#i could keep talking about this but i think that's probably enough for this morning haha

[mmmilkweed]

Shadownilla Hcs with sex pest Pure Vanilla pleaaaasse? 👀👀

what a beautiful ask to asnwer when i'm half a bottle deep in a fresh ice cold jagermaister. I am about to be so disgusting that when i sober up, i'll probably have to delete this Op... the flood gates you opened. Where does one even start? how do i format this? I guess i'll just write whatever. man this will be so ooc but HE'S FOR MEEEE i make content for meeeee, i wish i could do more of content like this but i just know people will tear me apart for mischaracterizing him

my sweet sweet pure vanilla... The most virtuous cookie in all of crispia.. being the biggest pervert too. But by Christ does he mask it well. Like when Smilk first emerges from the tree and he's already like ''woah alright that's offputting... i need him'' I just knoww he gropes Smilk whenever possible. At first it was gentle touches, like putting his hand gingerly on his shoulder, or on the back of his neck. But then his hands started traveling and instead they'd sneak around the small of his back, his hips, his nape. When Close and alone, even when Smilk is trying to torment him, they'd find their way to the innards of his thighs or down his chest. How even if he's pushed away he'd always go right back at it bc he doeeesnntt care he just wants to feel. weirdo. freak. have you heard of personal space ? I imagine he was awful as a teen. ngl. but. i just know he stole WL underwear. freak of a freak. he grew out of this when he realized he could just have sex like a normal person - and yk what?? it works. He's attractive. He knows. uses it to his advantage He makes the first moves on Smilk, like before when he kept touching him. He tries to be gentle and slow, he really does, but he can't fight his nature. His first kiss with Smilk was just that - first the gentle, tender kiss - the bare minimum of checking the waters before he dives in to push Smilk somewhere he can't escape and making out with him. How one of his hands keeps holding Smilk in place while the other explores. How SM hasn't been kissed in eons and is completely breathless and wiggling about and still he wants PV to keep going and PV, of course, does? How their first kiss immediately fell apart to sex, and how its weird and teethy and painful and neither of them can get enough of each other. And it keeps going. Smilks already had enough - his libido is pretty standard, if not a little below average, and he's already overstimulated as is bc. again. no one but him has touched him like this in eons*. But the was PV doesn't careee he doesn't give a single gaf. The way he keeps goinngggg. i mean, he finally has him?? you think this won't last all night? He's fucking Smilk like he's trying to make him pregnant. cuz. yk. he is. At some point lube isn't even necessary. ahem.. coughs. Smilk tries to leave in the morning, only to be pulled back in bed for another round. sweet sweet morning sex cant go without it babaey

past that benchmark.. sigh. Smilk can't even torment him normally. Showing PV a puppet show of all his friends crumbling? womp womp who gives a gaf PV's trying to get a taste. Threatening his souljam? been there, done that, how about a kiss instead (its never just a kiss)? it's probably SM getting harassed at this pointtt. the nasty sex these two have...shakes my drink... pv would probably go at it anywhere tbf. literally anywhere... in public, semi-public...between council meetings...sigh i cant keep talking abt this bc i'll want to go into talking abt comic stuff that i have planned and i'd rather have the drawings speak for themselves

*(I like the burningmilk ship, but i see the beasts as friends, and i relate it to my irl friend group, and having sex within a friend group is like preforming incest to me so... yea im projecting that into MY smilk. love the ship otherwise.)

[thefixations-ofmine]

Mister June and the globetrotter

Bucktommy | 3.3k | Rated G (sexual inuendos) Entry for the @bucktommywinterfest, round 10 February 2-8: Tommy in the firefighter calendar and Buck 1.0 meets closeted Tommy This Idea comes from this post right here, with a twist. Note: Bold italics are texts. Dash changes POV, star cuts time.

Main Masterlist | Winter fest Masterlist | AO3

So, were you hoping for anything from this date? Buck reads the text, surprised. The person on the other end - who isn’t Jodie - has definitely been woken up at three in the morning on a Wednesday and wants to keep talking? Well, he’s bored and could use the distraction, considering he just lost a very good fuck opportunity, so he goes on in good-old Buck fashion;

Not really. I don’t ever give it too much thought. It’s just sex for now. Buck presses send and then realizes that makes him sound shallow. Pot meet kettle. He goes on to defend himself: I move around a lot, settling down isn’t in the 5-year plan. The little white lie reaches its destination, then he sets his phone down to get the shower started.

