#because it feels like its wrong to open up. like its wrong to say anything. like me being open is just.

[cute-little-fly]

Again, the problem of this finale is that it was rushed. It is all reduced to that. We needed more scenes and more final and concluding remarks about the plots that needed to be concluded or at least given some closure. But, I will try to conclude something with the crums we had.

Piltover obviously opened the gates because they needed the muscle. But then, did you noticed how the councilors looked at Zevika at the council? At the end, everything was the same…I think that in this universe they will be the same, and Zevika maybe could join Ekko and try to fight to get the Undercity people’s voices heard and some basic rights but that will be about it. At least, from what I felt about the little they put about it in the ending… Also, I feel that what the final fight wanted to say is that when real danger arises people forget about differences and unite, but at the end, they give you the punch that after the danger passes it all keeps being the same… the prejudices and all of that… which is disappointingly realistic.

The enforcers are authority. There can be good people and bad people among them, but at the end, they are at the service of the greater power and good enforcers won’t make any difference. For me this message was conveyed through Maddie and Vi in different ways.

At the beginning Maddie seems like just one junior officer that joined the cops because she wants to make a difference, young and naive, all of that. She admiring Vi that acted upon herself to what she believed was right. But then, she is completely willing to be Ambessa’s spy, uses the power that gives her to revenge on Caitlyn and doesn’t really care that what Ambessa is doing might be dangerous to everyone. Like, is basically how easy someone corrupted can use police authority to oppress or for their own means no matter how naive and good intended they seem to be at the beginning. She didn’t cared about Martial Law, because she believed in authority.

Vi on the other hand was an oppressed person that did it because of guilt and to help Caitlyn. That didn’t resulted in anything good for them and just made everything worse. Vi said she always chose wrong. I think she regretted joining the enforcers. This is not precisely told, but I think you can do that interpretation and what her new Pitfighter Vi skin in the game says is basically that… for me that counts as a confirmation since now they say all of that is canon. Some people question that she keeps the badge and what that could mean, she still might be defending Piltover against barons and shimmer but by her own volition and not tied to the enforcers. But this lady thing is my guess, since they left that so open.

I don’t know what beliefs the people that made Arcane have, and is obviously a product of a big company that usually is not allowed to be that extreme in its political views… but, at the end, we have to remember that Arcane is made by a lot of people. We are able to interpret all what happened through different lenses because even if it can have biases is not a propaganda show.

It doesn’t matter that the creators are aligned with that message or not (I don’t think they all think the same). At the end, they showed nuance and we have many examples of police brutality or authoritarian in the show depicted as wrong. They don’t show Caitlyn and Vi going back to the police and Caitlyn won’t never ask that to Vi again and they don’t show them doing that at the end. If the show was a cop propaganda I think vi would have ended up as an enforcer again, the same as Cait. I wonder what they will do after this, but they ended it open ended for a reason.

Is it just me or did the Arcane finale completely forget about the dynamic of oppression between Piltover and Zaun? Why are the Piltover police suddenly being depicted as a relatively heroic force that will open the city gates to Zaunites after after two seasons worth of them being depicted as cruel and apathetic people of immense privilege who spare no mercy towards the Undercity? Is it just me or is the final season of Arcane totally contradicting its progressive messaging?

All I can think about is when the tides of war finally roll out of the shores of Piltover and Zaun, what will happen to Zaun?

[red-doll-face]

You're much younger than Arthur. Maybe he doesn't mind as much as he thinks he does...

Low-High Honor Arthur Morgan x fem. reader who is younger than him.

Some head canons that ended up way too long 😭😔 hope you don't mind too much! I am 23 currently so these are really in the mind of reader being over 18 at least. At 23, Arthur is still way older than me so I guess it's just what does it for me! Includes both high and low honor versions. Thanks for reading!! and please let me know if you like them 😭

Warnings: NSFW 18+ only pls, Daddy Kink, Innocence Kink, Corruption Kink, nasty boy low honor arthur being toxic and manipulative (not too badly tho) its ok sweetie arthur is here to balance it out 😳💖💓🥹😳😭

:High Honor:

He had convinced himself that he was way too old for you and quite honestly shut that shit down the second he found his mind wandering to how pretty you were, your own natural beauty catching his eye. He can think you’re sweet and nice, that you understand him and go out of your way to talk to him. Doesn’t matter, he mentally smacks himself for thinking of you past anything like “mentor” or something. He might steal a glance once in a while but he feels bad about it every time. It’s just that, stolen, because in his mind, you don’t belong to him and you never will. He’s more than 10 years your senior, it makes him feel like a dirty old man. Arthur has a strange conflicted energy around you, like he wants to spend time with you but also doesn’t want to come off as creepy or too attached to something that can never be. If you make efforts to be around him, he does appreciate it and will stick around but he always cuts it sort of short. 

Will subtly try to remind himself how young you are, referring to you as girl or kid to others or even to you. He has no idea you think that’s kinda hot. Will jokingly say you’re too young for certain things and thinks it’s cute if you pout and try to fight back against him. Holds alcohol out of your reach and clicks his tongue at you. When you point out the other young women in camp, he’s giving in but only a little, he still watches out for you. He’s protective in the sense that he does see you as someone who needs protecting. He can lie and say it's because of your age but really he just likes you and doesn’t want to admit it.

Anytime you try to get him to understand that you think of him as more than a vague father or brother figure, he’s missing the signs, straight over his head. Light jabs at his age, like calling him Mr. Morgan; make him roll his eyes a little bit but you can catch an endeared smile on his face. Truly a bit hard headed when it comes to noticing that you tease him with more than poking fun in mind. You have to find reasons to touch or kiss him on the cheek. He still might miss physical signs, real dumb dumb behavior. It’s impossible in his head that you would think of him like that. 

If you can get him to open up, having emotionally charged conversations with him is a good way to get him to understand that you care about him at least. Arthur just likes to feel like you’re listening and that you like him enough to care about his thoughts and feelings. If you offer comfort to him in hard times, he’s lowkey simping for you…He can be very closed off, not all too willing to share his truths, especially with someone who may not even understand but if he can be himself around you and you don’t judge, he can forget his feelings about your youth for a moment. 

It’s hard for him to initiate because he’s convinced that if anything were to happen between the both of you, it would be wrong or perverse in some way. If you tell him you like him, he might try to tell you otherwise, trying to get you to think differently of him. Suggests you find someone closer to your age or someone who hasn’t led a life like he has. It’s all really sad because he’s also insinuating that he’ll ruin your life in some way. 

