#drakes ass appreciation

[karahalloway]

Polo!

Fandom: TRR

Series: None (this is a one-shot and can be read independently of the rest of my fics)

Pairing: Drake Walker x Valeria Beauvaisis de Lavallée

Synopsis: Drake gets roped into playing a charity polo match when one of the other team members doesn't show for the game... What can possibly go wrong?

Word Count: 6,900 (this definitely ran away with me… 😅 I was aiming for 4,000 but here we are!)

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, rough horseplay, BDSM, possible dub con... Drake never has any luck in my fics, does he...? 😅)

Theme song:

A/N1: So, as mentioned before, the idea of this one-shot came out of a conversation with @angelasscribbles, @harleybeaumont and @nestledonthaveone whereby we were discussing Drake's extra-curricular activities that involve tight pants (kind of spinning off of Angela's Homerun fic) and I happened to mention jodpurs... Queue a massive brainwave about Drake getting roped into playing polo (against his will, obviously, because even though I can see him having played this sport, I cannot see him willingly subjecting himself to wearing tight horseriding tights - even if it's part of the uniform 😅) and that is how this fic was born. Hope you have as much fun reading it, as I did writing it (also, I really hope you check out the music video at the end because it did indirectly inspire several aspects of this fic)!

A/N2: In terms of timeline, this fic takes place approx. 1 year after Drake comes back to Cordonia from Texas (i.e. 1 year after the assassination attempt on the royal family that is mentioned in canon), which is approx. 4-5 years before the start of (Un)Common Attraction, so Leo is still the Crown Prince during this period (also, Anton is just a random noble — no covert personality, no secret engagement to Olivia as I’m not following that storyline in my rewrites). This fic will also shed some light on something that Drake mentions in passing in Crazy, because I thought this set-up was the perfect opportunity to explore why he has such an aversion towards aristo women... and riding crops 😏

A/N3: Since polo is probably not a sport that most people are familiar with (I know I wasn't when I decided to write a fic about it!), and rather than take up masses of space in this post, I have prepared a bit of a Polo 101 Guide which will provide you with the basics of the game, as well as some videos about the world of high-society polo if you are interested in exploring further.

A/N4: I admit that the theme song I chose for this fic is a bit left-field, but in the strange land of my HC, if this fic were a movie/TV show, Boom is the song that would be playing during the montage of the polo match. Also I think it’s quite an appropriate underdog song for Drake in this fic 🤟

A/N5: This is my submission for the Choices January Challenge Day 10 (Easy | Hard | Exercise) with a bit of Day 28 (Tight | Loose | Clothes) thrown in.

Polo!

"No. Abso-fuckin'-lutely not."

"But we're short one player!"

I scoff. "It's not my fault Leo's a no-show! Find someone else!"

"There isn't anyone else!" cries Max, grabbing the front of my shirt in desperation. "You're literally our last hope, Drake!"

I slap the Beaumont's hands off me with a derisive snort. "We're at a VIP equestrian event. You seriously tellin' me that none of the aristos out there can ride a horse?"

"None as well as you can..." admits Chris.

I roll my eyes. He had a point.

"...and, as you well know, there is a bit more to it than simple horsemanship."

"Yeah. Like whacking an overpriced softball with a crocket mallet into soccer goal," I mutter. "None of which is hard."

Max pulls a pained face. "I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear you say that..."

"And that's precisely why you are the obvious choice to sub for Leo," insists Chris, clapping me on the shoulder. "Not only can you put each and every noble out there to shame with your riding skills, but you've also got a killer swing. The other team's not going to know what hit them!"

"A well-aimed polo ball to the back of the head," I mutter under my breath.

Max sucks in a sharp breath. "Does that mean you'll do it?"

Lifting my eyes begrudgingly, I take in the sight in front of me.

Chris and Max are looking at me like a pair of lost kittens — wide-eyed and pleading, begging me to be the answer to their first-world problems.

I heave a resigned breath. "Okay, fine..."

"Yey!" squeals Max, literally throwing himself at me as he bounces up and down like a hyperactive pinball. "Drake's playing with us!"

"But," I say firmly, disentangling myself from the unwarranted — and definitely unwanted — PDA, "this is strictly a one time deal. And this cancels out your last IOU, buddy."

"Understood, mate," grins Chris happily. "Welcome to the team!"

"Yeah, yeah..." I grumble with a roll of my eyes. "Whatever..."

The things I do for Chris...

"There you are!" cries Bertrand, bursting into the bathroom of the clubhouse where Chris and Max have cornered me. "Please tell me you've managed to cajole a hapless substitute into filling in for Leo!"

"Sure have, brother!" enthuses Max with a beaming smile.

"Oh, thank the Almighty Lord!"

"Drake has kindly offered to help us out," confirms Chris, dropping an appreciative arm around my shoulders.

Bertrand's face drains of colour. "Oh, good God..."

I suppress a sigh. This... This is the reason I didn’t want to do this.

The aristo bubble — not to mention the high-society polo one — is small and tightly knit. So, as soon as I ride out onto that field, it’ll take precisely four seconds for everyone to figure out that I am an interloper with no credentials for being here.

And I’m not going to be made to forget it...

But, unfortunately for everyone involved, it’s too late to back out now. The match is starting in less than ten minutes and as much as Bertrand might balk at the idea of a commoner — who’s a Western-riding, half-American to boot — taking the spot of the Crown Prince of Cordonia on the royal team at a high-profile charity event, the fact is that unless they want to start one man short (and suffer the associated penalties and ridicule) there is no other option.

Because Chris is right. Despite the fact that I’ve never set foot in any of the fancy equestrian schools that the aristos like to pay an arm and a leg for the 'privilege' of attending, I can probably out ride the whole ritzy lot of them. And am therefore the team's best chance at not only making the match, but maybe even winning it.

As I have something that the rest of those blue-bloods don’t. And that’s the Walker name. Which — in north-east Texas, at least — is synonymous with Quarter Horses and rodeo.

And even though the ranch has fallen on hard times and is struggling to stay afloat, and I ended up choosing a different calling, horses are still in my blood. Because even before Savs and I could walk, Dad — and Paps, while he'd still been alive, God rest his soul — had been sticking us in the saddle to make sure that we knew not just how to ride, but to ride like a Walker... intuitively, effortlessly, at all times in tune with the horse.

And in polo — much like in rodeo — that’s ultimately the most important thing.

"But... but he's not a club member!" splutters Bert.

"It's just some paperwork," Chris reminds him. "We can square that away during half-time."

"Absolutely not!" comes the objectionable response. "That is most inappropriate and highly irregular! We simply cannot—"

"I can ask the umpire for extra time!" chimes in Max. "To make sure everything is above board. Also, Drake still needs to get kitted out and—"

"But he's never��played before!" stresses Bert. "We cannot field a novice player against a professional team! We'll look like utter gits!"

"Drake knows the rules," interjects Chris calmly. "He's attended several training sessions with me and—"

"That is no substitute for in-match experience!" expounds Bert. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. But Mr Walker simply is not qualified to take on the Number 3 position, given that—"

"Five minute warning, gents," advises a steward, popping his head into the bathroom. "If you want to make the match, you need to—"

"Tell the umpire we're on our way," instructs Chris. Fixing his emerald gaze back on the elder Beaumont, he adds, "Bertrand, give Drake your shirt."

Bert's jaw drops. "M-my shirt?"

"As you so eloquently pointed out, Drake is probably not the best placed to take over the Number 3 position. But he can play as a Number 2."

"But... that is my position," objects Bert.

"Which is precisely why he requires your shirt," explains Chris with infinite patience.

Bert's shoulders sag as the penny finally drops. "Ah. Yes. I see." He reluctantly pulls his jersey off to hand it to me.

Turning his gaze on Max, Chris adds, "Show Drake where he can find Leo's kit and then tell the grooms to meet us by the field with the horses in five minutes."

"Yes, sir!" affirms Max, snapping to attention.

Bert wheezes in outrage. "Five minutes! But we—"

"We are going to get Drake registered," Chris declares, grabbing the Beaumont by the front of his undershirt to haul him from the bathroom, "Captain."

Four minutes later, I'm sat astride Leo's dark bay Thoroughbred, fidgeting in the saddle like a convict in the confessional.

"How the hell do y'all wear these things?" I grumble, trying — and failing — to find a position that doesn’t compromise the constitution of my cojones.

"You get used to it," Max assures me unconcernedly, stretching in his seat as his palomino mare flicks her ears questioningly back and forth.

"Yeah..." I mutter, shifting my weight uncomfortably while juggling two sets of reins in one hand, and a four-foot mallet in the other. "At the expense of your balls..."

I passed on the optional whip and spurs back at the changing rooms. They’re unnecessary props, and would've just gotten in the way of my riding, given that I’m already going to have my work cut out for me controlling an unfamiliar, high-strung horse, not to mention the equestrian-equivalent of the elusive Snitch.

"Beaumont?" asks the umpire, riding up to us. "Where is the rest of your team? Most importantly, your captain? Are you aware that—?"

"Apologies for running late!" pants Chris, pulling his horse to a stop next to us, Bert on his heel. "Had to make a last-minute adjustment to the team."

"And did this adjustment result in a complete disregard for the uniform...?" queries the umpire with a raised brow.

"No, sir," replies Bert, quickly pulling on Leo's Number 3 jersey that Max had tossed over to him.

"Hmph..." harrumphs the umpire. "You are lucky you are not receiving a yellow card for tardiness. This is an important match, after all..."

"Yes, understood," nods Bert. "Our sincerest apologies once again, sir."

"This your substitute player, then?" he asks, turning to inspect me critically.

"Unfortunately..." mutters Bert under his breath.

I roll my eyes.

"Is he qualified?"

"Yes, sir," the Beaumont affirms. "All fees duly paid prior to the start of the match."

"And his handicap?"

"Not rated," grits Bert with clenched teeth.

The umpire's eyes widen. "A rookie? Is that who you're substituting for the Number 2 position?"

"Believe me, if it had been up to m—" Bert hisses as Chris' mallet smacks into his ankle. "Ehm... What I meant to say, is that we had no other option. Mr Walker was the only available candidate who was able and willing to sub for the sadly indisposed Crown Prince on such short notice."

"I see..." muses the ref. "Well, you are lucky that this is a charity open match. Otherwise, your team would not qualify."

"Yes, sir," grumbles Bert. "I am exceedingly aware..."

The ref purses his lips. "Alright, then. Let's get to it. We don't want to keep everyone waiting any longer. Good luck, gentlemen."

"Thank you, sir," acknowledges Bert with a nod as the ref turns his horse away, before declaring, "We're doomed..."

"Oh, cheer up, brother!" grins Max with unshakable enthusiasm as he gathers his reins. "It's just a charity match — not the Cartier Queen's Cup. We're here to have fun!"

"That is exactly the attitude that cost us the last tournament!" snaps Bert, kicking his mount into a canter. "These horses don't pay for themselves, you know!"

Max shrugs unconcernedly as he rides after his brother. "There's always next year."

"Ready for your big debut?" asks Chris with a smirk as we follow the Beaumonts onto the field.

I throw him a sidelong glance. "You know this ain't my first rodeo."

Like Chris had pointed out earlier, I’m no stranger to polo. Both the Beaumonts and the Rys are avid players, so I've attended my fair share of matches and training sessions over the years, even hopping into the saddle on a few occasions, if circumstances — or friendly competition — called for it.

But I've never played a formal game. I’m not part of a polo club and don’t have a handicap. Much less ever subjected myself to a pair of nut-strangling jodhpurs...

Until today, that is.

Because I’m not — and never have been — able to say 'no' to Chris.

Even against my better judgement... and the sanctity of my manhood.

"Official debut, then," he concedes with a wink as we arrive in the middle of the field.

"Call it what you will," I mutter as I turn my horse to line myself up next to Chris, feeling the predatory glares of the opposing team burning into me. "Cause this is gonna be a shitshow."

Swinging my mount around, I bring us to a stop, facing the crowd, Bert and Max having already taken their positions for the national anthem.

The Thoroughbred tosses his head, chewing on the bit, his racehorse instincts battling with his polo pony training. I tighten my grip on the reins to keep the antsy gelding still as the familiar symphony of the Cordonian anthem blares out of the speakers... and crowd's eyes bore into me.

I feel my jaw tighten as I force myself to keep my gaze fixed straight ahead, the chords of the chorus swelling around us.

If these bastards think they can intimidate me, they have another thing coming...

The music crests, before cutting out as the recording comes to an end.

"Showtime," winks Chris as he canters his horse past me.

I shake my head as I follow suit, looping my mount around in a wide circle to help him — and me — blow off some steam before the first throw in.

Here we go...

"My, my... Look what the cat dragged onto the field," sneers Neville from across the line as the teams face off over the centre line. "The Palace trying to rig the match in our favour?"

"Do you even know which end of the stick to hold, Walker?" queries Anton with a smirk.

"Sod the stick," scoffs Tariq from next to him. "He's not going to last thirty seconds into the first chukkah before he ends up face-first in the dirt... where he belongs."

"Famous last words, Besnard," I grin, hefting my mallet as the ref raises the ball. "Careful they don't come back and bite you on the ass."

Tariq's eyes narrow...

...but before he has a chance to formulate whatever pathetic comeback he’s going to fling at me, the umpire's tossed the ball between us and all hell breaks loose.

Everyone surges forward, looking for the speck of white. The ball pings off the hoof of Bert's horse, careening towards the other team. Neville's mallet comes down to try and claim custody, but I barrel my horse into his, bumping him off as I lean over and smack the ball down the field to Chris.