I see. I guess that’s fair and keeps people from having expectations. Has to feel lonely though, no?

Buck reads the messages and there’s a pinch in his heart he can’t control. Yes. ‘Yes’ is the answer but he’s never said that to anyone, even to Maddie because he doesn’t want her to fuss over him on top of everything else - much of the reason he’s running around is to stay out of people’s hair.

The only thing he can come up with is to be Buck, again – or rather this persona he’s allowing himself to be – so he takes a photo of his naked chest from a low angle and sends it with a caption: Wouldn’t be lonely if you wanted to join. 

He feels himself grow hard as a pavlovian response to the sexual chase, and his brain absentmindedly captures a few extra shots, one precisely showing his back in the mirror down to the dip of his ass crack and sends them. His thumbs linger over the screen to add another quirky line, but the dots on the other end appear, and disappear, and this goes on too long for his liking. Before he loses his entire rhythm, Buck decides to leave it at that and jump into the shower, the scalding water feels good on his back, his hand finds refuge around his dick, the comforting gesture sending a jolt up his back and his low hum carries the desperation of a long day.

-

Tommy’s body goes so warm when he receives the pictures he swears he can hear the AC start running in the room. One photo shows the dips and valleys of his abs perfectly, and Tommy loves that he’s not dried-out and cut either. Despite the very short attempts at flirting when he was younger, this was the first time he got such explicit pictures and his body shudders when he goes back down to the edge of the screen where a very apparent bush peeks barely.

The second photo breaks his composure but his hand is quick enough to shut off the groan that creeped up his chest. That kid (Evan - his name sits in the raunchy greeting at the top of the conversation) is giving him everything he wants and it’s pumping up blood around his body at an alarming rate. He studies the way Evan’s back arches against the counter and how Tommy’s thumbs would look amazing in those dimples, and fuck-

This is affecting him more than it should. He usually has to go digging through pages of porn to find a body he likes and he shouldn’t, but he lets himself linger a little too long for his liking. He shifts in bed, not entirely sure what to do or even what to say.

He wants to play along, ask for more, but the poor guy probably thinks he’s volleying with a pretty woman and Tommy’s a fan of not building expectations. And, well, nobody knows Tommy is gay, maybe not even himself entirely but the way his hands are getting damp feels like a very autonomous bodily response to him, so he has to do something about it. Or nothing at all. Pot meet kettle, again.

He needs to push himself to do so but Tommy sets the phone down on the little table next to his bunk and forces himself to wait this out as he tries to catch up on sleep. He usually has no trouble falling asleep, but he finds himself counting sheep this time. Or maybe it’s to keep the impending truth he was growing in his pants at bay.

A call comes in just before his alarm, twenty minutes before they would all be free to go home. Chim grunts from the bunk below, seemingly more aggravated by the situation.

“Rise and shine, superstar,” Tommy teases, grabs his phone and jumps into his boots before running to the truck. The call came from across town so he gets a few minutes to scroll through his aviation forums as the engine carries them out. When the screen turns on, a notification tag shows that Evan had sent him four texts during the night. He can’t say he has forgotten about him, the pictures still haunting his thoughts, but Tommy hadn’t come up with an escape plan either. He has a quick look around and holds his breath even though Chim and Hen are sitting across from him - from the way things were headed, he could definitely have a dick pic waiting for him. He lets his thumb unlock the screen.

Shit. I’m sorry. That was too much.I guess I was still in the mood, you know…Fuck, I shouldn’t say that either. I’m a douche.Anyway, um. I have to be up early to catch a flight. So maybe talk later?

Tommy grins stupidly and the breath he held comes out in a broken chuckle. Evan has to be in his twenties. Early twenties, even, because if the pictures weren’t indication enough, that rambling nailed the coffin. And Tommy does want to keep talking to him, for selfish reasons or to see how this pans out, he’ll have to figure that out, but he has to be honest about the situation, for Evan’s and his own sake.

So, he sends a few texts and puts the phone in his turnout, not expecting an immediate reply;

All good. I get the fun behind this.I need to be honest though, I’m a guy. My name’s Tommy. I’m 36 and a firefighter in LA. I’m still up for a chat, just thought you should know.So I’m sorry you sent those photos, but they’re safe with me.Oh! And I have a safe flight, Mr. Globetrotter. ;)

Tommy feels the vibration of hope as soon as the phone hits the bottom of the pocket, and his heart picks up a few beats per minute knowing he might have a text from... No, Tommy shakes his head, don’t go there. Not a second ago he was trying to convince himself this whole deal should be left to a short and silly conversation about a wrong number. The truck pulls up to their destination and he can focus on doing what he does best.