The first time he kisses you will be way too gentle, you’ll hardly call it a kiss. He thinks of himself as too rough for you so he holds back like 99% in an attempt to seem more like a gentleman. It takes you grabbing onto him and deepening your kiss for him to give you more. He’s gentle, hands on your cheeks, holding you like you’ll break if he squeezes too hard. 

Expect a whole lot of “this ain’t right,” or “I’m too damn old for this,” at first. But once you get him to give in, there’s no going back. He gives you his all, no matter what. He does get a bit bashful making things official, especially when there's something to be said about it. John calling him something terrible for being with you like cradle robber or something puts a sour look on his face but he tries his best to power through it. “She ain’t a goddamn baby,” “She might as well be, how old are you again? Or did you lose count?” “Shut the hell up, John.” Hugs and kisses from you definitely make it worth it. He gets a bit used to it, letting things like that stop affecting him so much. 

He thinks he doesn’t deserve you and some small part of him will always believe that you could still be better off with someone else but he gets greedier and greedier with you, the more you love on him, he doesn't want to even think of you with anyone else. He's still so confused that you think he is attractive at his age. He’ll show you pictures of him when he was young and he sort of expects you to say that he was more appealing back then. But you don’t; you just pet his face, his scratchy beard and his sun kissed skin. Arthur lets you see his soft smile when you say you love him right now, more than anything. 

Taking your firsts might put a weird (not bad though) taste in his mouth. First kisses or virginity, he’s nervous he’ll come up short and not be what you're expecting. But his best is more than enough to make you happy. He wants to make your first experiences feel special and memorable, the last thing he wants is to put pressure on you, he just puts way too much pressure on himself. He ends up being just a little too gentle. He needs a lot of praise, a lot of egging on to get more confident. If you beg and plead for more, he can’t say no, he always gives you what you want. Getting him to be more “out there” is a little more difficult. He’s embarrassed to admit he might like when you playfully call him daddy or your old man. The guilt kind of turns him on but he has a hard time coming to terms with that. At his own pace, he’ll indulge more if you’re into it. You’re crossing some weird wires in his head, he swears. If you say it to him in the right context, he’s giving you a shocked look and a halfhearted scolding as he tries not to get turned on in the middle of what he’s doing. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl,” makes you giggle at him. 

:Low Honor:

He might also be somewhat against it but for different reasons. He thinks girls like you have high expectations and it annoys him. But if he thinks you’re pretty that’s what he thinks. He doesn't let anybody get too close so if he’s thinking about you as more, your age is not something that stops him from doing so. It does just take him some time to think about letting you close enough for anything more than his usual rude demeanor and standoffish personality. 

The only way he'll know he likes you as a bit more than another thankless and ungrateful face in the crowd of people he begrudgingly provides for is if you thank him for bringing money or things back to camp. He gets a little quiet, trying to suss out ulterior motives but he thinks you’re quite adorable. Looks away and says it’s nothing. He’ll indulge you, doing things that are just for you, just to hear you say thank you again. 

He teases you more, emphasizing how young you are, in a way that rubs him the right way. Calling you little girl, intimidating you with his size, or keeping you away from certain things like cigarettes. “These are for grown ups, sweetheart,” If you’re a brat around him, he likes a bit of brat taming. “Dunno, might need to take you over my knee if you’re gonna act like that,” has you gasping and stuttering out a clumsy response.

It’s easy to sway him into taking things further with you. He isn’t one for hanging around the camp, so close to everyone else anyway, he likes his alone time. Catching him when he’s by himself, smoking a cigarette, is a good time to get on his nerves enough to force his hand a little bit. Stand too close to him and run your fingers over the handle of his gun and ask if you can hold it, he’s so close to snapping. The look in his eye under the shadow of his hat makes you feel 5 degrees warmer. “You better quit playin’ games with me, girl. Not sure you know what you’re askin’ for,”  Maybe not the best idea to defiantly ask him to show you.

Then you’re sat on his knee, he’s pressing his mouth into yours, sloppy kisses with no regard for whether you think it’s too much for you or not. He’s shoving his tongue into your mouth, one hand to steady you and the other groping your tits. He’s mostly trying to get you to be as noisy as possible. 

He’s really not guilty at all. Maybe a little but he doesn’t let guilt affect his actions. It may be true that maybe you could be with someone better than him but if you’re with him, you know what you’re in for. You’re his girl and there isn’t anyone else for you if he’s your man. Arthur may not admit it but in the back of his head, there is a voice that whispers to him that one day you’ll leave him behind. He overcompensates for it, doing what he can to see you smile, rather reluctantly asking if you’re happy with him once in a while. If you ask why, he’s unclear, “Jus’… makin’ sure,” your enthusiastic yes, followed by a kiss on his cheek actually flatters him a little, rubbing his neck, a quiet ‘good’ is all he has to say. 

If he gets shit for being with you, he brushes it off. He might get flack from some well meaning people, Hosea or Abigail might tell him to leave you alone, that he should know better. But he thinks they should know better too, Arthur has very little restraint. So if a young pretty thing wants to be his girl, he’s not saying no. Any notions of how guilty he should be don’t come from him. He may think he’s a sinner and a bad man but those things don’t stop him from wanting you. And Arthur always gets what he wants when he can help it. 

Arthur has never given too much thought about what women think of how he looks. He certainly doesn’t think too much of himself and knows he isn’t exactly in his prime, looks wise at the very least. He’s not too confident about his looks or his body really, he’s more confident when it comes to his abilities and skills. So if you tell him you like the way he looks, he isn’t gonna argue, just pleasantly surprised if he happens to believe you. There’s a chance he thinks you're lying. He knows there’s something perhaps a bit off with you, most girls your age don’t give him a second glance but does it stroke his ego when you stare at him, bite your lip when he grabs his belt, pulling all of your attention to the size of his hands and his crotch. 

If you’re softer about your affections for him, he’s happy to accept them too, you’re his little angel, but he has every intention to pull you down from heaven to make you his. You can start with soft touches over his face, rubbing up over his shoulders and chest but he’s quick to pull you deeper with him. His teeth nip softly at your lips, his hands roam all over you.

He's eager to take your firsts, in his twisted little head, he knows he can regulate what you think is normal. He doesn’t have to play gentle and sweet, he bites and sucks marks on you, slaps your ass pretty hard. Arthur’s happy to have himself be the man that ruins you for other men, he’s your first and your last. 

Sorry but he’s kind of toxic, he likes the way you do things like kiss him, or touch him, take him in your mouth; but sometimes he puts on a little bit of an unimpressed face, not exactly bored or anything, just enough to see you try harder to please him. He always gives in; especially when he can tell you’re trying. His proud little smirk and affection are something you might have to work for. Your inexperience is the perfect opportunity to have you eager to make him happy. 