Quick as a scalded cat, Chris spurs his pony forward, using his own mallet to drive the ball in front of him towards the goal, the other team on his heels like a pack of rabid wolves. But before they can intercept him, Chris has whacked the ball through the posts, scoring our first point of the match.

Cheers erupt from the stands as Chris turns his horse to canter triumphantly back up the field, a massive grin on his face.

"Great shot, buddy," I say as we line up for the second throw-in.

"Got you to thank for the pass, mate," he replies breathlessly, thanks to the adrenaline kicking in in earnest. "Few more of those and we'll be taking home the trophy!"

"Don't count your blessings yet, Chris," I warn. "We managed to catch them off guard, but they're on the warpath now. They're not gonna make it easy for us."

"Then we'd better return the favour, hadn't we?"

The ball whizzes through the air again. Bert makes a dive for it, but he's not quite quick enough. Tariq leans over his horse's neck to scoot it out of the Beaumont's reach. Max rides in to try and defend, but Tariq's already passed the ball up-field.

Spurring my horse into a gallop, I rush towards the goal posts to shore up our defence — seeing as Max, who’s playing the Number 4 position — won’t make it in time.

Sensing my approach, Tariq passes the ball just before I can hook my mallet around his stick to stop the shot. I whirl the bay around, but even with Bert going hell for leather in an attempt to ride off the other player, and Chris trying to intercept, the ball passes through our goal posts.

"Dammit," I hiss under my breath.

"You didn't seriously think we'd go easy on you, Walker?" smirks Tariq as he turns his horse to ride back to the starting line. "You may have a Prince on your team, but on this field, we are the kings of the sport."

"Then you'd better be prepared to fight for your crown," I growl as I canter back to the middle of the field.

The rest of the first half passes by in a blur of rough riding and several fouls — mostly in our favour. But that isn't quite enough for us to regain our initial lead, and by the time the whistle blows, we're still sitting neck-and-neck with the other team.

"I'm gonna murder that bastard..." I seethe as I jump off my wheezing horse — my third of as many chukkahs. Thoroughbreds may have grit and stamina, but seven minutes of hardcore polo’s guaranteed to wind even the sturdiest mount, so frequent subbing of horses is a must.

"Which one?" asks Chris, unclipping his helmet to wipe the sweat off his face.

"All of them," I grit, launching a well-aimed strike at the fence-post in front of me... and snapping the mallet I’m holding in half.

"Mr Walker!" cries Bert, grabbing my shoulder in horror. "That is most unbecoming behaviour! We are at a high-society charity match! Representing the royal team! You will not—"

"To be fair to him, I'd want to break something too after that shocking umpiring."

My head whips around. "No fuckin' way..."

"Leo!" cries Chris, rushing up to his brother with an ecstatic smile to wrap him in a bear-hug. "You made it!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa...!" protests the elder Rys with a pained grimace. "Easy on the enthusiasm! Some of us are still rat-arsed from last night..."

"No surprise there..." I mutter under my breath.

Wouldn't be the first time Leo rolled up to a royal event late and nursing a hangover.

"...and in need of a shower," observes Chris, wrinkling his nose. "Did you sleep in the stables, brother?"

"Pfft! No!" snorts Leo derisively. "Who do you take me for? A complete and utter pleb? I slept in a horse trailer, thank you very much!"

"And that's better...?" queries Chris sceptically.

"It is when it's a top-of-the-line rig owned by a pair of sisters who are both very accomplished riders," comes the eyebrow-waggling response.

"I should expect so!" harrumphs Bert. "If they managed to qualify for this weekend's event then at the very least they would need to be—"

"I'm pretty sure he means, sex," stage whispers Max into his brother's ear.

"Oh." Bert's eyes widen. "Oh!"

"Un-fuckin'-real..." I groan, raking a hand down my face.

"I admit that it may seem hard to believe, Walker," replies Leo, laying a somber hand on my shoulder, "but it is possible to bang two birds with one pecker."

Chris frowns. "It is...?"

"I know what a fuckin' threesome is, Rys!" I snap, knocking his hand away. "What I don't get is why you thought it'd be a good idea to lose yourself in booze and pussy when you should've been in the saddle for the royal match that you were supposed to captain!"

"Mr Walker!" gasps Bert. "That is no way t—"

"Because then we would've missed out on the sight of you in those white jodhpurs, Walker!" grins Leo without skipping a beat. "And what a shame that would have been!"

"Screw you, Rys!" I grit. "I'm not wearing these fuckin' things by choice!"

"All the more reason to appreciate it, then!" he winks, reaching 'round to try and lay on one my ass.

I jerk instinctively out of the way. "Fuck off, you perv!"

"I have to agree," muses Max prosaically. "The tightness of the fit really helps emphasise the shapeliness of your—"

"For the love of Christ!" I explode. "Will y'all just lay off my ass!"

"I was going to say thighs..." objects Max.

"One minute warning, gents," interrupts the ref.

"Thank fuck!" I heave relievedly under my breath.

Never thought I'll actually be jumping at the opportunity to get back on that field. Especially after ending up in the hedge thanks to Tariq barrelling his pony into me, and Neville gut-shotting me with the head of his mallet... both on the pretence of not having seen me coming.

Fuckin' assholes...

Luckily, the umpires had seen through their thinly-veiled BS and had awarded penalties in our team's favour. Not that that lessened how much pain I’m in. But I’m not gonna give those blue-blooded dick-weeds the satisfaction of thinking they can brute force me out of the match...

I'll just have to deal with the inevitable physical fallout later tonight... in the company of a bottle of whiskey and a half-a-dozen ice packs.

Plus, the chance of potential further injury is a small price to pay to get away from the fucked-up turn this conversation has taken...

But as I turn on my heel to head back to my horse, I feel the undeniable force of a flat-handed whiplash reverberate over my rear.

"Hate to see you go, Walker!" hoots Leo. "But love to watch you leave!"

A growl of aggravation hurtles out of me...

...but before I can round on the jerk-face of a Rys, I feel Chris' arm drop around my shoulders.

"He means it all in good fun," he reminds me, steering me away. "No need to get worked up about it."

"Easy for you to say," I grunt abrasively. "Your ass ain't the one in the line of fire."

"True," he concedes. "But then I don't cut quite the same figure as you do in jodhpurs."

A dry scoff escapes me. "Your loss, buddy. I keep telling' you to come to the gym. You could've been on the receiving end of all this attention today."

"And steal your limelight?" laughs Chris, swinging into the saddle. "That wouldn't have been very sporting of me now, would it?”

I roll my eyes as I mount my own horse. "Steal it all you want. You know I prefer it on the sidelines."

"I think the ladies might disagree..." He flicks his head meaningfully towards the stands behind me as he clips his helmet back into place.

Glancing over my shoulder as I grab a replacement mallet, I spot the no less than thirty females with binoculars trained on our position, their accompanying hand-crafted silk fans going at full-tilt.

I turn back to Chris. "They're just eyeing you up, buddy. No doubt as a potential marriage prospect."

"And you," he winks, hefting his mallet onto his shoulder as he rides back out onto the field. "You have managed to capture their attention quite decisively as well."

I shake my head with a scoff as I follow after Chris. "Yeah. Right."

Hell'd have to freeze over first...

In all the years that I've lived at the Palace, I can’t remember a single time when a girl — any girl, much less a social-climbing aristo — has ever given me a time of day when I've been stood next to Chris. And even if I did manage to strike up some semblance of a conversation, the moment they found out that I’m a nobody — with no rank, title, or prospect of a massive inheritance, I was as good as dead to them.

Because who'd want to waste time on a commoner when there was a bone fide prince on offer? Not anyone sane.

Not that I really care.

I have about as much in common with aristo women as shit does with Chanel — fuck all. So, I kept my distance, and they kept theirs, save for the occasional forced interaction mandated by basic decency at public events.

And that's why I know — for a fact — that it isn’t me those high-society females are checking out. Not when both the Rys and the Beaumont brothers are eligible and available.

So, I waste no more time thinking about it, and focus, instead, on the task at hand. Which is paying the other team back for the hell they gave us earlier.

But Neville and Co. clearly have the same idea, because the second half of the match unfolds just as brutally as the first. Neither side is willing to give any quarter as we battle each other like vandals for possession and goals.

I bear the brunt of the attacks, but I’m rewarded with some perverse retribution towards the end of the fifth chukkah when in their haste to intercept me, Tariq and Anton collide into each other, and Tariq gets thrown from the saddle.

Yet against all the odds, our perseverance pays off. In the last thirty seconds, we manage to steal the ball away from the posh pricks in a clever bit of defence curtesy of the Beaumonts, turning the play around to score in their goal instead, and ending the match 10-9 in our favour.

"Whoo!" exults Max, jabbing his mallet into the air as we ride jubilantly off the field. "What a game!"

"Couldn't have done it without Drake," adds Chris, waving to the cheering crowd as we canter past the stands.

"Yeah. Definitely wouldn't've gotten so many penalties," I mutter, wincing from the latest set of bruises... while trying to shrug off the attention I suddenly find myself the focus of again.

"Yes," agrees Bert. "I have to admit I was sceptical, but young Mr Walker here has certainly proven himself to be a capable substitute."

"Bloody capable, I'd say!" interjects Max. "Did you see that goal he scored with that tidy cut shot? Or when he managed to steal the ball from Neville and ride it all the way back up the field with three players chasing him? Or—"

"Yes, yes," accedes Bert with a sigh. "We may make a semi-decent polo player out of Mr Walker yet."

"Semi-decent?" I snort caustically.

"High praise from Bertrand if ever I heard it," winks Chris at me.

"Bravo!" claps Leo as we reach the staging area at end of the field. "The royal team rides to victory!"

"No thanks to you," I point out, throwing my leg over my horse's neck to slide out of the saddle. After the beating I've taken today, I don’t have it in me to try and dismount the traditional way. And even my modified solution causes me to grunt in pain as I hit the ground.

"A great leader knows when to delegate," he responds unabashedly, reaching for my rear again.

I slap his hand away. "Last warning, Rys. You try that shit again and you'll be delegating everything for the next six to eight weeks..."

"You think I don't do that already, Walker?" he grins, completely unfazed by the seriousness of my threat.

"Putain de merde..." I huff under my breath as Leo ambles off to personally congratulate the rest of our team.

It isn’t exactly a secret that the heir to the throne is less than reliable when it comes to fulfilling his royal duties. But he can at least try to be less blasé about it. Especially considering the fact that everyone around him’s left constantly scrambling to cover for his increasingly frequent absences.

Sensing movement behind me, I turn to step in front of the groom that’s appeared next to my horse.

"Je m'en occupe," I declare, taking the reins back decisively.

The lanky teen opens his mouth to protest, but I've already turned away to lead the chestnut mare towards the stable block.

I know it’s common practice for polo players to dump the care of their mounts on the fleet of grooms that accompany each team — partly so they don’t get their expensive white jodhpurs soiled, and partly because they no doubt feel that grunt work’s beneath them. But I'm already covered in everything from sweat to blood to dust, so getting a few extra horse hairs on me isn’t gonna make a lick of difference to how I look... or smell.

Plus, after all the crap that I've had to put up with today, the last thing I want to do was pose for photos, gag on fancy pisswater, and pretend to socialise with flunkies, flakes and fat cats.

That’a Chris' world. Not mine.

Especially since I can have a more intelligent conversation with my horse than with half the tossers out there... and I definitely don’t want to interact any further with the assholes who tried to land me in the ER today. As otherwise things are bound to get ugly off the field as well.

Best that I just remove myself from the spotlight, and let the Beaumonts and the Rys take the credit and the congratulations.

Entering the coolness of the stables, I make my way down the row of stalls, scanning the engraved name plates as I go.

Locating the right stall — based on the name stamped on the mare's bridle — I lead the horse in after me.

Unclipping the bridle, I sling it over my shoulder and let the chestnut drink while I pull the saddle off. Dropping the tack over the stall door, I slip quickly into the familiar motions of my past life as I set about removing the bandages from her legs and unbraiding her tail, the tension in my shoulders starting to unravel as I worked.

As life-or-death as the match may have been, it had been a nice change of pace to be back in the saddle again, working with horses...

Humming Garth Brooks’ Rodeo softly under my breath, I stuff the bandages into my back pocket and pick up the saddle and bridle again to return it to the tack room.

...which makes me think of the young gelding that I left back in Texas.

I heave a breath. Need to figure out what to do with him...

In the midst of my abrupt departure from the ranch last year, and the fraught months that followed trying to steer Chris through the psychological minefield of his PTSD, the last thing I've been thinking about is Lone Star, or my future plans. But now that things aren’t so touch and go – Chris' performance at today's match a testament to how far he's come thanks to his counselling sessions – I have some overdue soul searching of my own to do.

Stowing the mare's tack away, I'm reaching for a grooming kit when I feel the tell-tale pressure of fingertips digging into my backside.

I whip around with a growl. "Touch my ass one more time, Rys, and I swear to God, I'll—"

"Hmm... Testy on and off the field..."

Whatever I’m going to say gets forgotten as I find myself staring into the grey-green eyes of a truly stunning blonde.

"But then I always preferred my males to be hot blooded," she purrs, her blood-red lips curving into a seductive smile as she steps closer.

"Umm... I... Ah..."

She's somehow managed to put a stranglehold on my vocal cords as well...

...probably because she’s wearing nothing except stilettos and a black lace bustier.

"Not very articulate, though..." she muses, flicking her gaze over me... like a cat trying to decide whether she should eat her prey, or toy with it first.

I swallow hard. "I—"

"Not that it matters, I suppose," she declares, slapping the business-end of a riding crop over my mouth, cutting me off. "Because I'm not looking for platitudes..."