It’s only two hours later when Tommy can have another look at his phone, and his stomach flips when the notification on the screen is just a random email. He chuckles, really shouldn’t be that bummed out, he thinks as he opens their conversation. His thumb hits the three dots next to the number and he goes to add Evan’s name as a contact.

Yeah, he’s fucking done for.

*

Evan puts on the blue LAFP t-shirt and lets his hands run down his front, admiring the color on himself and it’s evident how hopeful he is for the road ahead. He starts the academy in less than a week and it’s nerve wracking, but Tommy has been sure to guide him through the steps like a great mentor. And it’s been great finding a reason to keep talking to him, finally. 

“Tuck in the shirt. I know it’s not the army, but they still care about little details,” Tommy says over the speaker as he watches Evan try on the uniform. He loves how eager he is. He’s already noted that down on his recommendation letter. When Evan had mentioned moving back to LA, things just clicked and Tommy was the one to start talking about the job.

“Uh, yeah. Th-thank you, Tommy.” Evan proceeds to fix the uniform and huffs proudly as he twirls in front of the mirror. Tommy still thinks the boy is in on the joke and is trying to see where his self-control will break, then Evan grabs the phone and smiles and Tommy knows he’d forgive Evan anything. “What would I do without you?”

“You want an honest answer?” Tommy says and they both laugh easily.

They facetimed once or twice, or maybe five times over the last weeks, and each time the conversation gets deeper and more genuine, and Evan doesn’t know it yet but him being careless about his sexuality is doing wonders for Tommy on his end of things. He had been more than okay with seemingly sending risky photos to a man, and he even complimented Tommy at large when he got a basic selfie back for a profile picture. There was still one thing to figure out;

“Want me to drive you to your interview?” Tommy offers boldly, only slightly regretting it. They hadn’t had the talk about meeting in person and that could be crossing boundaries. Maybe Evan saw the wince on his face just then because he starts giving him an excuse.

“My sister, um Maddie, she just moved to town also. We haven’t really seen each other in a while. I asked her to come with me.” Tommy nods and smiles. Still, he waits for the moment Evan realizes he’s being pushed against a wall, like Tommy is out to play some trick on him. “I’d much rather see you at my graduation. If you’d like. Of course, um, no pressure, I-”

“I will be there, Evan.” Tommy says the words calmly even if his mind screams of excitement. He promises himself to tell him he’s gay before then. Maybe even let the station in on it as well; if he wants to believe in chosen families, he’s going to need to be honest and open.

It’s five months. He can do it.

“O-okay. I gotta go. I have a few things to do before I get there.”

“I’ll see you around, Evan.”

“Honestly, I never thought I’d love to hear my name out loud so much,” Evan answers and dips his head down. Tommy melts when he does that. He wants to kiss the top of his head and tell him he’s being so adorable. Then Tommy wonders how Evan’s name would sound coming out like thick honey on his tongue as he moans and okay, Tommy needs to end this video call right now or risk embarrassing himself.

“Think of a nickname, then. I call dibs on your name,” he adds with a wink and ends the call.

Tommy goes back to his living room where a pile of paperwork waits for him. The forms to be recertified for flying had been in his office for months, maybe a year, and talking to Evan had made him realize that every dream deserves a chance. So when Tommy convinced Evan to join the firefighting academy, Evan had dared him to get into flying again. Then Tommy talked to Bobby, and things started to piece together like a puzzle. He’d be transferring to Harbor station just before Evan graduates, and perhaps Tommy used his charms and wits to make sure his empty spot was warm and ready for Evan to make his probation.

-

“Maddie, you don’t get it. I-I don’t want to make a bad impression!” Buck waves his hand around as he refills his sister’s coffee. He sits at the end of the table and prepares for the older-sibling advice to be laid on him.

“Evan, I’m not sure I understand, didn’t you just meet Tommy? Actually, you haven’t even met him.”