Huge innocence kink, he loves to corrupt you, teach you about what a man does with a woman he likes. Even better if you have no clue, or you think babies come from kissing or something, god is he eager to fuck all of that up. He’s all for you calling him daddy too, the guilt or the imagery or whatever doesn’t do it for other people just makes it so much more appealing to him. Most of the time, he likes to keep your affairs private but once in a while, he’ll show out, just to show who you belong to. If people happen to overhear the racy things you two talk about and they give you a weird look, he just has a knowing smirk for the eavesdropper.

Can you tell that I think age gaps are hot? RDR let me fuck that middle aged man right neow!!! When will they let RDO be about dating Arthur Morgan??? 😔😔😔😔wish he was at least a fuckin stranger mission or something SIGHHHH anyway Thanks for reading and pls let me know if you liked it! Otherwise I'll feel like a freak LMAO

[wickedsmille]

batman, robin, sentient super suits, oh my! part 3

Ta~ da~! Part 3 and done. (Here's Part 1 and Part 2, if ya want.) It didn't go exactly as I wanted but when I went back to rewrite part of it I couldn't make myself do it so. Welp, it is what it is. But, here we go -

---------

A little while later, Tim yelps from his side of the bed. Jason’s head whips around to see what the commotion is, bumping shoulders with Tim who has also hastily sat up.

Craning his neck, Jason looks down over the side of the bed to where Tim is staring, dumbfounded. All he sees is Tim’s bag, open with the Red Robin costume on top. Sort of strange since leaving their gear out in the open isn’t exactly Bat-protocol. No telling when a nosy or distracted maid might barge in. Otherwise, nothing is amiss. Color Jason confused.

“What the fuck,” Tim breathes as he scoots further back till he’s half in Jason’s lap which, awesome, but weird.

“What?” Jason snaps. 

Over the side of the bed, the sleeve of the Red Robin suit snakes up and slaps down hard on Tim’s wrist near the edge of the bed. He makes a high noise of surprise then he’s fully in Jason’s lap. Still awesome, very much so, but bigger fish to fry and everything. Such as the irrefutable proof that Red Robin has gained the nebulous honor of having a mind of its own. And it’s apparently not very happy with Tim if the way it snaps out to hit him again is any indication. This time, Tim pulls his hand back before he can get slapped.

“How-” Tim chokes out, whipping his head around to stare at Jason.

Their faces are so damned close Jason can feel the too fast puffs of Tim’s breath against his cheek. It’s doing him absolutely no favors in staying focused on the issue at hand. 

Tim’s eyes narrow. “Did you do something to it?”

“Me? That thing was totally normal until you got a hold of it. What did you do to it?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Un-fucking-likely!”

A pitter patter of sound draws both of them away from the edge of their budding argument. Back at the side of the bed, the Red Robin suit is padding its sleeves against the blanket to draw their attention. Guess it didn’t like where their conversation was headed. 

“Oh yeah, that thing is totally alive,” Jason says. 

“No” Tim drawls sarcastically. He frowns at the suit. A flash of understanding brightens his face as his mouth drops open. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

“Mind cluing in us pea brained peons?”

Without looking, Tim hits Jason in the chest with the back of his hand. “All the malfunctions!”

Tim doesn’t need to say anything else for Jason to pick up what he’s laying down. The events of the past few weeks make a lot more sense now. Including their current predicament which has led to a lap full of dressed down, sleep warm Tim. Touche, Red Robin, well done. He has to hand it to the suit. Red Hood is all overt action with very little subtly but Red Robin had completely flown under his radar. Even yelling at it earlier was based more on a vague hunch.

“I’m glad I hollered at it earlier then.”

Tim’s eyes snap back to him, incredulous and amused. “You were talking to an inanimate object?”

“First of all, it isn’t inanimate any more. Second, don’t act like you’ve never talked at something before.”

Tellingly, Tim stays silent. 

“Look at it this way, you’ve been chosen,” Jason says with a shrug. “Better than, I guess, since you brought the fuckin’ thing to life.”

Tim does this odd thing where he goes boneless. As in he falls limp against Jason’s chest with his head resting on Jason’s shoulder. For a second, he’s worried something is wrong. Tim wouldn’t be Tim if he weren’t wound tighter than a spring. He’s the most neurotic sonuvabitch Jason knows. To have him so soft and pliant? It’s kind of throwing him for a loop.

Looking down at Tim’s face, Jason’s worries bleed away. The content, gentle happiness he finds there, only a thin thread of bitter sadness belying it, tells Jason all he needs to know. Once more, because he’s just that good, Jason has stuck his foot in his mouth. Except in a good way this time. 

Thinking back, Tim told him what it was like when he was first Robin. It sure as hell hadn’t felt good when Robin didn’t want anything to do with him. He can’t imagine what it was like for Tim to have to actively fight against the suit. To push and push and push till he was finally, reluctantly accepted. Only to be dropped and have nothing waiting for him, ready for him. The lonely ache of wondering if he’s good enough and that’s why a suit doesn’t come for him. Needing to push past all that, piled on top of the long hours and endless horrors the nightlife brings, and keep on keepin’ on. 

But Jason has pointed out the obvious which he doesn’t doubt Tim completely overlooked. In agreement, Red Robin raises its sleeve and points at Jason.

“Oh,” Tim breathes. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Me neither. Way to make history.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “But I don’t get it. Why do all of this?”

Once more, Red Robin pointedly gestures towards Jason. He glares at the damn thing because if anyone needs to shut up, it’s Red Robin. Given the genuine curiosity and bafflement in Tim’s voice, Jason’s pretty sure he’s not being purposefully obtuse. Granted, Tim can lie with the best of them, the little scamp. Jason has been meaning to get a few lessons. His gut is telling him this isn’t one of those times. Tim really doesn’t get it and Jason would like it to stay that way until he can either nut up and confess or brutally murder the impulse to fuck him raw at the first opportunity.

“No idea,” Jason replies lightly.

On his side of the bed, Jason’s bag wiggles violently. He groans and clenches his jaw, unwilling to let Red Hood enter the chat. This is a recipe for disaster. Adding in his suit won’t help him in keeping his inconvenient crush under wraps. For all he knows, Red Robin and Red Hood have been colluding together to make this shit happen. 

“What,” Tim starts before trailing off. 

The stare he pins Jason down with is so intense and invasive Jason feels like he needs to shove Tim off and disappear for a few months. It’s something akin to being flayed alive. His eyes skitter across Jason’s face, breaking him down bit by bit without needing to say a word or lift a finger. Really, Jason should get Tim away from him before he peels away the last layers keeping Jason from being truly perceived. 