A strangled noise escapes me as she grabs me through the front of my pants. Holy fuck!

"...I'm looking for a savage ride."

Before I can choke out some kind of puerile response, she's shoved me backwards...

...and despite about a million warning bells going off in my head, I feel my dick twitch in response.

It could've been her uncompromising voracity, or the thrill of the unexpected. But one thing’s for sure — no girl’s jumped me out of the blue like that before and her take-control attitude’s hot as hell.

Maybe I've been wrong about aristo girls...

Because there is no mistaking that that's what she is — the polished accent, the perfectly styled hair, the pearls at her neck. But apparently that’s all just a carefully constructed façade to hide the low-down-and-dirty nympho that lurks underneath.

Stumbling, I land unceremoniously on the top of the wooden storage chest behind me. "Whoa... Easy there, missy—"

A loud crack rends the air.

"My name is Valeria Beauvaisis de Lavallée, Viscountess of Roussillon, you boor," she pronounces imperiously, sticking her heeled foot into my chest to push me back against the wall.

Lifting my hand to my stinging cheek, I feel a wetness beneath my fingertips. She managed to draw blood.

"And you will call me mistress." Wedging the leather keeper beneath my chin, she forces my gaze up to meet hers, demanding compliance. "Understood?"

The sharpness of the pain colliding with a sudden flash of animosity spikes my arousal into completely uncharted territory.

Domination? Rough play? Bit of bondage? Sure. I’m down for all that. But normally I’m the one running that particular show. So, finding myself on the receiving end of my own kinks is disorienting, to say the least...

...but not enough for me to want to tap out.

So, I give her the barest of nods.

"Good boy," she purrs approvingly, taking her foot off me to trail the end of the crop down my neck like a caress. "Now disrobe yourself."

My eyes narrow. It’s gonna be like that, huh?

Grabbing the bottom of my jersey, I start to pull it up slowly, holding her gaze the entire time.

Because while she may have managed to temporarily leash me, that doesn’t mean that I was suddenly her poodle, doing tricks on command.

So, while I’m willing to play along, it’s gonna be on my terms.

And I’m determined to make her sweat.

The bottom of the shirt clears my ribs, and I don't miss the sharp intake of breath as she rakes me with her gaze.

Plus, it’a satisfying to test her prepotence. No matter how marginally. Because she isn’t the only one here who can power-play.

I fling the shirt off.

"Now your bottoms," she commands hoarsely, alabaster cheeks flushed pink with arousal — and I haven’t even touched her yet.

I comply, reaching for the clasps at the front.

Her tongue darts out to moisten her bottom lip in anticipation.

I pop the top fastening.

Her pulse visibly quickens.

Finding the zipper, I start to inch it down lazily, my brazen gaze not leaving hers as I push myself back up to my feet.

Her breath catches in her throat as I shove the jodhpurs down. "Nom de Dieu..."

A lupine smile curves at my lips as I take a step closer. "You like what y—?"

I grunt as another blow lands on me.

"I did not tell to speak, rake," she bristles indignantly. "You will—"

The sudden jolt of pain unleashes something feral inside of me.

"Fuck this," I growl.

Grabbing her roughly around the waist, I snap her to me.

Her eyes widen in shock.

But before she can protest further — or whip me again — I've crushed my mouth to hers.

She may like playing the ruthless domina, but there is only one way this is gonna end — with her bent over, getting fucked.

Because I’m nobody's bitch, and refuse to be treated like one.

Her palm connects with my face. "How dare you!"

I jerk back in confusion. "Wha—?"

"I didn't give you permission to touch me, you presumptuous oaf!" she snaps, laying into me with her crop again. "Much less kiss me in such a disgusting fashion! I have a husband for that!"

My eyes widen. "Wait! You're marr—?"

"To a degenerate old todger who can't even do his business in the john, let alone with his wife," she pronounces, shoving me backwards. "So, I want your cock. And you're going to give it to me."

I crash tailbone-first onto the storage chest again. But I don't even have a chance to try and catch my breath because Valeria's already clambering onto my lap.

Grabbing my jaw roughly between her nails, she hisses, "Now shag me like the wild beast that you are!"

I slap her hand away. "Like he—"

"No excuses!" she screams, smashing the riding crop down against my thigh.

I jerk at the harsh impact...

...and she takes advantage of my momentary distraction to impale herself onto me.

"Jesus fuck!" I cuss as the hard downward momentum nearly snaps my dick in half.

"Mmm! That's it!" she exults maniacally, grabbing onto my shoulders with her manicured nails. "Service me with your functional tool!"

"Find a fuckin' mechanic, then," I hiss, trying to wrest her off me... because while I’m many things, homewrecker is not one of them. And I’m not gonna allow myself to be complicit in adultery. Under any circumstances.

A choked wheeze flies out of me as she grabs my balls in a vice-like hold without warning.

“Service me, you insolent cur," she hisses into my face, "or I'll geld you like one of my unruly colts."

Looking into her flashing eyes, it's clear that she ain’t bluffing neither.

Yup... I'd been definitely wrong about aristo women. They don’t just have a superiority complex. They’re batshit fuckin' insane.

And I should've trusted my gut when ittried to warn me that this beguiling siren was exactly that — a cold-blooded predator out on the prowl.

But — like the literal dickhead that I am — I'd let the promise of a hot fuck hijack my better judgement. Which is exactly what she'd been counting on when she set her sights on me.

I yank her against me with gritted teeth.

Because now that she's sunk her claws into me — quite literally — she isn’t gonna let me go until she got what she came for.

So, the faster we get this done, the better.

And I may as well try to get something out of this runaway train wreck besides the cuts and bruises of the repeated flagellations... and the black mark on my conscience...

...even if it’s just her talons off my junk.

"Yes! Yes!" she cries. "Ride me like a rabid animal!"

But despite that fact that I’m wedged balls-deep up a tight and very willing cunt, the moral weight of the sin I’m committing is apparently stronger than whatever physical gratification I’m managing to eek out of the situation...

Which — all things considered — is the square root of fuck all, as her death-grip on my stones, plus the beating I already received out on the field are conspiring to make each upwards thrust feel like a literal act of torture.

So, I start to deflate.

"I said harder!" she cries, momentarily releasing the hold she’s got on me to slap me remorselessly with that accursed crop.

"Nope," I say, taking advantage of the unintended opening to buck her off me into the cold stone floor. "We're done."

"You vile cretin!" she shrieks, spitting her blonde hair from her face as she pushes herself up from the undignified, ass-in-the-air position she landed in. "How dare you treat me in such an abominable fashion!"

I snort sardonically as I quickly stand to yank up jodhpurs that had pooled ‘round the tops of my boots. "What? Never been thrown off your high horse before?"

"Why you contemptuous little—!" she seethes. "I should have you whipped!"

"Pretty sure you've done that already," I grunt, fastening my pants with record speed. "And if this is any indication of how you treat your horses, then I hope they dump you in the fuckin' dirt as well."

"Oh, please," she laughs. "My horses are much too well-trained for such tasteless displays of disobedience. They know who their master is."  She flicks her eyes over me disdainfully. "Something which cannot be said for you, you pretentious churl."

I feel my hands fist by my side. "You are not—"

"And while you may cavort with royalty, do not make the mistake of thinking that you are — or will ever be — anything more than a flea-ridden lapdog, doing tricks for scraps. So, if you know what's good for you, commoner," she decrees, spreading her legs imperiously, "you better finish what you started."

"You're right," I concede, taking a step towards her. "I stepped out of line..."

Her eyes glint in victory. "Easy to do if you weren't born into this world..."

"...by giving you the mistaken impression that I give a fuck about what you think of me." Picking up the dropped riding crop, I toss it at her. "So, you can finish yourself off, mistress."

She splutters in disbelief as the crop hits her on the chest. "But... You... How dare—?"

"Hope that riding crop's hard enough for you," I throw over my shoulder as I turn my back on her to scoop my jersey off the floor.

"You insolent, mouthy dog!" she screams. "You will not—!"

But I've already marched out of the tack room, leaving her shrieks of rage to echo emptily behind me.

I heave a relieved breath as I pull the sweaty shirt over my head...

Sweet fuckin' Jesus...! Talk about assault with a (less than) friendly weapon! That girl gave a whole new meaning t—

...and nearly crash into Chris as I round the corner.

"There you are!" he cries happily. "We were wondering where you had disappeared off to!"

"Just...umm... sorting the horses," I mutter, quickly yanking the rest of the shirt down.

"Can't stay away from the pretty fillies, huh, mate?" he grins, clapping me on the shoulder.

I wince under the impact. "You can say that..."

"Well, there should be plenty of those where we're going — the boys want to head out to celebrate our win!"

"Sure," I reply congenially. "As long as there's whiskey and lots of ice..."

Christ knows I need a drink... or ten, after today.

"I'm sure we can manage that."

"And I can burn these fuckin' jodhpurs."

As promised, this is the music video (and song) that helped inspire this fic (obviously doesn't help that one of the polo players looks like Drake 😇). Also, the video is 100% accurate in the fact that a major reason why women watch polo is so they can oogle the polo players under the pretense of being absorbed in the game 🤣

Permatags

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Picture credits:

Fall- Drake - Polo - Valeria

[rubydubydoo122]

I’m just gonna say this, the main reason people don’t like Damian Wayne as a character is the same reason people didn’t like Jason Todd back in the 80s

People don’t like either of them because their favorite Robin (Tim Drake and Dick Grayson) got replaced by them.

Damian and Jason are both really interesting and complex character, objectively more complex than both Tim and Dick, but some people (cough, obnoxious Tim fans, cough, and Dick fans who over sexualize him, cough) don’t see that and just want their little blorbos to never grow into their own character apart from Batman.

[tiger-grace]

Tim Drake is such a middle child I’m sorry but when I think of the robins I’m like “oh! Dick Grayson! Best acrobatic, kind hearted but sassy. The og team leader or most skilled of just about most hero teams he’s on! Has worked to get out Batman’s shadow, despite (or due to) being around him the longest!!”

“Jason todd, super interesting character arc! Dead robin, back from the grave with vengeance and murderous tendencies! Screwed up father-son relationships and a particularly violent moral code, known for tracking down the worst of people!”

“uh that guy. yeah he drinks coffee a lot or something idk he’s been on his laptop in the corner for 3 days. we tried to chase him out with a broom and he won’t leave.”

“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 we’ve got mf Stephanie ‘𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭’ Brown…”

[punkeropercyjackson]

Tim Drake is genuinely such a good character.He's such a positive role model for traumatized teenage boys because he's not idealized or a power fantasy.Tim's dad is rich,sure,but he's neither cartoonishly abusive nor the perfect angel,he's just kinda........there.I firmly believe Jack Drake was a bad parent but that was out of stupidity,not active malice although he was definitely hostile and neglectful often enough that he qualifies as abusive at least passively.Tim's part of the dead moms club and he loves and misses Janet so much.He's got ego problems and no manners or class and is downright mean but he also has so much boundless kindness and optimism and hope and extends his hand and everything he can offer to everyone,everybody,anyone who needs it and he gets so upset when he thinks he could've done more no matter the circumstances.He has troubled taking care of himself to the point he developed narcolepsy and he's skapunk because he's a skateboarder and a Green Day fan and mouths off to authority figures and even commits crimes all the time both heroic and mudane and respects women contrary to what fanon tells you and his favorite food is pizza with canadian bacon and he's a lifelong Nightwing fanboy and he's undiagnosed audhd anxious/teen trans boy-coded and he's bisexual and has pulled so many people without even trying most of the time and was just being a dumbass kid with no idea how to do date but has insane rizz too and he has goth energy without even dressing it and his best friends are a punk trans girl named Wendy with grooming trauma who chose her name after a 90s girl power show protagonist but also after Wendy from Peter Pan,a short kiddy chaos weirdboygirl who's her boyfriend and has a complex family situation and a greek bruh butch dating an ex-child star femme lesbian in their friend group who kissed Tim once out of nowhere back in her comphet phase and he's been sa'd multiple times in ways that're so normilzed they're not recognized as sa so he dosen't even know he's a survivor.He's not flawless by any means but it's not his fault because so many adults in his life screwed him over and treated him like shit and didn't give him what he needed and he's not toxic or abusive or a fuckboy,he's just a normal traumatized 17 year old trying his best and that makes him inherently lovable.Tim Drake you mean so much to me little dude and triffling ass Jaybird uwu fuckers could never make hate you.'Nobody cares about Tim Drake!!!'I CARE ABOUT TIM DRAKE BITCH,I CARE!!!!!HE'S MY LITTLE BROTHER

[emry-stars-art]

I hate drake so much i hope he dies a painful death in your royal AU 😡

Fairly certain this is gonna be a common agreement yes

Honestly in one version of events I just imagine Drake making a stupid mistake in a battle or border dispute and getting himself killed like a coward or an idiot because he is both of those things

In ANOTHER version I was talking about with @jtl-fics and @paradoxolotl we can make it as dramatic as we want ✨

And honestly I’ve been meaning to write it! I even started writing it, but as I went I realized it has the potential to get wayyy out of hand by way of scenes (in that it would become several scenes bc there’s so much to cover) so instead of waiting to be fully finished, I am going to give us all an early sparknotes or summary of events

What I DID write all the way was what might happen when Abram and the prince run into Spear at a ball/event: here.

(⬆️POV you are a very stupid baron and you’ve just made your very last mistake)

Find the royal au writing masterpost here 💕

After all that (the snippet) goes down, Spear is probably very angry. How dare the prince act so ungrateful to his family, how dare he be threatened by the Evermore mutt, and how dare he be publicly embarrassed like that. He’s too proud to even go fume about it on his own. He’s always had people and things to take his anger out on. So he reverts back to what he knows.