“Well, it’s been months now technically. The academy alone lasted five months! And-and he’s been there every step of the way, I just-”

“Okay, okay. But let me say that again. This is the first time you’ll see him in person, Evan-”

“Buck! Um- ha. Everyone at the academy called me Buck, and I think I like the nickname.” Maddie sighs, annoyed. But she smiles anyway and proceeds;

“Buck,” she says the name with a faint grimace, “I just want to make sure you’re not expecting too much. I mean it’s one thing to get along over the phone a few times a week. Maybe it won’t be as sugar-coated in person. I want you to know that.” Buck takes a sip of coffee and a bite in his bagel. A quick look at his watch: two hours left before the ceremony. He needs to iron his uniform and grow out some balls. And convince his sister that he’s not reading too much into it even if his stomach does a weird thing now - like when he eats something that disagrees with him - whenever Tommy says his name because it’s his to say and that perhaps he recorded one of their conversations so he could listen to it on repeat while he fucked some pent-up anger into his cheap fleshlight. Shit.

Maddie is right, this could all come crashing down. Buck never thought he would find such a connection with someone, but it seems so obvious now; Buck had never given anyone a flying chance at a conversation, let alone parts of his brain he had never exposed. He’s not certain what that says about him just yet, but he’d lie if he said he didn’t hope for this to pan out well. Knowing someone in the LAFD right out the gate will be detrimental, and hopefully the coffee dates will also be fun.

“Anyway, I appreciate this, Maddie. I do. He’s just a friend. Someone I can rely on and who’s made substantial efforts to help me. I need that in my life. Everything is so volatile.” Buck feels all lovey-dovey now, and he reaches for his sister’s hands. “And I need you. So tell me, how do you like LA so far?” 

-

Tommy fidgets. Tommy never fidgets. But he’s sitting on a little white wooden chair in the back rows of this open-field ceremony and his leg won’t stop bouncing and he’s biting the inside of his lips and he’s looking around frantically and… maybe Tommy does fidget now. The ceremony is about to start and he needs to get his shit together because Evan will be one of the firsts to come up alphabetically and Tommy knows he’ll be scanning the crowd for him. It doesn’t help that today of all day the sun decided to be a menace to humanity. His hands are damp and his collar scrapes around his neck and Tommy needs to remember that he’s not at an army boot camp and he’s safe and sound.

He looks at the gift he brought to ground himself, but he wonders if that or his eagerness might freak Evan out. Then again, he’s meeting the man who shamelessly sent him pictures bordering on nudes for the past month and he hadn’t returned the favour, so he hopes that this gift can bridge the gap.

“Why does this feel like some reality TV show and you’re about to meet someone your mom picked out for you?” Chim jokes beside him, obviously aware of his nerves. He pondered bringing someone with him, but this was a good idea - Buck would have his sister, so he could have support as well. Who better to take that spot than mister comic-relief himself.

Plus, Tommy had made some efforts on his end, as he promised himself, so he came out to the station over one of Bobby’s amazing dinners as well as letting them know about the transfer, reinforcing how proud and privileged he feels to be part of this house. Their acceptance and encouragement had both been amazing and heart-breaking, bringing Tommy back to his childhood and how he wished someone had hugged him the way Bobby did. Tommy didn’t cry often either, but he did that day.

“He hasn’t been picked out for me. It was a weird turn of events, Chim. We’ve been talking for months. It just… feels like it could work out.”

“Yeah, some like to call that fate!” Chim proclaims with a nudge of the elbow. Suddenly, some bells ring and both of them startle, dragging their attention back to the stage. Tommy sits up straight and glares at Chim when he feels his shoulders bounce against his.

*

Chim is chit-chatting with Evan’s sister as they all wait for him to come out of the building. Which he does, twenty minutes later and suddenly Tommy wishes he had taken longer. He needs to calm the hamster doing a marathon in his brain. He needs to go back home and wear more ample clothing and leave the goddamn gift on the kitchen island, but those long legs straddle quickly and Evan joins them before Tommy can even swallow his fears.

The itching on his neck comes back but Tommy is good at ignoring it. He bounces on his heels a couple times as they lock eyes and let the rest of the world fade around them. He knows Maddie says something cheerful to him, and perhaps Chim joined, but for now Evan is beelining towards him and Tommy’s mouth falls open.

“Hi, Evan.” He finds the courage to say.

“Hi,” he whispers before crashing his face against Tommy’s and backing them into the truck. The kiss is clumsy and heated and perfect. Tommy curses the damn gift in his hands as he can’t let them roam over Evan’s back the way Evan’s exploring his chest. They pull apart just before the rest of Tommy’s body could start to respond.