Lightning quick and catching Jason unaware, Tim lunges across him to drape himself over Jason’s side of the bed. With deft fingers, he yanks open Jason’s bag. There the Red Hood is in all its glory, helmet on top of a bundle of heavy padding and armor. The lights on the eyes flash and Tim blinks down at it. 

“Hey, now!” Jason chides, dipping down so he can shut the bag before the shit show starts.

He doesn’t get that far before he’s getting full-on backhanded by the sleeve of his own suit. Wow, the suits are being aggressive. He’s not even sure what to do so he tenses up and stares at the wall. There’s enough semtex in the bag to blow it all to hell, right? He could totally ask Alfred to call up Lucius for a new suit. If Tim can finagle a consciousness into a regular suit, Jason should be able to as well. Maybe the next one won’t be such an asshole. Though he doubts it. On all counts.

He doesn’t remember if actually brought any plastique. Lucius isn’t exactly itching to do Jason any favors and Alfred would be more likely to politely mock him for doing something as stupid as blowing up his own suit. There’s no way for them to know how Red Robin is Red Robin now. And he’s, admittedly, a major asshole so it only makes sense whatever suit gets stuck with him has a personality to match. 

Tim bops the helmet and scowls at it. “Rude.” Red Hood doesn’t hit Tim. Instead, it pats him on the cheek gently. “Much better,” Tim says, satisfied.

Jason gapes at the interaction. “That is so unfair. What the fuck!”

“I told you things went well when I covered for you.”

“Apparently. Maybe a little too well.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It seemed like the Red Hood lik-”

Flipping over so his ass is seated in the well of Jason’s legs, back arched over his thigh, Tim looks at Jason. Jason doesn’t like the way Tim is looking at him. It’s less wondering and more knowing. So he does what he does best and tries to push Tim off him. They’ve been too close to too long and the need to run is an overwhelming compulsion at this point. Like a goddamn lamprey, Tim winds his arms around Jason’s waist and holds fast. The guy doesn’t go anywhere despite Jason’s best efforts since he isn’t in a position to get the leverage he needs to pry Tim off.

“You like me,” Tim says simply.

Jason chokes as the bottom of his stomach falls out. “No, I don’t,” Jason denies.

His helmet makes a high pitched whine of protest like the voice modulator got hit with a current and fried the circuitry. Goddamn, he thinks he even hears a click from one of his guns. Red Hood is a straight up thug. Which Jason loves but, holy hell, right now he definitely doesn’t. Being bullied by what amounts to a souped up, military grade Call of Duty cosplay hits him right in his pride. Forget Bruce and the clusterfuck of that whole thing, this is his new villain origin story. 

Red Robin isn’t so charmed by his denial either. The suit flops onto the bed, farther up this time, so it can nail him right in the shin. Jason makes a pained noise more from being startled than it actually hurting. If the blanket weren’t draped over his legs, then, yeah, that would’ve stung. Great, now, he’s being bullied by the equivalent of a theater major seamstress’ fever dream too. When will the injustices end?

Throwing his hands up, literally because he’s so far past settling for metaphorically doing it, Jason looks to the ceiling and prays for patience. And to not get socked in the jaw by Tim for what he’s about to say. Still, to the pock-marked ceiling, Jason says, “Fine, yes, I like you! Jesus, fuck, everybody lay offa me! This is the worst kind of peer pressure. At least I could cunt punt a peer but no. I get some goddamn JoAnn Fabric cast offs harassing me.”

“And me,” Tim pipes up.

“And you! Which, can’t we focus on the miracle of your suit showing signs of intelligent, manipulative and kind-of-dickish life? Let’s go back to you getting misty eyed over a newly minted supernatural costume.”

“We’ll come back to that,” Tim agrees, “but first we should probably deal with this. Just, Jason...”

Well, shit, he doesn’t like Tim’s tone. It’s not the voice of a man about to lay his heart bare in preparation for an emotionally charged conversation destined to end in a heated kiss and a roll in the sack before the camera cuts to black. Nor is it shy and demure or happy and accepting. Jason doesn’t want to put a name to it but, if he had to, he’d say Tim sounds distinctly awkward and uncomfortable. Hesitant and pained. This does not bode well for his chances. He can already smell the acrid, sharp scent of his chances going up in flames. 

“There’s a lot between us,” Tim says somewhere around the bottom of Jason’s ribcage. “That we’ve never talked about.” Now Tim pulls away fully until he’s back on his side of the bed.

Jason knows a let down when he hears one. He opens his mouth to tell Tim to can it, spare them both the continued embarrassment. On some level, Jason always knew anything between them would be doomed. Forget burning the bridge between himself and Tim, Jason incinerated it. With prejudice. The fact they’ve come so far already is a miracle. It’s the little, emaciated street kid in him that makes him greedy, to take and take and take until he can’t anymore. Well, this is the can’t anymore, he guesses. But now he’ll lose it all. 

The words are there on the tip of his tongue when his helmet makes another whirring, whining noise of protest on one side of the bed and there’s the pat, pat, pat of fabric against fabric on the other. His head whips between the Red Hood, disgruntled and displeased, and Red Robin attacking Tim’s leg much as it had Jason. Tim quickly scoots back towards Jason and pulls his legs in. In response, Red Robin flops onto the bed again and nails Tim right across the face. 

Jason has never claimed to be a good person so he laughs. “Okay, I’m starting to feel fuckin’ hunted here. I get why they’re coming at me but-”

He breaks off since there’s no point in finishing the sentence. Tim is a genius. Point blank, period. It’s a verifiable fact Jason hates and likes in equal measure. If his big brain can’t piece together a puzzle, Jason doesn’t stand a chance but by no means is he a slouch. For this, understanding why Red Robin and Red Hood are coming at Tim just as hard as they are at him, Jason doesn’t need a three digit IQ. 

“You little shit, you like me too,” Jason accuses, honestly mad Tim was about to dismiss him out of hand. 

Tim doesn’t say anything which is answer enough for Jason. Not for Red Robin who whips out at Tim again, making him curl up tighter and away from the offending garment. Or offended garment, in this case. 

“I’m bad at this,” Tim hisses to his suit. “God, why are you so-”

“Oddly violent?”

“Persistent,” Tim insists, glaring at Jason. 

Jason fixes him with a look.

“And a manipulative asshole,” Jason supplies but he isn’t talking about Tim’s suit anymore.

“I’m bad at this,” Tim says again, this time directly to Jason.