No one in the castle stops him on his search of the halls. They all recognize the Spear family - of course the Spears visited often, at least before, and often enough to send their prince to live with them. The twins and anyone else in the know about the prince’s time there are extremely private about it. The staff that see Spear have no reason to think anything of his presence at all.

But Abram is still standing watch at Andrew’s door, and he doesn’t seem about to leave. Spear likely thinks it doesn’t matter much - the brat is small and unassuming except for those nasty scars. Abram even gets distracted by a small crash coming from the direction of the stairs, wandering a little way down to see.

It should have been obvious not to underestimate an official royal bodyguard. Spear hasn’t even touched the door before Abram is there, pinning an arm behind his back as something sharp again presses to Spear’s jacket. The surprise knocks Spear against the prince’s door before Abram pulls him up and back a few steps.

Andrew does answer. Likely he thought it was Abram knocking, but as soon as he sees Spear he freezes. Spear doesn’t even have time to revel in the fear he caused - Abram uses all his weight to swing Spear around and shove him hard against the far wall. What Spear vainly thought was an empty threat before feels suddenly much more real, the way Abram doesn’t try to be at all gentle or careful. The blade is biting into Spear’s clothes.

And Spear is angry. The Evermore filth on him, the gall to treat Spear like this when Spear should be allowed to trample this brat under his horse. The brat thinking he had any say over the Palmetto prince.

He snarls, “Andrew, control your dog!”

And he doesn’t see it, but that snaps a little of Andrew’s panic. The only thing more potent than Andrew’s memories is his white hot anger at Abram’s, and even though Abram doesn’t react, Andrew absolutely refuses to let that slide.

Spear hears, “Dont let him touch you,” and then he’s released. Finally, he can get a little justice for this treatment. He turns and raises a hand to strike Abram.

Abram takes off his hand as he swings.

Andrew gets full oversight on Spear’s punishment. They have him convicted of untoward behavior, trespassing, and then Andrew allows ‘attempted destruction or harm of royal property’ only when he’s told it adds heavy consequence.

Really, it doesn’t matter all that much. Everyone in that room for the proceedings knows why he’s really there, and maybe those three charges wouldn’t always add up to a death sentence, but Aaron has been waiting for this chance. He adds ‘intention of treason’ to the trespassing charge and tells Andrew to do what he will.

Andrew doesn’t let Abram near it when they carry out the sentence. He does go through with some of his plans for Drake - he won’t ever make Drake pay 1:1 for what he’s done, but the magnitude would have been similar, had they gotten that far. They don’t, though. Andrew is doing just fine watching the proceedings, letting it pass through his eyes and ears and only be remembered when he really wanted. He had been sure he wanted this, he’d been sure it would be satisfying and cathartic. But he wasn’t feeling those things as much as he should have been.

Part of the punishment for treason is flogging. Andrew sees the strikes fall and it looks vaguely familiar. He’s seen those wounds and scars before. And suddenly it comes to him all at once; he doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to watch this. He just wants Drake dead. He wants Abram.

So he moves for the first time in several minutes.

“Enough. I’m finished.”

Aaron gives him a look but gestures to the soldiers or whoever else. Andrew stands and goes to leave and there’s a scuffle behind him, yells and pounding feet. Something unsheathed and then a heavy, sickening thud. Maybe even a cut off scream.

Even then he doesn’t turn around. He can’t make himself. Spear had charged him, he understands distantly. He doesn’t know who was just struck, but the only person that should have been so close to him was his brother.

He whispers, “…Aaron?”

“Go, Andrew,” Aaron says quietly, and Andrew finally breathes again. “Abram is waiting.”

So Andrew does go, and he spends a long time holding Abram, assuring himself that Abram is there in one piece and isn’t being harmed, Drake is no longer there and can’t harm anyone else. Maybe this is far enough in that Andrew can even let himself be held, too. So he does find the catharsis and satisfaction, but not in watching Drake suffer. Just in the fact that Abram allows him close enough to hold, to play with his hair, to fall asleep there curled up in the middle of his bed. Unused mattress to every side and no space between them.

[introspectivememories]

obsessed with the damian and bernard dynamic.

[angelasscribbles]

Yoga Pants: A Three Weeks in Ramsford Drabble

Series: Three Weeks in Ramsford and Drakes Tight Pants Anthology

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: None at the moment.

Rating: MA

Warnings: Language, mature themes

Wordcount: 582

A/N: So....yet another fic about Drake's ass lol. After reading chapter two, Hot Yoga, @tinkie1973 wanted to know if there were pics of Drake in his yoga pants which led to a mood board, which led to me having further ideas about the hot yoga itself. In the original chapter, the yoga itself was not described. Since Kiara was a participant, there's no way she wasn't looking at his ass. So here you go! @drake-walker-appreciation @choicesficwriterscreations

My other stuff: Master List.

Kiara couldn’t help the fact that her eyes kept sliding up. She was on her hands and knees, ready to push up into downward dog. The problem was that Drake Walker was in front of her, which placed his ass directly in her line of sight.

And what an ass it was! It wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed it before, it was just that before she’d been more focused on his pecs and abs. She also had never seen him in anything quite as tight and revealing as the yoga pants he’d purchased at the counter before class began.

She was having a lot of trouble focusing.

When the instructor gave the signal, she reluctantly pushed up into the correct pose, replacing Drake’s ass with her feet in her field of vision.

She spent the rest of the class trying to not be obvious about where her attention was focused.

When the class ended, Drake stalked toward the water cooler while she watched him go, ignoring whatever Penelope was rambling about.

“He has a nice ass, doesn’t he?” A voice whispered in her ear.

“Shit! Max! What are you doing?” Kiara nearly fell over.

“Sorry, I was trying to be quiet,” he chuckled, “didn’t think you’d want everyone to know you were checking out Drake’s ass.”

“What? No! I mean, I wasn’t!” heat flamed across her face.

Penelope stopped talking about poodles to interject, “Oh, but I thought you said he had the best ass in Cordonia and that you would lick whipped cream off his-“

“Penelope! That’s enough!” Kiara screeched in mortification.

“Everything okay over here?” the instructor had come to see what the commotion was about.  

“Oh, ah…” Max stumbled over his words a little under the scrutiny of the smoking-hot yoga instructor.

Adam Winchester was the real reason Max had been going to hot yoga three times a week.

“What’s happening?” Drake asked as he walked back to the group with a cup of water in his hand.

“Nothing!” Max blurted out, “We were just admiring your ass!”

“What? No!” Kiara shook her head frantically from side to side in denial.

“Don’t be weird, Beaumont,” Drake lifted the cup to his lips completely unperturbed.

“No, I know we’re just friends. I’m not hitting on you, I promise. I’m just saying-“

“So, you’re gay?” Adam interrupted.

Max blinked, “What?”

“What?” Adam held his hands up in front of him, “It’s just a question!”

“I am gay…and you?”

“Gay as fuuuuuck,” Adam smiled at him enticingly, “Can I get your snap?”

“It’s whatskraken, but like the squid… let me spell that for you…..”

Kiara, Drake, and Penelope rolled up their mats as Max flirted with the instructor.

“You do have a nice ass, Drake,” Penelope chirped as they headed for the door.

“….thanks…”

“Mon Dieu!” Kiara cursed softly under her breath.

“What was that?” Drake glanced back at her as Maxwell caught up to them at the exit.

“Nothing!” she squeaked as they exited the studio.

Less than five minutes later, Penelope’s poodle obsession had separated her from the opportunity to have lunch with Drake. She sighed as they walked back to her car.

The image of that ass was going to haunt her dreams tonight. Maybe now that Riley was out of the way, he’d notice her. Surely he would be going on the engagement tour, there would be plenty of opportunities to talk to him then. Yes, she decided, the engagement tour was definitely going to be her chance.

[drake-walker-appreciation]

DWA - Drake's Tight Pants Anthology Masterlist

There seems be a bit of a thirst for Drake's derriere, so we have decided to put together a masterlist of fics and moodboards featuring Walker's well-rounded rear.

Since this is an anthology, we 100% encourage new submissions - whether it be fics, headcanons, moodboards or art - from anyone who'd like to contirbute to this masterlist! Equally, if you come across any content as a reader that you think should be included, then we'd love to hear about it!

Submission rules:

The fic/art needs to feature Drake's ass in some way, shape, or form (yes, pun very much intended!) There are no word limits or content guidelines - let your imagination go wild! We just want more ass!

Mention @drake-walker-appreciation in your post, and tag it with #drake's tight pants anthology.

We'll reblog your post and add it to our masterlist!

Signal boosts appreciated! 💙

🔥= NSFW / 🤬 = foul language / M = mature content

Homerun by @angelasscribbles🔥🤬

During the second annual King’s Guard versus Queen’s Guard baseball game, Riley gets more than a bit distracted by the tightness of Drake's baseball pants...

Polo by @karahalloway 🔥🤬M

Drake gets roped into playing a charity polo match when one of the other team members doesn't show for the game... What can possibly go wrong?

Yoga Pants by @angelasscribbles M

Kiara can’t seem to stay focused on her asanas during a hot yoga class…

Drake's Yoga Pants by @angelasscribbles

Baseball Pants by @angelasscribbles

[artsninspo]

"JEALOUS TYPE" - Rio X Reader

Summary: The restaurant your date picked to take you out to is owned by Rio, and he’s there sitting at a table when you walk in. Just your luck. This ones a little steamy 🌶️.

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Black Reader

Word-Count: 1.6K

Full Masterlist

RIO MASTERLIST

Read the first two parts of this Rio miniseries:

“Baby-Girl”

“Whisky, neat”

Biting the inside of your lip you stifle a smile looking into your date's brown eyes. His animated expression is feeding off of yours as he tells an arguably hilarious story. Honestly, you wouldn’t know. Your eyes sparkle at his and by some strange miracle you seem to break into a laugh at the right moment. Although handsome, well put together, kind and funny, your date doesn’t have your undivided attention. Three tables away Rio sits with a scowl staring daggers into your side profile. He was having dinner with an older woman when you arrived with your date. Rio’s eyes met yours then looked down to see your hand in your dates and frowned. Since the woman left you’ve been subject to his displeased looks. He hates the sight of you with another man. Especially after resisting his advances. He’s furious really that your pretty ass didn't spend time getting ready to look good for him. Having had enough he calls over a waiter, it's his restaurant after all.

“You’re gorgeous” your date tells you, picking up your hand to kiss it from across the table. He’s a charmer for sure. His dimples and smile are to die for but he’s not the one making your heart race. 

“You’re not so bad yourself” you smile, taking a sip of your wine. The waiter comes over with a bottle in a bucket.

“Vintage Cabernet” the waiter says, putting the bucket on the table.

“We didn’t order that” your date says as the waiter slips you a table card.

Wine by the glass your man’s a cheapskate huh?

Is written in excellent penmanship. You thought he was signing the bill when he started writing. It takes everything in you not to smile as you fold the card. The waiter looks amused. The use of a Drake lyric in such a petty exchange is all the more amusing. Casting a look over to his table Rio sits seemingly unbothered. 

“On the house” the waiter says and your date shrugs allowing the waiter to top him off first. You don’t like that. A man that doesn’t put the woman he’s with first is  a slippery slope. Sitting back you taste the wine as the waiter pours yours. It’s excellent, you raise a glass to Rio and your date is too self absorbed to notice your eyes aren’t on him. After a few minutes you take your leave heading into the ladies room. Your heels click on the floor and you take out your compact to powder the shininess of your forehead and top up your gloss. That’s how Rio finds you. He strolls in wearing all black, which seems to be his signature.

“This is the ladies room” you say mirroring his nonchalance.

“Don’t make any smart comments. I have a dick and it works” he warns casually. It’s crass but you’re amused so you smile anyways fixing your gloss in the mirror.  The look he gives you tells you exactly where his head is. The physical attraction is a ten out of ten. “Get all dressed up for a guy who can’t even buy you the bottle but you won’t get in a car with me” Rio says, offended by your rejection. You turn to face him and he stands there unimpressed with his hands in his pocket.

“I didn’t take you for the jealous type” you tease.

“You can do better” he swallows, stepping forward.

“I appreciate you looking out for my well being. I’m sure you have more important things to do, places to be '' you dismiss, and he nods a little irritated with your flagrance. It's been awhile since Rio had to put in any effort to bag the woman that had his attention for the moment. You pass him to get to the door and he takes your hand. You should be terrified but you aren’t. The energy in the restroom is electric. Your chemistry is undeniable. You feel your heart racing as his eyes look down at your lips, he wets his bottom lip before casting a look back into your eyes. You want it just as much as he does. Your entire body hates the riskiness of your current predicament.

Reaching around you Rio locks the door Rio closing the remainder of  the distance between. Leaning in his lips connected to yours, he purses his lips tight against yours chastely before pressing his body against yours in a dominant gesture, pressing you between himself and the door. Pulling back he comes in for a second time, this time parting your lips, goading you into a slow, sloppy and seductive make out session. His kiss is teasing and claiming, you feel your temperature rise as you indulge in forbidden fruit. His hands slip under the hem of your dress gripping your thighs, snapping you out of it. Pushing him away your chest heaves. You want him so much but it’s not right. You're on a date, Stan warned you about him and he carries weapons.

“No no no no no” you snap to yourself as you hear a knock on the door.

“Y/N” your date calls from the other side and you feel your heart racing in your ears.

“I got a call I’ll be right out, go back to the table” you say through the closed door and Rio smiles. He reaches for the lock and your eyes tell him not to. He smiles absolutely thrilled at the prospect of blowing up your spot.

