening into saucers, his cheeks heated up like someone had casted incendio on him.

Well, you came so far, might as well ask. "That day, when we were helping Hagrid, there was a bottle of Amortentia in your pocket." You said. "What were you doing with that? I didn't even know you could brew it! Isn't it a rather advanced potion?" You continued to question, causing Daniel's pale cheeks to continue turning a dark shade of red. You would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it.

"I- I didn't brew it." Said Daniel, attempting to focus on the smaller aspects of your interrogation. "I bought it from the Weasley's." He clarified. "I would like to brew Amortentia one day, though! I heard that it's a challenging thing." The boy continued, scratching the back of his neck.

He may think he's slick, but you catch on quite easily.

"Then why did you buy it?" You inquired again, goading him on. "You don't plan to use it on anyone, do you?" She gasped, feeling a bit disturbed by the prospect of Daniel dosing someone else. If that someone was you, though... perhaps you'd be more susceptible to that idea.

"No, no!" Daniel denied hurriedly. "I know better than to practically drug someone, bloody hell." He sighed.

"Then why?" You pressed.

"I just... I just like how it smells." Your eyes widened at the reveal. Of all the things you had conjured in your head, Daniel liking the smell of the potion was something you had not expected. Then you remembered.

"Doesn't Amortentia smell like what or who you're most attracted to?" You recalled. "I read it in one of those potion books you borrowed me."

"Well... yeah. I just, you know, like it."

A pregnant pause filled the room.

"So... what does yours smell like?" You asked.

Daniel seemed to not expect such a bold question as he almost fell off his chair. "I- that's a bit... I don't know! I just know it smells good!" He replied.

"Oh, come on, Daniel, you got me more curious than a cat!" You exclaimed.

"And curiosity killed the cat, just so you know." Daniel replied snarkily.

"Yet satisfaction brought it back to life so please!" You pleaded.

"No!"

"Please, Daniel! I won't ask for anything more!"

This went on for another few minutes until the boy finally caved in. You were honestly top charming for your own good, Daniel could not help but think.

"But I... It's embarrassing."

"Here, I'll smell the potion too so it's embarrassing for the both of us!" You offered with a grin.

How could Daniel refuse that smile? Also, how could he refuse knowing what you were attracted to. If possible, he would brew a potion or some type of perfume that would allow him to smell just like how your Amortentia did.

"Deal." He smirked as he brought out the small vial of Amortentia. He popped open the cap and passed it to you.

You took a whiff of it and immediately froze. There was the scent of your favorite type of candy and your favourite flowers alongside the smell of the pages of your favourite book but... there was also something else. Something... you hadn't exactly expected but also was not shocked by.

The scent of sweet burnt wood, lemon zest and oddly enough, the scent of Daniel's hands; smelling of various herbs he had picked up the other week.

You stared at the potion and took another whiff.

Blimey. You thought.

"Well?" Daniel had leaned in a bit closer after a while.

"Tell yours first." You demanded.

"Ugh... fine." Daniel groaned as his brown eyes fluttered close, focusing on the scent of the love potion. Taking advantage of this, you couldn't help but continue to stare at Daniel, at his auburn hair, his chapped lips that you just wanted to smother your chapstick with. Everything about him was as attractive to you as that scent in the potion.

"I smell... the herbology classroom... not that icky stuff but the nice herbs and all that Professor Longbottom helped us pick," he commented, and you couldn't help but grip your uniform in excitement and anticipation. "I smell smokey wood, kind of like my house and the smell of gold?" He said. Was that all?

Daniel had frozen too.

After a small pause, he carried on.

"I smell [favourite flowers], a bit of [favourite candies] and... and..." His cheeks blushed as his eyes widened, blushing red.

"And what, Daniel?"

"And nothing!" He exclaimed.

"I don't believe you." You shook your head. "Come on, we had a deal. You promised to tell me!"

"Then you tell me yours first! I gave you a sneak preview! I deserve that, at least!" You shook your head at Daniel's words, but if he decided to be coy, you had to be the one to be bold!

"I smell my favourite flowers, my favourite candy, and the pages of my favourite book." You said.

"And?" This time it was his turn to press.

"You." You replied. "I don't know how to describe it." You knew exactly how but you just wanted your words to sink in properly that the Amortentia smelled like Daniel Page himself, so he wouldn't misunderstand. Your cheeks burned as he gazed at you.

"Me?"

"Yeah, wood, lemon zest, and all the herbs you gathered last week with me." You replied, staring straight into his eyes.

Daniel stayed silent for a moment. "I smell... your bedsheets. And your hands." He continued, using a tamer version of what you had confessed to him.

"Nice." Was all you could say.

An awkward silence enveloped the two of you as Daniel looked down at his abandoned potion, which had been all but evaporated by now thanks to him not paying attention to the heat.

"Want to help me brew this essence of dittany?" He asked, all of a sudden.

"Yeah." You smile.

"Come here, then." He motioned for you to take a seat beside him and you obeyed, practically rushing to his side as you read out the instructions.

It was distracting, though, especially with Daniel sitting so close and his nose practically buried in your hair.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

"Should we wake them up?" Lottie asked, looking over at Ivy who was giggling like a toddler.

"No!" She said, perhaps too aggressively, considering that Lottie had stumbled back a bit. "Sorry. I think we should let them rest, it is the weekend, after all." Ivy smiled as she took Lottie's hands and hurriedly ran out the door of the common room.

Ivy ran back to them and quickly took a camera out, though. She just had to capture this picture to tease them about later.

Ivy properly left the common room with an image of Daniel and [y/n] on the couch of the common room; their heads lay against each other, mouths open and slightly drooling with their fingers interlaced.