“Tim.”

“Jason.”

Red Robin and Red Hood voice their displeasure as much as they can.

Rolling his eyes, Jason talks at the ceiling again because it’s easier. “Why wouldn’t you just say that? Okay, you’re bad at it, fine. I literally paved the way for you to just say ‘Golly gee, me too’.”

“I’m awkward, okay?” Tim blurts, irritated and not bothering to pull on his usual carefully crafted mask of indifference. “I’m not exactly the greatest when it comes to interpersonal relationships. You can just ask Steph.” After a brief pause, Tim backpedals, “Actually, don’t. Never do that.”

“Well now I have to.”

“You really, really don’t.”

“Maybe if you’d stop being such a coward-”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Jason says maturely.

Jason should’ve known the kiss was coming as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Not once has Jason seen Tim back down from a challenge once it has been set down in front of him. Including the time Jason gave him a spectacular beat down in Titans Tower and demanded to know if Tim thought he was good enough for Robin. Half unconscious and bloodied, Tim had said yes. 

This isn’t so different, Jason thinks, because he kisses back, brutal and vicious and commanding, while Tim takes it all then dishes it back. More than once, Jason’s teeth clack against Tim’s but neither of them pull away. Somewhere between now and Jason’s head emptying of rational thought, his hand has found its way to the back of Tim’s neck, keeping him in place. He doesn’t have to worry about Tim pulling away, not really, with the way Tim holds onto Jason’s waist.

The world drops away till there’s nothing but the soft, barely there moans Tim breathes into him. He swallows them greedily, vows to get more of them till he’s had his fill. His other hand, the one not latched onto Tim, finds Tim’s thigh and kneads at the muscle there. One of Tim’s hands slides down and skirts along the edge of his shirt till it teasingly slips under the fabric. The rough, calloused pads of Tim’s fingers ghost over his stomach, making the muscles twitch. 

It all comes back into focus, hitting him like a freight train, when the hand on Tim’s leg can’t wander any farther up than it already has even though he knows he’s nowhere near his ultimate end goal. Cracking open his eyes, Jason looks down to see Red Robin forming a blockade to preserve Tim’s chastity. Red Robin doesn’t get to mastermind them into a bed together then dictate what they do when Tim’s making those encouraging, willing little noises.

Leaning back to catch his breath, Jason reluctantly lets go of Tim’s leg and scruffs the Red Robin suit then tosses it over the side of the bed with a growl. 

“That was uncalled for,” Tim tells him.

“You want me to stop?” Jason asks.

“No. Very much no.”

“Then it was called for,” Jason asserts. 

“Fair enough,” Tim laughs. He huffs as his eyes dart from one side of the bed to the other. “It’d be weird to do anything with the suits here though.”

“They literally fondle us on a nightly basis. I think their definition of propriety is a little different from ours,” Jason points out. 

Looking thoughtful, Tim says, “Huh, I knew the Red Hood suit was chafing weird when I wore it.”

Leaning over, Jason slaps his helmet and shoves his bag under the bed. “Goddamn dirty dog, keep your kevlar weave off.” 

The Red Hood doesn’t make a peep or put up any protest. Jason doubts it’s because the suit wore itself out being more active than usual. Stupid thing probably doesn’t have a good counter argument, having been caught out and ruthlessly thrown under the bus by Tim. 

“In its defense, it really made things easy and protected me well. It was, sweet, too, I guess?” Tim offers.

“Well, good,” Jason replies lamely. “Can’t say the same about Red Robin,” he adds with a glare at Tim’s side of the bed where Red Robin is hopefully puddled on the ground and content to stay there.

Meddlers, the both of them. Grade A meddlers of the highest order. 

“Yeah,” Tim says contemplatively. 

To poke the bruise one more time, Jason tells him, “Yanno, the suit’s probably something special because you’re something special.”

The sappy ass words make Jason feel like the world’s biggest tool but it’s worth it for the instant flush. His cheeks and ears and neck all go a delicious pink that Jason wants to bite at. Take the light dusting and make it vibrant. Create a portrait of deep reds and purples wherever he can. Jason thinks he’ll get the chance to do that sooner than expected when Tim tackles him. After a brief scuffle, Jason rolls them so Tim’s under him with his wrists pinned and legs draped on either side of Jason’s hips. Tim could get out of the hold. Jason isn’t trying to really keep him down. 

But Tim doesn’t. 

He allows it which is enough for Jason to settle his weight over Tim and forget about the busy body suits probably basking in smug satisfaction for getting them to this point.

[wellthatschaotic]

neurotypicals are so frustrating,, i keep forgetting that "can you do x" means "go do x"

[szaryherbatnik]

Tough day rambles

In a world with a different setting id be a prophet or a person with cool visions, id be a person worthy of protection and trust and friendship. Here im just paranoid and i worry about the wrong things. Somewhere else when i dance on my way to a shop everyone thinks im full of joy and whimsy and they dont think im drunk or childish. Somewhere else i can be around people for more than 5 hours before i shut down for the rest of the day. Somewhere else i dont remind everyone im stupid and dumb and i dont describe everything i do and feel as "slight" and "little" and "a bit", im able to love romantically and dream of tenderness and give it and recieve it. Idk i just hate myself a lot.

[asyipyip]

hold on everyone shut up im getting super emotional about jonathan sims

[thejacespace]

It's hard to address sometimes - like, I definitely have friends who will say the "I need to lose weight because it's fine for other people to be fat but that's just not the look I want for me" and how do I say that mindset is literally half the problem? Or at least a result of the problem anyway

this post reminded me of this ~scenario~ that happens to me and other fat folks quite often! thin folks that are our friends, support fat folks, but haven’t quite had the time or chance or willingness to unlearn fatphobic ideas in relation to themselves. we know you still think of fatness as inherently unhealthy and unattractive, work on it ♥

[celestialmancer]

⛈️ ❌ ❌ ❌ // 2:09 am, tbd ;

[pears-trinkets]

.

[ervotica]

please don’t go, i love you so

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: a lil toxic!coriolanus, he’s rough with r, possessive talk, quite tame in this but imma tamp it up soon, a bit of making out and being lovey

note: i do not careee about who likes this character or who doesn’t okay i am writing about him because he is literally one of the hottest men i’ve ever seen, kay? i’m not here for moral dilemmas thank u, enjoy (yes i will follow up w smut and my young!coriolanus snow reqs are OPEN!) please please remember to comment and rb, it helps me so much!

hunger games masterlist

Coriolanus is possessive.