“Are you sure?!” Your date asks.

“Yep, just give me 5” you say and there’s a long pause.

“Ok” he says and you breathe finally. It’s your turn to scowl Rio comes in for another kiss but you push him away annoyed with him and yourself. Rio laughs to himself completely unbothered by your predicament.

All trouble. You think to yourself about Rio as you touch your make up again and Rio smiles looking at his phone. He puts a finger to his lip signalling you should hush and when you walk over you see your date still waiting for you outside the bathroom from the security feed on his phone.

“Give me your number or I walk out,” Rio says, playing dirty. You put your number in and he calls making your phone ring. He looks satisfied.

“Pick up, own the lie” he whispers, coaching you in your deception. His eyes are full of mischief and amusement. You just may be in love.

“I swear I care but I’m on a date sis, please call mom” you say loud enough for your date to hear. Rio unlocks the door letting you out. You smile at your date and he takes your hand.

“I didn’t notice your perfume smells slightly like cologne” he says and you hope he really has no inclination Rio was all over you. His cologne is more sweet than masculine and musky.

“Hmm” you raise a brow.

“Who was calling?” He asks.

“Sister” you lie and he nods suddenly more attentively. Your phone goes off again, you know it's Rio without checking it.

“Family emergency?”

“Sister stuff” you dismiss getting another message and you put your phone on silent feeling terrible. Sitting in front of your date you can still feel Rio’s kiss on your lips, his body against yours, his big hands on your thighs. The rest of the night is more of the same. RIo keeps texting the entire ride back to your house and you end up at square one as your date stands outside of your condo door with you. You dodge his kiss, letting him kiss your cheek. He takes it like a champ and you sigh frustrated. Unlocking your phone you see a flurry of messages of Rio talking shit about you being a bad girl, worse than him, a player. Warnings not to lay up with your ‘lame ass date’ and more. The final tells you to call once you get in.

Smiling, you set his name to Crazy Christopher in your phone. After a steamy shower you head into bed alone. You're far too excited to be sleepy in spite of the time. Your phone rings and Crazy Christopher flashes across the screen.

“Hello?” you pick up.

“Are you home safe?” he asks like he cares.

“Yes, Christopher”

“Yes, Christopher,” he mocks, making you smile.

The phone line goes silent for a few moments and your smile never fades, you haven't felt this giddy about a situation in years.

“You tired? I was hoping to come and wear you out” Rio says, making you laugh. Honestly you want the same thing.

“That isn't how you speak to a woman” you correct him.

“Nahh, you don’t want me to pretend I have manners. That’s not you” he says, reading you right.

“Some other night Rio” you cave, deciding you won't deny yourself a good time.

“Alright, well you tell me when” he responds in his usual tone. It’s an odd relief he doesn't promise forever’s or any other ridiculous niceties.

“Why don't we make it interesting, the next time I run into you - you can take me to your place” you shrug, lying in bed looking up at the ceiling.

“Bet” he agrees. “Goodnight baby-girl” he says.

“Night Rio” you respond.

“Christopher” he corrects. “We’re on a first name basis” he says and you laugh.

“Goodnight” you respond, hanging up in a final act of defiance.

You smile looking up at the ceiling heart racing at the risk. Sitting in his car Rio smiles hoping you stay true to your word before heading into the warehouse to check on his operations. He has plans for you.

Big plans.

_________

Let me know what you think of this update and Rio's bad behaviour 😉😘

Authors note: TYSM 💖 to everyone who's read, liked, commented or reblogged any of my work and more particularly this 'series'. It's been a fun palate cleanser. If you're a writer and need a sign to purge your drafts you think no one will enjoy here it is.

xoxo

[nxtaliaistyping]

hii i recently became obsessed with your writing and links theyre so good😖do you think u could write something about tim drake getting nasty w his s/o like him being really into eating pussy or maybe give a few more link reqs ?? anyways luv uu

Tim Drake being a nasty boy lmao

Authors note: oh darling, flattery will get you EVERYWHERE on this blog. Thank you very much for your sweet comments.

18+ nsfw, fem reader, kinda public play

“Christ Tim!”

You harshly whisper at him, feeling the breath on your ear as his hand wanders down. Nursing your drink, you glance around the packed gala to ensure nobody was looking in your direction, or they’d see your boyfriend attempting to grope your ass over your tight dress.

“C’mon birdie, it’s not my fault.” He mumbles, but withdraws his hand just the same. “I wouldn’t be so desperate if you’d have let me-“

You cut him off with a slight slap of his arm, knowing what he was gonna say before he finished. Tim hated these things, charity gala’s full of stuck up rich folk who cared more about their public image than helping whatever group the gala was pledging to support. But being adopted by practically the richest and most philanthropic man means he has to make appearances, much to his dismay.

You’d had to practically drag him out of bed and into a suit, before you started to get yourself ready. That’s when he started, kissing up and down your neck and collarbones as you were applying your moisturiser. But it quickly escalated to him practically crawling under your vanity and begging you to let him eat your pussy.

Any other day you’d have let him, sinking back into your chair and letting him lap at you like an obedient puppy. But you knew if you let him you’d never get to the gala, and his dad would have had another stern talk with Tim about the responsibility of public life and image, so you pushed him away, ignoring the neglected throb of your clit.

But it didn’t stop him from trying, in the car over when he groped at your thighs. He grinned when you couldn’t hold back your smile, before huffing when you told him you weren’t changing your mind.

So now you were both stood like wallflowers, watching the elite of Gotham schmooze over expensive shrimps and champagne, while you try and ignore your pussy leaking.

“Tim, can’t you just pretend to enjoy yourself?”

He smirks, leaning in and biting your ear playfully. “I know how I’d really enjoy myself”

“Oh yeah? Well I don’t think that your father’s guests would appreciate you fucking me over the buffet table.”

“Babyyyy.” He whines, “you know I don’t mean that. I meant we could go someplace…”

You laugh softly, shaking your head a little at his antics. He hums, his hand holding your waist and pulling you into him. “Birdie I’m serious…I bet I could make you cum so quick we’d hardly be gone.”

“Bit cocky of you, Drake.” You tease, but god you can’t deny you’re tempted. The boredom of such a stuffy party has really set in, and as his fingers dance along your back, you get the sense he’ll achieve his wants regardless.

“I’ve got the skills, what can I say?” He laughs softly, before squeezing your ass a little. “C’mon…please?”

You sigh, thighs pressed together before relenting. Giving him a playful glare, you whisper to him. “Alright. You have five minutes.”

That’s how you find yourself with your back pressed against the wall of an empty corridor, and Tim sinking to his knees. He rolls the tight fabric of your dress up, exposing your wet panties.

“And you say I’m the desperate one.” Tim taunts at you, before you playfully roll your eyes.

Undeterred, he gently places a few kisses on your inner thighs, dragging his tongue up and causing you to shiver a little. He gently nibbles, before you whimper gently.

“Tim…thought you were on a time limit.”

“Can’t I appreciate my girl? Especially when I’m about to do my favorite activity?”

Despite the tough face you’re attempting to put on, you can’t deny the teasing lilt of his words makes you blush. But alas he pulls down your panties, eyeing up your dripping cunt with a facial expression that screams desire.

He leans in and sniffs, causing your blush to deepen at how truly desperate he looks down there, before he sticks out his tongue and licks a broad stripe along your folds. You whimper softly, as he repeats the motion a few times, before he really gets stuck in.

The sounds are obscene, as he delves in like an explorer, nose brushing against your clit as he practically makes out with your hole. Hyper aware that you’re both still semi in public, you clasp a hand over your mouth to stifle any more noises. You don’t want to get busted because one drunk social climber decides to leave the gala early and explore, only to find Bruce Wayne’s son with his tongue up his girlfriend.

Your hips gently rock into his face as he continues to slurp and suck every part of your pussy. Shaking his head, he ensures no inch is spared from his appendage. He plunges his tongue into your hole before licking up and flicking against your clit quickly just to watch you shiver.

When he pulls away for breath, the lower half of his face shines with a mixture of spit and your juices, but he doesn’t stop for long before diving right back in.

“I love how you taste.” He says against you, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You try and thank him, but you don’t trust yourself to not moan loud enough for someone to hear, so you keep quiet. A hand tangles its way into his hair, and you tug gently to manoeuvre him into the right area.

He can tell you’re getting closer, reading your body language well, so he doubles down on your clit. Moaning into you, his nose is practically completely covered with your pubic hair due to how much he’s pushing his face into you, not wanting to breathe anything that isn’t your smell.

With a choked warning, you cum in his mouth, small gasps and moans escaping you as your fist locks in his hair. Your chest heaves with shaky breaths as you come down, but Tim doesn’t stop. He licks at your folds, your inner thighs, attempting to drink up every last bit of cum that he can.

“t-tim…” you moan out, knowing you both have been gone for too long.

“I know I know.” He mumbles, not being able to resist a few more laps at your hole before reluctantly pulling away. “I could have given you another one birdie.”

You laugh softly. “I know babe.”

Just then, you hear someone walking down the corridor, and you quickly yank your panties up while Tim stands and pulls your dress back down. Just in time for Jason to come round the corner.

“Tim, been lookin’ for you everywhere. Bruce is gonna make his speech, wants a picture with everyone afterwards, get your ass back inside.” He says, eyeing you both.

“We’ll be right there.” You reply, attempting to smile normally, to which Jason hums.

The older brother turns to leave, but not before looking over his shoulder. ‘And Tim dear? Wipe your face before you get in.”

[satyricplotter]

NSFW Alphabet — Dick Grayson, Jason Todd and Tim Drake

Be warned, I wrote this for myself but it got so long I was like, I gotta publish this, so a lot of the language is raunchy and joking. It's not polished whatsoever. It is also very fitted to my tastes, which isn't necessarily what I'd do for a story. Use of the second person, reader as gender neutral as I could, but I refer to a variety of scenarios with different genitalia.

WC: 6.7k

Triggers and tags discussed or mentioned: body image, biting, breeding, dubcon, noncon, cnc, mutual noncon, sexual assault (as a different category and a reference to Dick's canon) somnophilia, breath play, watersports, scat, blood, bondage, BDSM in general, pegging (implied), dildos, vibrators, toys in general, sensory deprivation, crying, crossdressing, porn, hentai, anal, PIV, cunnilingus, whatever the proper term for sucking dick is, cum, demeaning terms (cum dump, specifically), fingering, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, age play, pregnancy and birth control, thigh fucking, frottage, edging, cumming in pants... maybe more. I am tired of listing things. Simply beware.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dick: somehow I don't think he has much time for aftercare. To me this dude always seems a little on the go and distracted by other things. Like, half the sex you have with him is quickies where upon his departure you gotta tidy yourself up, or they're hours long affairs with few breaks to think about moving. In these latter instances, he takes a long, long time to stand up and get moving after you're done. I think he's always secretly waiting for another last round even when it's clear you're both tapped out. He stays in bed and cuddles, uncaring for the drying substances on either of you. Most often he just kisses you, slow and tender, as he holds you. Eventually you gotta kick him out of bed and clean yourself up and then he's rushing to help you.

Jason: my man is methodical. This is His Job and he has His Way to do it. He keeps his bed crisp, towels at hand, water nearby etc etc. He's always the one to wipe you down, straighten you up if there's still clothes involved. You always whine you wanna cuddle a bit and he's like no. You'll get an UTI. Go pee. We'll cuddle after. And you shuffle sadly to the bathroom. The sheets are new when you come back. He dislikes being rushed and not being able to tidy, so you gotta be very strategic when you know you won't end up in bed.

Tim: Tim's a baby. Tim's the one you gotta clean up, the one you gotta lay down and tell him to stay put. He's very bad with being in the moment if he's got something else going on, so you gotta keep all electronics away from him. Mostly you gather him in your arms and run his fingers through his hair, while he absently traces circles on your skin, and then nods off eventually.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Dick: I think Dick really likes his forearms! A dark horse, of course, considering the stellar butt, but that seems to be a little of a sour point. I think he loves his figure in general, and the graceful line of it. For his partners, I'm thinking the waist to hip area—the tummy essentially, but also the lower back. He loooves to sling an arm around your waist and squeeze, loves to nip at the lower belly, loves a good pinch. He just likes grabbing. The sides of your thighs are always marked with his fingers.

Jason: man's an ass guy. He loves to watch that shit bounce. You can't miss with the bending over. He's behind you immediately, a hand on your hip like hey... As for himself, genuinely I think he likes his hands. They've gone through a lot. You can tell they're pretty banged up. But he's a maker, a fiddler—he builds his gadgets, he pulls the trigger. He's so into precision, I think he appreciates them a lot for the tools they can be. And his fingers pumping in and out of you are never a bad sight.

Tim: He's a cop out and would say brain. He likes his eyes best, I think. He doesn't strike me as the type of man who fixates on any part of his body but rather takes it in as a whole, and as such finds it difficult to like, separate it into pieces unless it's for a specific purpose. Oh, maybe his calves. They're nicely shaped. But his eyes are very pretty and he knows they're charming. As for you, he likes tits (big, small, pecs, etc). Just the chest area in general. Big fan of a nipple. Will suck and bite and twist until you squirm. If you're not sensitive, you simply haven't met him. He'll pavlov your nipples to harden upon seeing him and then smile evilly when you complain. A low cut anything is a direct challenge and he will take it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Dick: nothing will stop this man from coming inside eventually. He'll wear you down talking about how good it will feel to fill you up, or you will eventually come to beg him for it and he'll take the opportunity with no complaint. If you can get pregnant, keep that birth control schedule TIGHT. Nothing he loves more than watching cum dribble out of you. Loves to stuff you with it, loves to rub it over your entrance, loves to watch it squelch as he goes back in to pump you full of more.