“Was, um. Was that okay?” Evan asks, eyes amorous and fixated on Tommy’s mouth. Tommy manages to look around then and finds their guests gleefully looking at them. He never wants to leave this bubble, but-

“I’m so sorr-”

“No.” Tommy realizes he hasn’t said a word. “No, fuck, that was. That was… how did you know?” Evan gives him a face then and the details of their conversations come crawling back, or maybe Tommy knows he wasn’t very subtle on the ogling despite being behind a screen. His body feels heavy and grounded and he wants his lips back on Evan’s.

“Listen,” Maddie chimes in. “It’s warm, and it’s just shy of happy hour. You guys wanna join us for beers?” Us? Oh. A double date? Yeah, Tommy can do with that to ease the nerves and get a more sensible conversation going. He nods, then turns to Evan.

“Y-yeah, that’s okay,” the young man answers and before he can head to the car Tommy grabs his wrist.

“I have this for you. Special graduation gift.”

“The firefighter calendar?” Evan looks perplexed despite the smile on his face.

“Well, I never sent any spicy photos back so… I’m mister June,” Tommy says. The knot in his gut tightens when Evan’s cheeks go flaming red and he chokes on a laugh.

“I promise to make good use of it!” Tommy and Chim start laughing and it takes a moment to register in his mind. He goes; “Oh, no! Not what I meant, I-”

“Please. I hope so.” Tommy can finally bring his hand to the back of his neck and close the space between them in another searing kiss. One that promises so much, yet leaves everything to be discovered. Chim whistles and that’s a good thing, because Tommy has years to catch up on and he’s not above using the spacious back seat of his truck.

tags: @weewoo911 @hmg621, @chococara25

[ponyosfrogg]

IN-BETWEEN (PT 4)

Summary: Going back into the comics world knowing that they're just characters that you read hits different.

Pairing: Tim Drake x Female Wayne! reader.

Authors note: Gosh it's been such a long time. sorry abt it. 🥹💗 I hope this is worth the wait my little munchkins.

Warning: Some of the themes and contents written in this fic might be upsetting for some of the readers, read at your own risk. Some parts have strong language.

When your hand gripped your mug more, you gave a hitched breath. You had an uneasy feeling inside of you, your mind was all over the place, you've never felt more anxious before.

"You want to talk about it little bird?"

You raise your head, still in a little bit of disbelief, to look at Jason.

"Not really."

Your mind was wondering around your thoughts, you were sure this was not a dream. It wasn't hazy, in fact nothing ever felt more realistic than this moment.

Jason was on the other side of the couch, silently reading his book, you were just sitting and staring at the empty wall. after your smile he nodded understandingly and got back to his book that was occupying him for the whole morning.

It's been an hour or so since you wake up, in the fucking comic universe again apparently. You thought it was a dream and tried to pinch yourself multiple times, it did nothing but just make Damian glaring at you weirdly. Then somehow you convinced him to rain check on his plan saying some stupid shit like you weren't feeling like yourself and decided to trust something you can trust in both universes. A cup of coffee.

You looked at Jason again. His old scar on his cheek, green sweatshirt and black pants he's wearing, ruffled hair with a white streak, muscular body. He looked exactly the same on the panels but this time he was sitting right beside you, reading his book peacefully. You feel your anxiety rushing your mind and making you breathe faster. How could you possibly understand what was going around you. Everything seemed so unrealistic yet so real at the same time. They still think that you lost your memory probably but you were very aware of everything and maybe more since you grew up reading about their stories. You knew them more than themselves because you were also, once, on their mind reading their thoughts on the colorful panels.

Okay, one thing at a time. Dream or not, you need to find your way out of it or at least solve the connection between two worlds. You thought about writing everything you know on a piece of paper but what would happen if some of them accidentally find that paper, written everything in detail since they also think you lost your memory. That was very risky but again also, keeping everything in your mind was very hard too considering you had a mind of a fish literally.

Okay, what about telling them you got your memory back? Not a very clever move considering they are vigilantes who fight for the city and so called Viperia is one of them. They might take you on a fucking patrol and considering you have ZERO experience in martial arts and using a katana which is almost the same height as you, not a good option.

But how can you keep denying everything. You are in a manor full of detectives and at some point there's a high chance that one of you might figure out that you're not their actual sister but an imposter and beat you to death.

Yeah, maybe not to your death but you got the point.

And asking one of them for their help? No. That could fuck up the whole situation. They see Viperia as their sister and you being an imposter takes you back to the other option where you'd get beaten up.