It sickens him to his very core, sends nausea rolling like a wave through his chest; he’s not a child. Yet, the mere sight - thought - of you engaging with any other man, even innocently, is enough to have him seeing red: white-knuckled, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to eliminate any and all threat standing between him and his girl.

It's the way those boys look at you. As if you're a piece of meat, a toy to play with that they're just begging, aching to sink their teeth into, to leave a permanent mark on. The boys in this district are barbaric- that's what Coryo thinks anyway. It's disgusting, the things that he knows they think about you.

It's been a long day in District Twelve. Coriolanus' grey jumpsuit rubs and itches and his skin crawls with an uneasiness settled at the pit of his stomach. It's a warm day, his skin sticky as he peels the top half of the jumpsuit from his slender arms and ties it neatly around his waist. The grass by the lake is damp with the leftover dew from the morning.

He catches sight of you amongst the trees, weaving and bobbing through the undergrowth as you do, your lithe fingers brushing against leaves. Your head dips and then raises as his tall figure creeps into your peripheral vision. A smile graces your features, real and earnest with all your teeth.

There’s a slight waver in your countenance when you catch Coriolanus’ own expression; his brows are knit, pushing his forehead into a crease, lips pushed together tersely.

You walk straight into his arms, balancing yourself on one leg and pushing your shoulder underneath his armpit. You needle your way in, your forehead rested against his chin, so close you can feel his breath against your face.

“Hi, gorgeous,” you murmur. You reach up to push out the ridge in his brow and your thumb traces the bridge of his nose in a way that couldn’t be perceived as anything other than unbridled affection. “Something wrong?”

His slender fingers settle against your waist. You shiver at the contact when he spins and pushes you back into a tree. The bark digs into your back as you shuffle to meet his eyes— his eyes that have suddenly clouded with something dark and possessive.

“What is it?” you ask again; your voice is becoming more strained the longer he stays quiet, your own hands snaking up his arms like vines and squeezing.

He shakes his head and drops his face to look at you properly.

“Nothing. I have you.”

“Okay.” You click your tongue, tilting your head at him. His face gravitates towards yours, breath hot and mixing with your own. “You gonna kiss me or what, handsome?”

He doesn’t need any encouragement, surging forward to catch your lips between his own; his hands are rough, kneading the soft flesh of your hip. His other makes its way up to your jaw, fingertips pressing so hard you’re sure he’s branding you. You’ve never been kissed like this, with such fervour and passion and need. You gasp into his mouth and your arm wraps around his neck to pull him further into you.

“Coryo,” you pant.

“Shh,” he forces out, his fingers suddenly an iron grip around your neck; the hollow of your throat is bared to him and bobs under his cruel touch.

“Coriolanus, that hurts,” you say, strangled. His eyes are alight with a fire, a blazing inferno roaring in his head as he squeezes your throat and laughs.

You wheeze, clutching at his wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip. He obliges you, running a thumb over the indents he’s left in your soft skin to smooth them away.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he asks. His head drops to the juncture of your neck, arms hooking loosely around your middle as he relaxes into you. “I just wanted to feel you. To know you’re mine.”

The incident is forgotten as soon as it ends. He has a charm in that sort of way; you don’t see his faults even when he shows them to you clear as day. You’ll never see what’s right in front of you even if he wants you to.

“Of course I’m yours, Coryo. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The way they all look at you here…” He falters. “Like they all want you. Like they want to take you away from me. You’re mine- they have to understand that.”

“No one could take me away from you,” you giggle, your temple resting against the tip of his shoulder so you can duck your head to meet his eyes. “I know where I belong. And that’s right here with you.”

“Good.” He mouths at your neck like a man starved, arms coming right up until they’re hooked just underneath your own. He pulls away heaving for breath.

“Wanna show me just where you belong?”

[strawbebyjam]

back 2 missing it 👍🏼

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[feyascorner]

Okay perhaps this sounds odd but imagine Astarion starts to disassociate while intimate with Tav and so he uses their established safe word, only to be bewildered when Tav actually listens to him and stops and asks if he’s okay and tries to comfort him because nobody has cared that much before 😢

OH GODS WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME (i love it) warning for suggestive content :)

For as long as Astarion's been genuinely intimate with you, for no other reasons but simply because of the affection the two of you hold for one another, he has always been in control.

It soothes him, in a way, to be on top. And as much as he enjoys watching you come undone beneath him, there's a more frustrating reason behind why he always feels the need to be the one to push you down onto whatever surface he deems decent enough at the time. From above you, he can see every little twitch in your body, every shift in your expression, and most of all, he can control what's happening, unlike his centuries spent as a seductive tool for Cazador's own needs.

He knows you're not like those fools. He knows you're different, and you're special to him. But the gnawing voice in the back of his head always forces him to pull you in, to hold you closer, to make love to you.

It's fucked up in so many ways.

"I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

But when you look up at him with those imploring, loving eyes, the voice seems to go quiet. He swallows the dryness of his throat, unable to think of anything but how wonderful your touch feels on his skin, and he thinks he could drown in this forever. He's putty in your hands, whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Well? Don't be a tease just standing there, darling."

In what feels like minutes, he's a mess. He's making sounds he shouldn't be making, fingertips digging into your hips as if they're the anchors keeping him from finishing too early. He breathes heavily into the crook of your neck, groaning when you caress the sharp tip of his ear between your fingers.

The only thing keeping him from spilling is the impending embarrassment he'd feel for doing so this early on in the night.

Then, everything stops.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper.

They're only words. They're not ones he's heard little of---in fact, he's heard it too much in the past two hundred years. In an instant, memories of the nights he spent under strangers, forced to shove his mind into its darkest corners just to get through their own pleasures, flood his consciousness. The sickening taste in his mouth afterward, and the need to rub his skin till it goes raw were not uncommon. It was routine. A sick part of his life that he'd rather forget.

You don't mean it the same way they did. They only said things like that because that's all they could say. They didn't know him as anything but the husk of a body he resided in. He knows you are saying the words to him. Not to his body but to the very person he is.

But the word comes spilling out his mouth, and immediately, you freeze.

You actually stopped.

Of course, you would. You're you.

"Are you okay? Did I do something?" you reach to cup either of his cheeks, and he stares at you as if you're a star that's fallen from the sky. He blinks, slowly.

"I don't know, I just---" he searches for words. "--you haven't done anything wrong, darling."

You wait for him to finish patiently. Gods, he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve you.

"I only remembered something I'd rather not," he plasters a crooked grin on his face. "It's quite alright. We can continue now if I haven't ruined the mood."

You pull away from him, and he fears you'll leave.