Jason: actually very normal about it. He doesn't believe in pulling out, so he wears a condom and disposes of it safely. He does love to cum on your face. That's very much a thing. It's a relatively safe thing to do, and he likes it a lot when you try to catch it all with your mouth but it ends up dripping off your cheek. When your eyelashes are sticky with it—ooh. He knows it hurts if it gets on your eyes, and he apologizes while he wipes it off, but he's already semi hard again so you can't quite believe him.

Tim: if he's topping, he's pretty normal about it. Doesn't feel any type of way about his own cum, though he kinda likes it when you mix it with your own and feed it to him, but that's mostly because he loves your fingers in his mouth. If you're topping (and if you can cum from that inside him), he's suddenly the nation's number one cump dump. Stuff my man up. He can take it. Ooh, he wants to take it. He really, really wants you to blow a load inside him. A lot of the times, it's the feeling of being filled up that has him coming himself.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Dick: he's, like, very into somno, but he hates to bring it up first. The thing with Dick is that he's so good at denying himself things he doesn't care about but the minute he really, really wants something, he struggles real hard not to go get it. And he really wants that pussy (gn). He's the king of guilty fucking. I honestly think he likes being a little ashamed of what he's doing, like it just... Brings flavour to the table. But he's an Upstanding Citizen so while he looks at your ass while you're asleep and imagines what it'd be like if he could just roll your pants down a little and rub the head of his dick against your entrance, he will not speak a word until you bring it up or you find him jerking off over you at the thought of it.

Jason: easiest man to get to sub for you. Doesn't look like it, doesn't wanna admit it, but you get him at the right moment? Oooh baby. He's so easy to unravel, blushing to the tips of his ears and wet all over. You can literally do whatever you like with him in that state. He bounces off your cock (gn) so pretty, though he doesn't enjoy bottoming regularly.

Tim: mfing stalker. He takes pictures of you all the fucking time. You don't know the half of it. And he jacks off to the weirdest shit because it's not so much about how you look in that picture, but the idea of your innocence being corrupted (so corny) (you'd look at it and be like, tim, I can take nudes, you know, you don't have to masturbate to a blurry panty shot taken under the dinner table, you can't even see shit).

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dick: this is dick grayson we're talking about. Be real. He's been around. He knows his way around the human (and alien, shoutout to my baby Kori) body. Nine out of ten times, he's the most experienced person in the relationship. And not only does he know what he's doing , he's good at it.

Jason: there's about three universes or so where Jason's not a virgin when he meets you. The rest of them my boy's simply too fucked up and/or busy for love, so he just... Doesn't. It doesn't seem to me like having sex was a priority to him, and while I think he regularly gets propositioned, he's the type of dude that just blinks at you until you slink away in shame, so he simply doesn't get laid until he's in a relationship. At most he's fucked two people before he fucks you.

Tim: this is dick grayson 2.0. he pulled steph, he pulled kon, he pulled bernard. He has by far the widest breadth of knowledge about sex, although most of it doesn't come from first hand experience. He hasn't had that much freaky sex, but he knows plenty about it. He's very adventurous.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Dick: oh, eugh, this man think you're a contortionist. He thinks you guys are equals. It doesn't matter how much you tell him he's far more flexible than you, he loves twisting you up into the weirdest positions in the book, and you know what? He's right. You do feel him so much more with your leg up in space and the other one around his ankle.

Jason: doggy. Again, my man loves to watch it jiggle.

Tim: he loves being ridden. Just infatuated with the sight of his cock leaving and breaching your entrance, and your thighs quivering, and how it all gets so wet. I think he'd be more partial to the cowgirl/boy than the reverse bc tits, but yk. Loves to watch you go.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Dick: He's sooooo into getting a laugh out of you with a stupid joke so he can ram into you and watch it catch on your throat. Thinks it's grand. He's the goofiest of them all, but he likes to make you laugh, and doesn't entertain your attempts to be funny. There's only one clown in this bed ☝️ So annoying.

Jason: he can be giggly at the beginning, like laughing into your mouth, but once he gets going, he's pretty serious about it. Not withdrawn, but he doesn't want to joke or, like, have a conversation. He's just laser focused on getting you both off.

Tim: he's alright on the jokes, doesn't particularly bring it to the bedroom. He's a little snappy, but not keen on super goofing around? Rather, I think you'd wanna make him laugh, just to get him to relax, and he'd roll his eyes and scoff but smirk a little. (I'm rlly picturing this with kon rn lmao)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Dick: he's got himself trimmed and pretty! I think he just cares about looking good. Not his main concern in life, but, you know.

Jason: he's kinda got to groom himself bc I headcanon that the pit let him some after effects so his nails and hair grows really fast. He doesn't like it, finds it a real chore, but it's like a real bush if he lets it go untamed. And he does it himself, of course.

Tim: I don't think Tim concerns himself much with that, but I also don't think he really needs it. He's the type not to grow that much hair anyway.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Dick: he is so romantic. He's the type to whisper things he doesn't mean, not because he's trying to gaslight you into thinking he has feelings, but because he gets caught up in the heat of the moment and also believes those things should be said. He's soft and coaxing, even when he gets mean, and he's very into small gestures in the sense that he holds your hand when you're going to come, he presses a kiss to your temple. Just loving, I guess, even if he doesn't, like, love you.

Jason: he is unbelievably, unbearably intense. You will not be able to shake him off, emotionally speaking. Even when he's trying not to be intense, he can't help it. There is always so much weight and deliberation to his touch. Under his fingers, you feel the skin of your body bloom with heat. And the eyes. Never stops looking. So sharp and heady. You can't look at him for you, but he forces you to look into his eyes when you're about to come, grabs your chin if you don't wanna.

Tim: it depends on how he feels about you. If it's casual sex, he is very casual about it. He's not one to make promises if they can be used against him lol but if he likes you... You can see the saw trap plans he's concocting in his mind to never get you off his dick again just coming alive in his eyes.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Dick: My take is that dick is so funny about this because he so absurdly prefers coming inside you or fucking your thighs or your tits that whenever he can't and has to resort to jacking off, he's kind of churlish about it? Like right at the beginning when he's just starting, you'd just see him pouting with a hand caressing his shaft almost disinterestedly. He's so funny. Then he gets going and comes and is like oh that was a nice experience actually.

Jason: When he begins to jack off while thinking about you, he's ashamed about it for the longest time. It's not the act itself that brings him embarrassment, but the fact that he used to do it kind of perfunctorily, like just... body upkeep, or whatever. A little impatient with it even, just to get it over with. And he didn't think about anyone in particular, just flashes of the stuff he was supposed to think about. Then one day, after he meets you, he's just going at it as usual and the image of you pops into his head. And he can't stop thinking about it. The question of what you look like, how you'd feel under his hands, how you'd sound—it consumes him. When he thinks about you looking at him slouched over his couch, smiling at him and kneeling between his legs, your eyes fixed on him as you offer to help and take him into your mouth—oof. He's never come so much in his life.

Tim: he is so so hot about it. He doesn't think about it that much and is the type to neglect his dick for ages until he has free time and suddenly he has to unleash two weeks worth of cum upon you. So he starts fisting his dick, shuddering at the feeling of finally getting some release, and thinks, I should share this, and starts recording, but because he is evil, he doesn't let you see. He places the phone on his desk (because he's STILL working, he just couldn't hold it any longer), and begins jacking off under his shirt. So you only see his flushed cheeks, the hair covering his eyes, and the way the wet spot on the fabric grows larger and larger as he goes. Near the end that thing's so transparent and sticky you can almost see the angry red head every time it pushes against the fabric—and then he splutters against the fabric with a cry of your name and doesn't even let it dry before he winks at the camera and cuts the video, just as he's going to lift the shirt. Evil.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dick: well, I already said somno and breeding (I don't think he's into it for the children, like, seriously. Like if you can get pregnant and do, it's not going to be a nice surprise. He'll ride it out! But he's got commitment issues.) And thigh fucking. He's unbearable about it, particularly if you're wearing anything that gives him easy access.

Jason: My good honest man. He likes sense deprivation, I think, but he likes it being done to him. He's almost never not being in charge, however, so it doesn't come up often. If almost like a birthday special to him. He's also very into frottage, but I don't know if that counts as a kink? He likes coming in his pants a few times before the real deal.

Tim: is this a kink? He loves to make you cry. He just really likes bullying you to the point you're bawling. You can fuss and kick all you want, and it just turns him on, because the minute he removes himself, you're whining to have him again. I think that's his favourite way to make you cry, just to edge you unendingly until you're sobbing for him. He also likes age play, but he likes to play the younger part. I don't think quite mommy/daddy stuff (depends on the reader), but a bit of an emphasis on the age gap (think the blurry noona/hyung area in korean, when employed sexually. The terms are not translatable but that's the spirit of it).

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Dick: everywhere. Does not discriminate. Inside the house, I think he likes bothering you when you're chilling in the couch. If your lying down there, he'll starts running up a hand between your thighs and he'll stop if you can't carry on the conversation. Outside, I think anywhere that is mildly risky—possibly the park? Kinda loves shoving you between trees and eating you out, or fingering you. When he comes onto you outside, it's mostly to get you to come so you have to hang out there, all sticky, thinking of him. He gets really thrilled by you running out of patience and pulling him out of whatever situation you're in just so you can go home and fuck. Sometimes you don't even make it home. You "force" him to fuck in a bathroom or in the car — closest relatively enclosed space you can find. He really enjoys those releases.

Jason: the bed. Give my boy his space and his nightstands! But outside that, no joke, the kitchen. It's more often than not his kitchen rather than yours, so he's there most often and it's where you find him and put your hands on him. Also god forbid you take anything out of the oven. He just shows up, takes it from your hands, presses you against the counter.

Tim: no joke loves to have you suck him off underneath his desk. He thinks it's funny when you bang your head against the top lmao but he also just likes to see you cramped into a tiny space and all over him.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Dick: Hear me out. He likes implied corruption masked as salvation. That sounds dramatic: what he likes is the tension between helping you and succumbing to his own desires. He is very often the more knowledgeable, powerful, etc party, he almost always has some advantage over you, and he likes struggling against the feeling of giving you what you want and thereby taking advantage of you. It's a weird, false dichotomy, but he likes playing the hero a lot, and that makes him feel sometimes like what he wants is selfish, which means he tends to be secretive and manipulative in order to get it, and he winds up doing stuff that is suspicious and much closer to taking advantage of you than just being upfront would've been. And he unfortunately really enjoys those times. I associate him a lot with the "I can't help myself from doing this" sentiment. So to answer the question lol, when you look particularly put together and he gets to mess it up, or when you look at him with big, round eyes, or when you look really fuckable and are not aware of it, he really likes that.

Jason: He's a slow goer. You have to seduce him. He likes the motion of that, likes having you come onto him, likes it when you're flirty and a little risqué just for his benefit. Likes when you're self assured, and when you're a little mean with him. He could watch you forever, but to really make him spring into action, you gotta tell him how badly you need him. That'll bring him to your side in a minute.

Tim: milfs. No joke. I think he's pretty attracted to cheery people he can make fun of. Oh, he really likes riling you up. That shit gets him fired up in a second. You're arguing with him and he's got to adjust in his pants, and he won't go down without a fight. He really, really likes bullying you lol He thinks it's so hot when you're annoyed

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Dick: no watersports/scat/blood (vampire universe exempt), and so on and so forth. It's a bit silly that he gets grossed out by it when he's so into cum, but, you know. Another thing is, he can't really be demeaning. It's not that he doesn't want to, but it never... hits? Like, he's unauthentic about it, in a way, and he's much better at praise. So it's not that he won't do it, but that it's a little mid lol

Jason: I don't think he can do CNC. Even if you really wanna, he just can't play the part without going limp. It's not in him to do that to you. He can't bear to hear you plead with him over that, it makes him feel gross and uncomfortable. He'll talk bad to you if you wanna, though.

Tim: breath play. He doesn't like the feeling of his airways being cut off even when he's at his most mindless, it always kickstarts his survival mode, and he can't choke you either because he doesn't trust himself to stop.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Dick: my good man #1 pussy (gn) eater in the house. He will be there hours. His poor cock will weep unendingly and he doesn't give a single fuck. Matter of fact, that first load after he finally slides into you? Best part of the job. Would not like it half as much without the various orgasms he drew out of you. And he's good at it, obviously. Practiced. I think he's also a decent cock sucker (what an image), but he's way more practiced with a pussy.

Jason: he also likes giving more than receiving, but he is soooooo hot when he lets you suck him off. It's the way he can barely hold back, how he falls apart in your mouth. The way his hands fist your hair despite himself, the way he weighs on your tongue. You have to beg him to let you suck him off first, but christ, if it ain't a gift when he acquiesces.

Tim: receiving, I think. I love to think about him sucking a dick, though. Very pretty. But in general, I think he prefers to be sucked off rather than being the one to give. He's fine at it! And he's not one to shy away from it if you wanna, or offer it when in the mood, but he thinks he's better with his fingers anyway, and he wants his mouth free for your nipples.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Dick: he tends to go more for the slow and sensual. It's part of the romantic vein of his style. He gets really close to you. He is also evil and very rarely loses control of himself, so he will fuck you however he wants, not how you beg him to, and because he's got so much experience, he usually has the better idea of how to get you to come.

Jason: i love him. Can't go slow. Okay, technically, he can, but he's got to work really hard at it. He just likes being inside you so much, he slips into that excitement too easily. His way of fucking is very bruising, very felt, much like his feelings. And again. My man loves to watch it jiggle.