It was a dead end but your mind was working as fast as it could, trying to come up with new solutions, just, none of them were useful enough. Maybe you needed some air or something.

"Jason? You wanna go for a walk?"

He put his book beside and looked at you. He had one of these glares which would make a lot of people fall in love with him as soon as they see him. The one that seemed like could read your whole soul like an open book without even flinching but also always giving the feeling of trust. It was literally impossible to achieve yet he was standing right in front of you with all of his glory. Definitely the creator of him was playing favorites and Jason was one of them.

"Yes, around the manor?"

He was still thinking that you lost your memory and didn't want to overwhelm you with all the city noise and danger. He remembered when he came back from the death coming out of his grave wasn't the hardest part, it was all the loud voices he had to deal with. Lights, muggers, rushing people and the ugly rainy weather which was the signature thread of Gotham now. But you didn't even want to go to Gotham anyway. Yes it was all fun and games to read that everything that was happening in this gloomy dark city but being in it? It wasn't so fun. What would happen if you came across some thief, or worse Joker's himself. You didn't want to walk around in Gotham as the daughter of fucking Bruce Wayne even though you trusted (?) Jason Todd.

"Sounds great. Let me grab my shoes from my room"

You got up and quickly ran towards the stairs. This manor somehow managed to smell so good. Maybe it was because of the expensive perfumes or maybe it was Alfred's amazing cooking. Yes, comics weren't giving him the appreciation he deserves, he was some sort of food god and you were sure of it.

When you entered your room, you closed the door behind you and turned around, just to find a woman in front of your wardrobe, checking the pictures you looked at last night.

"May I help you?" you spoke with uncertainty in your voice.

"You shouldn't be here."

You could only see her back since she didn't even turn to look at you. She had black wavy hair almost as long as to come around her hips and a long black coat. Who would even wear a coat in the middle of the summer. Oh, right. It was Gotham.

You didn't know why but you didn't feel any kind of fear. It almost felt like home. Was she Talia? No. She wouldn't wear something like this but again, what do you even know.

"You shouldn't be here either i guess, since you sneaked into my room." Trying to scare some kind of lunatic by being bold? That's how things go in this universe you suppose.

"I sensed some abnormalities in the Multi-verse and magic realm. It started two nights ago and i just followed them. Who knew our one and only Batman had a daughter right?"

She turned around and you saw her face.

Oh fuck,

She was fucking Zatanna.

With all of her beauty, she was standing right in front of you, her blue eyes as clear as the sky, she had this kind of face that you only saw her doing to bad guys, well read at least. Annoying and slightly scary face. And she also knew that you didn't belong here?

Well i guess so much for making a low profile.

You fear growed inside of you, you knew yelling for help wasn't an option since she could easily turn into you a rabbit or I don't know, kill you? It was mostly up to her imagination and you knew she had a big one.

"Well, personally I didn't."

You just realized she had something on her hand and after finishing her sentence she showed it to you. It was a picture, the ones that you looked through last night. In that picture you were looking at Bruce who was busy with something on his computer. He was a little further from your camera so his face was kind of blurry.

"I'll be honest with you, i don't like intruders. Especially the ones from another universe we already have enough on our plate.

Okay, for starters you never actually imagined Zatanna being so intimidating in your imagination. Because when you were reading the comic she was only mean when she needed to. You just never thought you would be one of them but for defense, who would've thought.

"So I advise you to go back to your universe trespasser because next time I'm not going to be this nice, this is a warning.

Geez, was this her 'nice' personality. She looked like she could eat you alive without even hesitating to do so. You realized you didn't even move since she started talking but you felt like you lost your voice somewhere inside of you.

"Oh, you can move now." she said smiling, with her voice you left a deep breath you didn't even know you were holding. Why were you even holding it? Oh. Oh... She already made a spell. You bend over a little bit and put your hands on your knees to cough. Your lungs were burning with the oxygen again. You missed when your problem was just deciding what to eat at dinner.

When you feel slightly better you put your hand on your heart to feel your heartbeat. It seemed normal, well as normal as it can be since you almost died. But in this universe it appears that you weren't dealing with heart issues because normally you would die because of the rhythm.

You stood straight again, confidence leaving your body completely with her stone cold gaze.

"I didn't mean to intrude," you finally manage to say, your voice still shaky from the encounter with Zatanna's magic. "I don't even know how I ended up here."