Moments later, you return with a glass of water. Wordlessly, you hand it to him, and he only stares at it, confused beyond belief. Only once he notices the way you gesture to the glass does he drink it, and you finally climb back into bed, lying down beside him.

"Come here," you open your arm, motioning him to come closer.

"Darling, as much as I'm all for experimenting, that's a strange position to have sex in."

You smile, shaking your head. You don't explain any further, only continuing to hold out your arm.

Hesitant though curious, he slowly lies down beside you, his head just above your chest and slotted between the space below your chin. With gentle hands, you pull him closer and toss the blanket over both of your bodies.

It's warm. Strange, but warm.

"You don't have to wear a mask with me," you whisper.

His eyes grow wide, and his chest stills. He doesn't have many tears left after 239 years, but there's an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest that tells him if he were still 39 and alive, he might have. Astarion wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into where he can hear the steady beating of your heart.

Later, when your eyes begin to droop, he mumbles.

"Tell me I'm beautiful again."

"You're beautiful," you say softly. "With or without your pretty face."

You might be imagining it, but you feel him smile against your skin.

[inkedells]

logan eating pussy and enjoying it a little too much (he fucks the mattress pathetically)

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

wc: 1.3k

warnings: oral (f!receiving), NO USE OF Y/N, grinding, desperate!logan, but he's still dommy, comeplay, snowballing, scent kink sorta, logan has a weird obsession with come idk

Logan holds your gaze from the valley between your thighs, and quickly, the cliches feel understandable. Because calling his eyes hazel would be an injustice to cool fields of wheat illuminated by the massive, descending sun. To be compared to anything of Logan’s, you think, would be the height of such an overused image’s life.

But this isn’t Poetry Workshop Wednesdays at a hippie coffee shop sandwiched between a pilates studio and a Chipotle. This is what happens when Logan wakes up from a wet dream, so you keep your strange (albeit accurate) observation to yourself and close your eyes as you try to focus on the hot tongue currently spreading generous amounts of saliva along your cunt.

His voice travels to your ears like a ripple on a whipped rope: Smooth and quiet until it reaches the end of its journey with a deafening snap. Words ring in your head unintelligibly until suddenly they’re coherent.

“Let your thighs squeeze my head.”

You open your eyes, but are immediately forced to fight the heaviness of your lids when Logan starts to eat you again. It feels as if you haven’t slept in days. “What?” You say, despite knowing exactly what he said. Logan pauses sucking on your clit to clarify.

“You were squeezing my head in the dream,” Logan replies, voice hoarse. “So squeeze my head.”

You comply, but it’s weak because your bones feel about as firm and steady as a sheet of paper.

“That the best you can do?” He rasps against your cunt, hands digging into the outsides of your thighs and forcibly pushing them against his head. He returns to devouring you like an animal, wet and sloppy sucking sounds that go straight to your pussy.

The bed is creaking, and you realize it’s because he’s getting off on the mattress.

“Were you doing that in the dream, too?” You ask quietly, closing your eyes for a second.

“Doing what?” Logan says between open-mouthed kisses to your clit.

“Fucking my sheets.”

He huffs, and it’s a sound of amusement. He must have figured you were too enamored by your own bliss to notice.

“No. That didn’t happen in the dream.”

“Couldn’t help yourself, then?” You whisper.

He teases your entrance with his tongue. “It was the smell of your cum that did me in.”

“Hm?” You hum, accidentally grinding yourself on his face when you adjust your position.

He mutters a voiceless fuck, and sucks your clit again. He lifts your hips off the bed with his palms under your ass and his elbows digging into the bed, veins in his biceps rising to the surface. You love when he shows off his strength, and the insistent fluttering of your entrance tells him as much.

The periodic groans of the bed frame only grow closer together, until they might as well be in sync with your heartbeat.

He whines something short and subtle, stopping his assault on your pussy as he rests his forehead and cheek against your inner thigh and focuses on his own pleasure. His hips are writhing, legs flat against the mattress as they bend and climb and tangle in the sheets.

“Logan,” You sing-song.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t even look up at you. Quite the opposite: He screws his eyes shut and furrows his brows.

“You stopped eating me out.” Your own voice is breathy, arousal still clouding your mind as you mourn his mouth on your pussy.

“Mm.” He licks you shakily, briefly, as if to prove you wrong or shut you up, but it’s barely as confident or as intentional as before.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Needy, is the word. He’s needy. His muscles are rippling under his tan skin, sweat beading and glistening under the soft, warm light filtering through the curtains. Face twisted in pleasure, hair falling over his forehead, nostrils flaring.

Logan is overwhelmingly beautiful.

He continues to prop up your hips until suddenly he’s not, your lower half falling the short distance as you yelp in surprise. He mumbles a sorry, still refusing to look at you as he bucks into the bed.

You almost start to complain, but then he’s hooking two fingers into your wet cunt and curling them languidly. He’s panting, nose nudging your clit deliciously as his warm breath fans over you.

You reward him with a moan. A sharper thrust of his hips. A sloppy lick around his fingers still inside you.

“The bed can’t be that good,” You tease, although you’re in no position to because you’re just as fucked out as he is.

“It’s not the bed doing this to me. It’s your pussy.”

You shove down the whine that rises in your throat. “If that were true you’d be fucking my pussy, not the bed.”

“But then I wouldn’t be able to smell it, or—or taste it, or stare at it.”

You tilt your head back. “You’re disgusting.” The words mean absolutely nothing.

“I don’t care.” He fingers you faster. His breaths melt into quiet whines as your legs spasm around his hand.

“Are you gonna cum?”

He nods against you, small and quick.

“Do it on my pussy,” You breathe, trying to grip his shoulders but falling short and scratching him instead. The brief sting makes him moan. You’ll have to ask him about that later.

He wordlessly climbs up your body, until his mouth is mashing with yours and his cock is sliding against your cunt. He thrusts his tip against your clit as his tongue delves into your mouth, one hand holding your neck while the other rests on your hip.

“You’re not gonna put it in?” You ask, chest heaving as you tolerate—no, enjoy—the heavy weight of Logan.

“No,” He says simply, letting your folds envelop his cock as he grinds himself on your cunt. The friction on your clit is addicting, and you wonder if he’s resisting being inside of you specifically so you can have this.

You lift your head to catch his lips again, and seconds later, he comes with a cry, cum spurting on your mound and mixing with your own arousal. He doesn’t stop rubbing your clit with his cock until your fingers rake down his back and you convulse with your own orgasm.

He pulls back and sits on his knees so he can observe the mess he made. Thick fingers massage his spend into your skin, then into your hole, slow and methodical. And when he taps your inner thigh, you know what to do. You push his cum back out, relishing the dirty grin on his face when it leaks onto the rim of your asshole.