Tim: he's the one man who will listen to how you want it. Mostly because he likes being ridden so you're setting the pace. He usually goes for slower rhythms, though, and if he's toying with you, he goes excruciatingly slow. Also knows to speed up exactly when your patience is about to snap.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Dick: again, half the sex he has is quickies so yeah, he likes them lol. I do think they appeal to him as an expression of unbridled want, in the sense of we want each other so much we have no time to savour one another and we still can't help ourselves from having a fleeting taste.

Jason: he dislikes not having time and space to do everything he wants to do, so he is mostly opposed to them. And he is very good at waiting, though the longer he waits, the longer you end up spending in the bedroom. He's also pretty big so he wants to have the room, time wise, to prep you to take him so the slide is easy and pleasurable for you, and the quickies don't afford him the space for that. He'll do it if you come to him real wet, though.

Tim: he thinks they're fun but he's very bad at them in the sense that once he starts doing you, he is very disgruntled that he has to stop. And he always fucking forgets it so he needles you to let him stick the tip in real quick, c'mon, just five minutes and we're done, and then you're having to bite down on his shoulder to pry him away from you before whoever you're waiting for comes in. And he likes the biting, so it's 50/50 whether he actually comes off.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Dick: yep. He's a little more conservative with what he's willing to try, and he doesn't like everything or want to implement it regularly, but he's very open to at least trying it ou. He doesn't come up with a lot of stuff himself, and he doesn't spend time researching on his own, but he'll see something interesting and bring it up next time if he decides he likes it enough to play out.

Jason: Jason has... categories. He's very intuitive when it comes to sex. He kind of already knows what he likes and can go off that knowledge to predict what he will like or not. And he's good at making modifications on things he finds uninteresting to better suit his needs, if you still wanna try. He doesn't like roleplaying in general, for example, but he will pretend you're both strangers so you can pick him up at the bar. Likes bringing you to the bathroom stalls and fucking you there.

Tim: oh yeah. He reads a lot. He's very curious. He'll go on the internet and read manuals, read reviews, take tests, etc. He's also much more likely to fixate on a certain kink for a period of time, or to genuinely incorporate it to his regular sexual life.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Dick: mr. first robin have been a vigilante since i was nine, have never not exercised, etc etc. Yeah. He ain't stopping.

Jason: the fucking pit. He keeps dying and coming back and it's like they pump more cum in his balls every time. Enough said.

Tim: see mr. grayson. I don't know how the spleen affects him, but I doubt he lets it hold him back. He will stop you after a while if you're topping tho. Doesn't like to be sore much. Which doesn't mean he'll stop altogether, you know, he still has a dick.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Dick: he hates your dildo. He's horribly, terribly jealous of it. At first he'd use it to tease you, but then he liked you for real and that thing became his sworn enemy. He despises the fact that he's away so much you have to resort to using it, basically, so it'll always kind of have a place in your bed. He resent a vibrator even more. It's super fucking funny to me. He's game for everything else that doesn't fuck you tho.

Jason: Jay likes gadgets for their ingenuity but I don't really see them coming up too often. A few restraints, blindfolds, maybe a cock ring? He'd like them better if you used some on him rather than him using them on you. He prefers to do the work with his hands and mouth and cock. Good honest work

Tim: I think Tim's game on toys for either participant. He'll make you watch him fuck himself onto a tentacle-shaped dildo, if that's something you're into, and he won't let you touch him. He's a terror with a vibrator, though, particularly if you have a clit? Dude. A remote operated vibe. Anal plugs with tails attached. A fucking machine? Get away from that man. When I say saw trap, I mean it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Dick: horrible. He is awful. Worst of all because he's also so very sweet, and tender, and he plays the fool to lower your guard, and then you're lying there, gasping around his cock for the umpteenth time because he will not let you come yet and nothing you say breaks his nerve, and he just. taunts you. He's also soooooo into walking around looking delectable and playing dumb about it. Sure, man.

Jason: this one is on me, but I love a reader who's just off-handedly disrespectful to him. I always pair him with the brats lol I think he handles that well, by which I mean he strips it down to bone raw frankness which is heady and intimidating (metaphorically, I mean, but also strips down as in naked, I guess). He's quippy, also, as a general rule, but that's two way banter so I don't count it.

Tim: horrible part 2. See: loves to make you cry. See: Loves using toys on you. See: loves torturing you. His nudes are not even explicit, they're just suggestive, but you know intimately what he looks like, so the mere suggestion is enough to drive you mad. And then his fascination with you is never ending. It's a cocktail for great and tortuous diversion.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Dick: soooo talkative this man will not shut up. You're like, my man, you've been speaking for two hours straight, doesn't your throat need any lubrication? And he's like, you're right and swallows when you come. He's a moaner, I think, but not any louder than average. Will play it up if he sees the neighbour eyeing you in the hallway tho lol

Jason: Grunts and gasps and overall very throaty. He murmurs a lot of stuff into your skin. He's not loud, but his voice is a spear right down your groin. He likes speaking against your ear and sometimes it's all you hear. If you top him, and with some very precise loosening, you can get him moaning so so pretty, but it's pretty rare.

Tim: bitch has the most obscene little whimpers. It activates apex predator instinct on you immediately, like a switch being flipped. It's impossible not to bite him when he starts giving the short, breathy moans. Sounds so needy, and when he gets like that, he can barely string a sentence together, which is just mind blowing considering who he is.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Dick: I think Dick has a COMPLICATED relationship with his body. Perhaps it's me projecting a little because I cannot imagine being such a beautiful man and being able to cope with it. First vector to the issue is the fact that this man knows his body from the tip of his toes to the last strand of hair on his head. He is much more in touch with every muscle in his body than the vaaaast majority lf the world, and he has been so since very early in his life. You know that quote from Ursula K. Le Guin, I think, about how dogs don't really conceptualise their size, and cats are the complete opposite, they know exactly where they begin and end and that's why they seem like water sometimes? And then she says dancers also know exactly what they look like, because what they look like is what they do. And that's exactly him, as an acrobat and as a vigilante both. And though he doesn't care much for it, he also knows exactly how well he is regarded for possessing the body that he does. It is flattering, yes, but it is objectifying also. There's not so much the worry that people won't look any deeper than his looks because well, most of the time he doesn't want them to look, and also his loved ones regularly bypass his handsomeness and treat him as a person, so he knows he can live beyond that. Then there is the matter of his continued sexual assault at the hands of Catalina, and the subsequent objectification she subjected him to for the weeks following that first time at the rooftop, which would irrevocably change his relationship to his body. I don't think she ruins it for him, but he does develop, like, a very deep awareness of the power he holds and how easily that can be taken away. There's a lot of deliberation behind his every move, and when he cannot put that much thought into his actions, he freaks. It's also kinda why I headcanon him being so enthralled by so many dub-conish situations, I think it provides him with a playground in which he can explore the extents of his desires and what acting on them means while acknowledging the harm they may create, thus liberating him from the pressure of the worry or the not engaging altogether. I think an instance of mutual non consent (or plain noncon of you, but I don't think most versions of him have it in them) would absolutely obliterate him, and do a lot of bad to his psyche in a way Jay and Tim could withstand much better. He'd think it a moral failure, in a way the other two could resolve, but he'd never forgive himself. It's a point of no return, for Grayson.

Jason: he finds porn really distasteful. He would honest to god rather pay to watch two people go at it than look at a film. He just can't appreciate it for what it is—the stories are corny, the dialogue is cringe, etc etc. I genuinely think my man is on the aspec to some level. He's got a healthy libido, he likes having sex, but it's very person specific. I suppose I'd say demisexual, but I do think he can have casual sex but it's a VERY rare thing for him to feel sexual attraction like that right from the get go.

Tim: he enjoys cross dressing, but he won't go out like that. It's a very personal thing, to him. He strikes me as a dabbler in genderfluidity. If there's something there, he doesn't really care to examine it. He's good at being a man and he's comfortable with it, too, so there's that. But with you, he can just try it out. Of course it's fun to fuck you with a skirt on, but it's not a sex-based thing. And, unrelated but he watches hentai unironically because man's a weeb.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I don't rlly understand this question sbhdhd all those suits are skin tight I think you can tell. I assume this is about cock size cuz we all know Dick's got an ass and Jason's vice president of the perfect titties club with nic coughlan so.

Dick: I think he's a little bigger than usual but nothing that'd give you pause. Well, maybe a little. It's enough to think "that's just unfair" but not to be appalled. Very pretty. Leans slightly to the left. It's got some heft to it, but I wouldn't comment on its girth, and it's very expressive (shshdj?). It twitches a lot, is what I mean.

Jason: fat. So so fat. Fat, heavy, and uncut. Coupled with his full bush—instantly mouthwatering. This one does make you blink a couple times in astonishment. The type that makes you say I don't know if I can't take this but by god, I'm gonna try. He probably has to prep you a decent amount before you can both be comfortable with him inside you. It really fills you up, though and the stretch is craaaazy. Also good balls.

Tim: perfectly average length, longer than it is girthy. Oddly straight. Stupidly pink. Rosy as fuck. Looks like he paid for someone to do his blush this morning, etc. Circumcised. The head is perfect, you always fall for it when he asks you to let him put in just the tip because you like it so much.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Dick: high, like, a bit of a concern type of high. The thing with him is you get him started and you both got time? That's your day. Good fucking luck getting out of there. And then he's the sort of man that can't quite keep his hands to himself also, so it spirals pretty fast because it's hard not to want him when you know he's good and tasty and ready for you.

Jason: Pretty normal. He will be the one to say no, let's just cuddle a couple of times. I think he likes the moment of non-sexual affection a bit more, though they are not in competition. He's got a healthy libido and a fuckton of stamina, so it may seem like a lot at times. He'll fall hook line and sinker every time you set out to seduce him, but he'll drag out the start a lot. He's a fan of foreplay anyway.

Tim: Tim can go weeks without having sex if he's got something to be absorbed in. He'll forgo having sex if necessary, as well, even though he likes it lots. It's kind of how like people forget to eat or drink while they're working and then when they look up and realize they haven't eaten since breakfast and it's 8pm they're ravenous. That's Tim. He will blink and the onslaught of pent up horniness will hit him, and he's like, oh I gotta fuck you for several days straight now. You kinda have to needle him to fuck otherwise if he's got a project going on, and he always stops a moment to get you bouncing on his lap, but you're done and he goes right back to work. When he's got free time, he's such a damn distraction, though. God forbid you don't have any time for him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Dick: Depends on how tired he's feeling. He usually really refuses to go and its kinda cute seeing him fight with himself when his eyelids are dropping and he's barely kissing you anymore

Jason: he stays awake waaaay past you, likes to watch you as you sleep against him or beside him

Tim: very, but again, you gotta cradle him and lull him

[i-yap]

Batboys x quiet! reader(who is not quiet in private)

( some of the reasons for the quietness is a bit traumatic so uhh warning)

Dick grayson -

opposites attract is possibly my favorite trope ever. And that is exactly what you guys are . Not exactly golden retriever x black cat though people who didn't know you guys well assumed such .

Dick would get exhausted spending forever being charming and charismatic for even the most extroverted of people get tired when they had to manage multiple superhero teams, a detective squad and the whole batfamily.

You were silence, peace serenity almost..until you weren't. Grayson was worried about this relationship in the start, after all you guys were really different. He was afraid you were going to be annoyed by his sunshine self, and that when he isn't feeling like talking, the conversations would go silent.

But you really are so different when comfortable with someone, and its tough not to trust and drop your shield with grayson.

It took him by surprise slowly seeing you open up and show your weird side. It somehow made him cherish it more and even want to show sides of him that only you got to see.

When he asked you why you weren't like this with everyone you said " My parents had a habit of talking over me, sometimes outrightly not hearing me speak at all. No matter how loud I spoke..i wondered if they couldn't hear me...if anyone even wanted to you" "why me then?" asked dick , "you're nothing like my parents, I know you care" and he does..he really does. He won't ever let you feel like that every again. He will make sure everything you want said is heard, and if not he will burn it into the skyline

Jason todd

he appreciated it, a quiet person in public. He hated being in public, he hated the buzz the noise the push the touch of humans around him. He felt strange

till he feels you hold his knowing you felt just as strange as him. Leave the gala and walk around the library , one earphone in each ear listening to whatever you wished to play.

Pulling you close in crowded areas- was it for you or for him? Glaring at anyone who dared tease you about your quietness. A single glare usually does the job but don't worry ...other ways exist too.

He loves that when you two are alone, you are a completely different person. It makes him feel special, like he is the only one who understands you. Because you're the only one who understands him.

When he asks " well I guess I never felt like people liked what came out of my mouth.. my humour too dark, my words too dumb and I didn't make sense. So I stopped trying" don't worry about being cringe..he understands you completely

Tim drake

he is intruiged. How do you pull such a perfect facade. How does one look so poised and collected with those rich assholes and so wild and untamed with him?

He could never really perfect the act the way you did. He's seen you grow up, but somehow its like you were born with two people living in your brain.

If you're this mysterious to your childhood lover, how does anyone in the world even think that they could know you, both versions of you.

Dont get me wrong, he loved it, A mystery he never could solve, not even with your help.

" Teach me your ways master" "I remember you wanting me to call you that last night..oh no wait it was si-" "shut upp" "fine ill tell you timmy boy, I just believe those rich stick up their ass puppets don't deserve to see all ..this.." "what about school kids, friends , teemates-" "I don't need anyone to get me as long as you do"

He will never get it, even if someone engraved it into his skin he wont understand everything about you , you'll always be the case he couldn't solve.