Zatanna raises an eyebrow, her gaze softening slightly. "Well, you better start explaining yourself quickly, then."

You told your story to Zatanna, recounting the unbelievable chain of events. How you woke up here, believed you had lost your memory, and then woke up in your original universe, discovered the existence of a new character in the DCU who was essentially you. Every little detail. It felt like a surreal dream, but you soon realized it wasn't. Zatanna listens intently, her expression unreadable, as she processes the information. With each word, you notice her eyes flickering with interest, as if she's piecing together some puzzle in her mind. She doesn't interrupt, instead making silent calculations as you divulge the details of your journey. You can't help but wonder what she's thinking, and whether she believes you or not because you know that if she doesn't, there's a high chance that you'll continue your life as an animal. Well at least, Damian treats his animals quite nice.

But nonetheless, you were feeling some kind of relief because as you were telling your story, you realized how much you felt like you needed to share this with someone and knowing that she's one of the few characters in this universe who might comprehend the complexities of the multiverse due to her experiences. Also Zatanna's reputation as a skilled sorceress precedes her in the comic universe, and you can't help but feel a spark of hope that she might hold the key to solve this thing.

"So you only change universes when you're asleep in one?"

"Seems like it." You could sense that she believed your story. Well, she probably feels when someone is lying to her so that shouldn't be a coincidence.

"You must have known a lot about this universe then since it was some sort of book in your hands, Am I correct?" you could sense some kind of testing in her voice. As if you shouldn't have said that. You just nod as an answer.

Zatanna fixed a stern gaze on you, her blue eyes piercing through the air. "Listen to me carefully, the future isn't set in stone, and every action has consequences. Interfering with events could lead to unforeseen outcomes, and you might end up taking someone's attention that you wouldn't want to take." Her serious voice made you even more scared than you already were. you knew you were in some kind of messed up situation but you always thought the main thing to worry about was to be able to stay in one universe, not someone tracking you like an animal to hunt you down.

"No meddling or helping, be cautious about sharing too much. Revealing future events or secrets can disrupt the delicate balance of this universe. Even if you know what is going to happen, let it be. This is not your universe to save, do not ever interfere did you hear me?"

She said the last four words were sharper than the others with a little breath between them. You nod again, and wasn't able to find the voice to talk.

"This universe might not be real for you but it is real for those who live in it, until i solve your problem and figure out why you are here, you stay low. I'll cast a spell so no one can track you down like I did. As soon as I find a solution, you are going back to your universe."

She opened her palm just to create some kind of necklace with purple stone that looked like amethyst.

"Don't take this off. Ever."

When she closed her hands again, you felt a little more weight on your neck, just to find the necklace on your neck. your fingertips touched the cold stone. you could feel the energy coming out of it.

Just as you prepared yourself to ask your question, your room's door opened like someone was trying to get in. Without any knock.

You saw Jason's worried face looking at you and suddenly you panicked that he might see Zatanna and ask some questions about it. but when you looked behind, there was no one. You touched your neck just to make sure of her existence.

Your necklace was hanging around your neck.

"Are you okay little bird? it's been some time."

He said as he closed the door after him. He was suspecting something. Your window was completely open and you were still standing right next to the door. You looked paler than you were before like you saw some sort of ghost. He was genuinely worried about you considering you were dealing with a lot of situations right now. he could understand how painful it must be for you to get through all of these things.

"Yes, I'm okay. I just thought I saw someone and got scared."

He moved closer to the window to check if someone tried to get inside. It would be the last experience of their life considering everyone in this house was well-trained vigilantes. He didn't see anything and almost convinced it was because of the losing memory thing but then he realized the necklace around your neck. It had a distinct design that Jason has never seen.

"Hey, what's that?" He pointed to the necklace, curiosity piqued.

You instinctively covered the pendant with your hand, feeling a bit protective of it. "Oh, um, it's just a necklace I found. I thought it looked nice, so I put it on."

Jason raised an eyebrow but didn't press the matter further. "Alright, as long as you're okay. You ready for that walk?"

You nodded, eager to get some fresh air and clear your head after the encounter with Zatanna. You followed Jason out of the room, trying to act as normal as possible despite the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions inside you that crashes you.

You decide to take a deep breath and leave this matter in your room, just to enjoy some good moments with one of your favorite characters of all time. Well, you really should stop referring to him as a character too though, since you were in this universe now and he was a real person. Even though it was kind of weird.