Logan bends down and licks you clean, but neglects to swallow as he sits upright again. He takes your hand and helps you up until your face is level with his. You know what’s coming. A kiss. Messy and hungry. He shares his cum with you eagerly, then pulls back an inch to watch the string of spend that connects you stretch, then snap. He practically throws himself against your mouth after that, lips moving against yours so obscenely that the sounds of the kiss are almost as loud as the sounds of him eating your pussy.

Eventually, you break the kiss with a giggle and wipe the mess on your chin.

“You’ve got a little something there,” You say, gesturing toward his glistening beard.

He quickly brushes his fingers over a small area on his jaw. “Did that take care of it?” He whispers with a twitch of a smile, playing into your joke.

“Looks like it to me.”

A/N: thank you for the request it entirely cured my writer's block!! pls reblog bc it helps and gimme more logan requests!!

[2024skin]

Im not psychologist I have no right to diagnose anybody but I strongly suspect the trans people who claim they are in danger from problems and dangers that are scientifically impossible are caught in a persecution complex

[serejae]

they dont know about us | c.hansol

pairing : vernon x reader

WHAT ! - being the only person able to read vernon is a strange concept to others, i guess your relationship is unique (in which, your the only person able to read vernons expressions

warnings : kisses, petnames, mentions of the other svt members, mention of dead people, slight skin ship, not proof read, established relationship au

-

WHEN HE HAS A ATTIUDE

seungkwan, vernon, and you were sitting in the middle of seungkwans living room playing uno. things were getting heated since vernon gave you 3 plus 4 uno cards in a row. so in return to help you out, seungkwan gave you a swap card to swap his stack with yours so you could win

“hey, youre suppose to give the stack to me if your gonna place it down” vernon said, to anyone else his tone would be monotone and blank, but to you, you could hear the slight disappointment in his tactic of teaming up on you.

“my house, my rules” seungkwan replied rolled his eyes at vernon protest as he put down a plus 4 card on vernon. vernons mouth slightly opened in shock, after a few seconds of processing he looked over at you.

to the normal eye this wouldve been a man looking over at someone, but to you this was vernons attitude come in. you could read him perfectly, being able to read anything his face shows from visibly to hidden. no matter how he presents his emotions it seems like you could always tell what hes feeling

“dont give me that look just because you wanted me to lose” you yelled slightly, he laughed and shook his head knowing he was caught

“what look?” seungkwan looked up

“you didnt see the reaction on his face after you put down the plus 4?”

“yeah the face of a dead person, he didnt make a face it was just…blank”

“yeah i didnt make a face” vernon teased making you groan

“he did make a face! he was giving me attitude” you defended yourself to a lost seungkwan and a happy vernon

“you both are so weird”

-

WHEN HES SAD

“i dont know where it could be” vernon ran his hand through his hair as he sat down on the couch frustrated, right now, he thinks he has his eyebrows furrowed, a pout and a slight redness to his cheek. but in reality hes just blanked out. like a mannequin, just sitting there with a blank stare

“its fine you could always buy another” dino said sitting on the floor eating off the coffee table in front of vernon.

vernon sighed as he slumped himself into the couch even more. “yn bought it for me, i cant replace it”

“i mean they could always buy you another one”

“but its not the same”

just then you walked in through the door saying hi to dino and vernon. as your eyes drifted to vernon you see him slumped on the couch with a very (in your eyes) big pout on his face. sitting right next to him you caressed his cheek “whats wrong? whats with the look on your face?”

“what look?” dino said as he chewed his food puzzled

“you dont see the big pout on vernons face?” you turned to dino

“no”

“its right there” you pointed at vernons lips where the pout evidently laid

“i think youre seeing things yn”

-

WHEN HES SCARED

vernon had his arm around your shoulder as the movie wrapped up. you could feel the gentle grip he had that tighted at times a jump scare came up.

when the movie finally ended, vernon got up and gave you a hand to help you up, as you held his hand you looked over and saw his scared face, automatically you busted out laughing making dokyeom and joshuw look over at you two

“whats so funny?” dokyeom asked smiling in amusement as he put a piece of popcorn in his mouth

“look at vernons face, hes so scared” you laughed

dokyeom moved his head to look at vernons face and furrowed his eyebrows while looking over at joshua, joshua was just as confused raising his eyebrow.

“yn, vernon does not look scared at all” joshua chuckled observing vernons expression closer

“what do you mean? you dont see his lips quivering?” now it was your turn to furrow your eyebrows

“i think thats your eyes moving really fast…i dont think its his lips” joshua said making dokyeom laugh

-

WHEN HES IN LOVE

all the members sat around the dinner table with their partners at the house party you and vernon were hosting. vernons finger caressed your thigh in a comforting way letting you know he was there. you laid your hand ontop of vernons fingers and whispered to him

“lets go start on the dishes as they talk”

he nods and lets you get up first before following you to the kitchen. the kitchen gave a view of the dining room to you both as well to everyone else. he washed dishes as you dried them, but something about vernon doing dishes in a basic t shirt with his hair down was doing something to you. you stared at him with your pupils dilated as he looked at you with his brown eyes. at this point vernon probably wss scrubbing the same spot 50 times but that was the least of his priorities

“vernon ah, yns looking at you with love and youre looking at her as if she crashed your car” hoshi joked making you and vernon look away

quick to defend him you spoke up

“what do you mean? he was looking at me with love?”

“that isnt love, thats him turning you into stone” scoups laughed

“i swear you guys have to be able to see the expression on his face”

looking around you see no one siding with you

“is vernon gaslighting you?” jeonghan questioned

looking back over at vernon, he was already staring at you just as confused, he shrugged his shoulders and you both continued washing the dishes.

-

WHEN HES VULNERABLE

“i dont get it, why cant they see the emotions on your face like i do?” you complained slightly annoyed as you laid on his chest

vernon hummed as his fingers ran through your hair. “i dunno

but i kinda like it”

“you do?”

“yeah” he replied simply

“it reminds me that youre special to me, that we have a special relationship. youre the only one who can read my emotions, the others cant and dont understand me like you do.

they dont know about us,

i like that its your special superpower

i dont want them to be able to read me like you can

just a me and you thing”

as you listened to his words you looked up at him and could see it in his face that he meant every word. how he cherished each special interaction you both had that no one else understood. because he liked being different, he liked how no one could get him, but he liked it even more how you were the only one who could

so maybe his friends cant read his emotions on his face and maybe they find him weird , but you can and dont

and thats all that matters to him