AND WE ARE BACK BICHES , send in requests and stuff, inbox open again blah blah I'm feeling much better now but I might push angst stuff more

[anadiasmount]

more of us - jude bellingham insta au

au based off the song slime you out by sza ft (tw) drake, let me love you by mario, and angel by shaggy 🤍 broken up and you’re thriving but one can’t keep watching your stories and sliding up 🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️

ynusername posted on their stories! 🔒

judebellingham sent a reply to your story!

↪️ jesus christ women…

↪️ who you with??

↪️ you good?

seen two hours ago**

ynusername added to their story! 🔒

judebellingham sent a reply to your story!

↪️ you’re killing me here y/n…

↪️ fit check my ass. this should be for my eyes only.

↪️ yourreply: funny but you lost me remember? wasn’t good enough, sum like that. ur words not mine 👍

seen a minute ago**

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judebellingham posted on their feed!

liked by: jobebellingham, gioreyna, vinijr, camavinga, brahmin, tonikroos, 1,267,569.

judebellingham: fit checks and lyrics.

comments:

vinijr: really bro? 😆

gioreyna: oh… what a coincidence! 😁

jobebellingham: did you really show your appreciation tho?

↪️ judebellingham: stfu i’m working on it.

user81: this post looks familiar…

username20: so who’s the girl? 🤨

username85: he’s taken?

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↪️ let me guess… she said no 👎

↪️ judebellingham: no, she said ‘idk’

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↪️ seriously? this ain’t proving nothing 😭

↪️ judebellingham: hop off my dick… at least she saw it

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↪️ always super proud of you, beautiful!

↪️ you deserve it after all your hard work 🤍

↪️ wish i could’ve taken you to celebrate, ik how much this means to you.

↪️ yourreply: tysm, jude!🤍 it does mean a lot, unfortunately we’re on different roads :((

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yourusername: mirror selfies and music 🎧👍

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judebellingham: 😍😍😍

judebellingham: mine. all mine

judebellingham: answer texts

judebellingham: “september, we fallin' off, but im still the man you tryna win over…”

↪️ ynusername: “ironic how the news i got about you ended up bein' bad news”

westonmckennie: 😍😍😍

liked by ynusername!

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liked by ynusername!

rubendias: hermosa 🤩

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yourbsf: ate the boots up 😵‍💫😋

↪️ yourusername: you with your phrases 😂🤍

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[gilverrwrites]

Swatches of pink and red

Tim Drake/Reader, 650 words Kinktober entry 12: Vibrator Warnings: Dom/Sub | Blindfold | Vibrator Requested by: Anonymous

When you arrive home, Tim’s already kneeling on the bed, stripped down to his custom-printed Blue Beetle I socks, dick at full attention, and eagerly awaiting instruction. You’d promised him tonight would be the night, even went out and bought a brand-new wand just for the occasion, and you can tell from his pink cheeks and bashful smile that he’s been looking forward to it.  

“Okay, Timbo. Don’t move.” You smile at him as you cross the bedroom, fishing an old blindfold, your new toy, and a bottle of lube from the bedside table. Tim watches keenly as you climb onto the bed in front of him until you wrap the silky fabric around his eyes. You place a chaste kiss on his soft lips before leaning back to admire his muscular frame; his pale skin and the dark body hair that adorns his lower body until you see his toes twitching in anticipation. You count them out, making him wait until he gets to thirty before you concede. “Lay down, legs open, hands above your head.”

Ever greedy for praise and intensely aware of his surroundings at all times, Tim immediately follows your instructions easily getting comfortable without accidentally nudging you or fussing over where you might be situated.

“Oh wow, aren’t you being a good boy today?” You coo, and he offers an appreciative “thank you” in return, cheeks turning two shades darker already. If you wanted to, you could make a pretty apt chart of Tim’s horniness levels using nothing but pink and red paint swatches.

“Just keep it up.” You warn, enjoying the way his hips shudder in response to the cold lube you begin to brush along the length of his dick. Already he begins panting as you wrap your hand around his shaft, jerking him in slow, loose movements. “If you move out of position, I will stop, and you’ll have to wait until tomorrow night for another chance to cum. Is that understood, baby?”

“Yes.” The word sounds strained, pushed out of his throat between bitten lips as he tries hard not to rock himself between your fingers. “Please do it.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” You deliberately take your time however as you locate the power button and switch through the different speed and tempo settings until you find one you’re happy with.

As soon as you press the tip of the wand to the base of Tim’s cock, his mouth falls open, a long, obscene groan escaping his lips. His legs stay nice and wide for you, but he lifts them in the air, following the curl of his toes and incidentally giving you a gorgeous view of his tight ass.

“Does this feel good?” You implore, working the vibrating head along his shaft until it's pressed against the pink crown of his cut penis. Tim responds to your question with a series of indecipherable whines and the rapid nodding of his head. Intoxicating to watch, but not the answer you’re looking for. “Come on Timmy, you can do it. Tell me how I’m making you feel.”

“Sssss.” He hisses as you circle his tip, fingers thrusting into his hair to temper his fervour. Not quite the position he’d started in, but his hands are above his head, plus he looks so sinfully debauched, all rosy skinned and messy-haired, so you’ll let him pass. “Shit! So good, so, so good. Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Already the veins of his cock are twitching and throbbing beneath your touch. Every time your pumping hand reaches the base, his balls grow tighter. Breath heavy, sweat-slicked skin growing more heated with every move of the vibrator. Poor thing is not going to last long at all.

Hey you, yeah you! You think you're hot shit? Good! Cause you are. 💖

Kinktober Masterlist

[honey-milk-depresso]

Batfam x reader going to an escape room

Gesus I went insane from this, I was too lazy to do Babs and Bruce I’m sorry- 😭😭

***S/o is above 18, which means characters below are also aged up!

Batfam x S/o VS Escape Rooms

Dick Grayson

God forbid you bring him to a horror-themed escape room. He can fight Joker, Slade, almost get killed like three days a week but he’s scared of them nasty ass sound effects when you unlock a clue and begin jumping on you while screaming until he stops and goes “oh hey, a clue-”

Sometimes keep pointing at the wrong kinds of clues. Like the ones that have the sticker label that says “NOT PART OF ROOM” and can still ask, “is this a clue???”

If you’re scared, both of you can cling together although both of you would push each other to try to punch in the coordinates because you fear the whacky effects this escape room offers.

He will, however, do everything you tell him when trying to solve puzzles. Dick will sacrifice all his loud sound fear and do it for you. Otherwise if you’re brave enough (magically) he’ll just look from behind and clap with amazement.

Whether you two escape or not… usually not. You guys get stuck there most of the time although he wouldn’t be so jumpy and can focus if you two pick a non-horror-themed escape room. You two still had fun though and that’s all that matters. <3

Jason Todd

I felt like he might’ve destroyed the props inside the room out of frustration. Horror themed or not, this man can get frustrated over puzzles he’s failing at. Like one time this man was punching in possible combinations as stated in the piece of paper you two found (miraculously) that had a riddle to the password of the lock the two of you were trying to open and ends up breaking the lock with his bare hands out of frustration that the host had to rush in after catching all that on camera.

He keeps complaining, “that shit is more nonsensical than Riddler’s riddles, goddamnit!” He just wants to win and get out of here with you. That’s the whole POINT.

The one who keeps making sarcastic jokes about all the clues like “this guy puts ‘DEATH’ as the password, how original”, “wow. Who could’ve guessed the VAMPIRE out of the three options where the two others are HUMANS is the killer. Incredible.” You’ll never here the end of it-

If you’re scared, he’ll hold you closer to him (while he slowly loses his shit to colour coordinated buttons) and secretly likes how you cling to him if you are scared. If not, he’s appreciative you try to calm him down and help him stay focus.

You two would sometimes get out, sometimes not successfully, but all the time you’d usually get a bill to pay for the damaged props. Couple goals. <3

Tim Drake

He is full on lock mode INTO this escape room game. By this point, you two are just speed-running through this to get out and win.

Tim is a detective with an IQ of 142 after all, so most of the escape rooms are just easy for him that you complain isn’t fun anymore. Thus, you two go for the really hard ones and I mean those REALLY hard ones like “The Caretaker” kinda with a 1.5% success rate THEN would things get interesting.

Tim likes a challenge, and he gets even more determined to be successful in escaping. He’s not scared of the props, even in horror-themed because he’s super driven to win. If you get scared of horror-themed, and even more terrifying is that it has such a low success rate he’s still by your side trying to reassure you while trying to solve the clues to get the both of you to the next section. Most of the time, you two get out. He gets super salty if he was about to key in the code to get out but just that split second he ran out of time and the both you didn’t get out. Kiss his cheek so he’ll completely forget being salty and more red-faced. <3

Damian Wayne

Like Jason, might’ve break a few props in the process of being frustrated. He’s laser focused in winning and escaping, it’s just that he’s frustration bubbles up easily in an escape room when he come across a particularly challenging roadblock he might push away his rationality and break the lock with his bare hands like Jason (dude how??).

He’s not scared of escape rooms, and maybe for the cheaper ones he’ll think are lame: commenting on how fake the blood is or how plastic-y the skull is with his bad painting. If you’re scared though, he’s silently celebrating the fact he gets to hold you close all while having a straight face.

Inside, his brain is yelling “YESSSSSSS- THANK YOU LORD FOR LETTING ME HOLD THEM IN MY ARMS AND-”

Yeah- pretty much just sums up the most chaotic experience for you or at least, whatever goes on his head.

Usually would get out with him, although sometimes you two would find a bill to pay for broken props but it’s not as bad as Jason’s count so don’t worry. <3

Duke Thomas

He’s pretty good at escaping actually. Well, he’s not as fast as Tim, but if given an hour on an average escape room, Duke can get out with you in maybe 50 minutes flat.

Of course, he’s not gonna try escaping an escape room with a success rate of 1.5% like Tim is, he knows his limits.

Has fun in horror and non-horror themed escape rooms alike. He’s mildly scared of the horror ones, maybe just be slightly jumpy but he won’t scream hysterically or anything. He’ll probably laugh it off and focus on figuring out the clues.

Maybe throw in a joke or two like, “wow, this guy just gives us the password through people’s surnames that are all colour names. If only it was that easy in stakeout mission-”

If you’re scared, he’s there for you and reminds you it’s fake. You’re not gonna die here (because this isn’t a twisted kind of escape room set up by Joker or anything like that, it’s an entertainment one so it’s okay-) and is pretty chill about the whole thing.

Pretty high success rate to escape for most escape rooms and definitely a lot of fun with him even if you guys fail! <3

Cassandra Cain

Also pretty high success rate of getting out of your average escape room, but she also might be another one to break the props but usually by accident.

She might be a little frustrated rattling with the locker and wondering what other possible the lock combination could work when she accidentally uses her strength and kinda… breaks the lock by accident. The two of you would look at each other as Cass slowly just… puts the lock away and gets to the next clue while the two of you act like nothing happened.

Very calm and collected and she’s just unfazed with the horror-themed escape rooms. She’s seen far worse and in fact, she thinks the horror-themed ones are fun that she’s seen smiling more while solving each clue.

If you’re scared of the props, she tried to reassure you they’re face by showing the blood is fake and the skulls are fake (and then accidentally breaks them somehow or drops the fake blood on the floor-) as she tried to reassure you.

Overall, 10/10 good time with Cass. <3

Stephanie Brown

Okay so… she’s focused, yes, but she takes a really long time to think. Just a tad bit. Might be like Dick: points to the prop that has a “NOT PART OF ESCAPE ROOM” label and goes “is this a clue???”

She’s trying, she really is. Has a pretty normal chance of escaping with you but usually with only 5 minutes left or less. I think the most insane one was when you and her finally broke out on the dot when one hour was over and it was time’s up. The host was just doing that white guy blinking meme thing and was like- “huh- okay-”

She’s kinda jumpy in horror-themed escape rooms, but she’s not like Dick to scream her lungs out. Maybe just let out a yelp or “HOLY SHI—” out loud and be like “goddamnit” when she quickly recovers.

If you’re scared, it’s okay she’s got you! Even if she’s a bit startled in the beginning, she’ll be your (mostly) knight in shining armour!

She jokes a lot about the props around like: “Lmao, this goofy horse painting’s like Jason”, “Why the skull look so poorly painted on the eyes”, “What is with that silly sounding witch laugh, lmao” to lighten up the mood.

Funny times with Steph in there so 10/10. <3

Reblogs help! ^^

[ragnarokhound]

I think the best titans tower scenario is one where tim gets a good look at jason in his new and improved robin outfit and gets so hard so fast he’s lightheaded, immediately derailing jason’s plans for the beat down because Jason’s going “what kind of FREAK”

anon, i love this for you, and i like the way you think lmao

like, i'll be real, the OG robin costume is goofy as hell on Jason in the TT sequence, but at the same time? Can we not simply appreciate a well-built man in booty shorts and pixie boots. Let he who is free of sin be the first to condemn Dat Ass. Especially when it's flexing that hard to beat up a guy i, personally, like to headcanon as having a giant mcfreaking crush that unfortunately did Not die with Jason lololol RIP to Tim Drake

(btw i am imagining Jason tearing off his infinitely more sensible Red Hood fit and then upon getting this reaction from Tim, has to pause because 'i'm wearing this to make a statement here. this isn't about that. why is this doing it for you, kid' and Tim just has to sit there stewing in his own humiliation like 'can you just kill me now? let's go back to the part where you were beating me up to teach me a lesson oh god wait no don't do that, fuck--' and Jason's like '🧍i'm gonna go actually, you made this weird. beatdown cancelled' and Tim, with his gloves over his face just muffles out a 'thanks, see you never' and throws himself out the window)