When you guys were going down the stairs Jason's phone rang. he was in front of you so when he stopped you couldn't help but bump him with a sudden reflex your hand grabbed his shoulder to stop yourself from falling.

Your movements surprised you as if you were as slow as a sloth in your universe. It was not because you were lazy no, it was because your poor heart wasn't able to deal with too much movement that's why you were never into any kinds of sports. You couldn't even catch a ball if they threw it right onto your face.

He looked at you to see if you were okay before opening his phone and started to move again.

You were eager to know who was on the other end, you couldn't help but listen in, despite knowing it was wrong. You slowed your steps, tried to breathe much more quieter, tuning in to the conversation.

The voice on the other end sounded quite soft and young, he was most likely Jason's best friend Roy. You were familiar with his character when their own separate comic journey came out some years ago. and also considering Jason only has like three friends there weren't any other options. 'The outlaws' Although you didn't enjoy how the comic was going, you kept reading for their developing friendship and of course for Kori. That woman was the embodiment of power.

"Yeah, I was planning to join you last night, but family matters came up." Your thoughts stopped wondering when you heard him talk again. You couldn't quite understand what Roy was saying because Jason was walking fast but from the talk of the Jason, you kind of assumed they were expecting him to come yesterday and probably you were to so called up family matters.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to make it tonight either. The harbor, you say?" There was a brief pause. "Alright, send me the location. I'll be there in an hour." Something about the Harbor though, made you feel uneasy. but again you couldn't overthink it when Jason hung up the phone and turned around to face you.

You tried to act like you didn't overhead the entire conversation and just stared at your feet.

"Something came up little bird I'm sorry but we have to reschedule our walk and I have to go to my friends."

"Is everything alright Jason?"

He paused again probably thinking himself if everything was alright but quickly started to smile. "Yes, don't even think about it. I just need to run some errands. I promise to make it up though, I hope it is okay for me to leave you."

A gentleman like always.

you smiled reassuringly and nod your head. "Yeah, sure. I will see you around." He hugged you before he grabbed his jacket nearby the door and rushed towards the outside.

Harbor. It seemed too familiar to not to think about it. There was a harbor in Gotham but it was probably far considering they were always going by their cars or motorcycles. At least that what was written in the comics.

You turned around too and started to climb stairs while you were thinking. It wasn't even afternoon and you already had enough encounters for the day. It was much more easier before you realized you were just travelling between worlds you thought. now you were stuck in your favorite comic series in the body of their assassin sister with the mind of your own. which was a curse in your opinion. you felt alone and you were actually all alone. 

when you reached your room you were glad there wasn't anyone lurking around the house today. Damian was out, Jason was out, Tim was probably reading or something god knows what and for Dick, you were sure he wasn't going to visit you anytime soon considering he was not in Gotham that often now so when he was here he was usually meeting with friends. at least in comics it was what he was doing. or maybe he was outside making phone calls to everyone he knows to find a solution for your so called memory loss.

Tim on the other hand had a calm morning. After Damian took you out of his room this morning, he stayed awake a little bit more to go over some of the details on his recent case since all he had to do was researching about your memory loss that night or thinking about you constantly. After he realized he wasn't productive at all he decided to sleep a little bit. Its been hours since he slept, hell, maybe days. he wasn't even counting at that point. Alfred was out, doing groceries that's why he didn't bother himself to prepare something to eat. He just got into his bed and slept.

After some time his body awake him. He wasn't used to sleeping much that's why he was always struggling with insomnia. The most he could sleep was maybe four hours in a good day but most of the time it wasn't even the case, the constant nightmares wasn't leaving him alone. He wasn't even remembering them after waking up but most of the nights when he fell asleep he was waking with a lot of sweat, out of breath, crying like a ten year old kid who's afraid of darkness. that's why he stopped patrolling for some time now. he was helping his family behind computers and he also didn't trust himself around you.

He drank a glass of water and checked the time. It was almost six, he slept for four hours which was very good. although he woke up multiple times. When he reached for his phone he saw a text from five hours ago. it was from Jason, saying that he went to the harbor for a deal and left you alone in the mansion. Tim sighed loudly, he hated when he was getting treated like a fucking babysitter over you or Damian. he quickly texted some swear words to Jason and get out of the bed.

Your rooms were close considering Dicks and Jason's rooms were on the other side of the mansion. It was only going to take like, i don't know, ten seconds to reach your room but he was already feeling too lazy to do so.

The weather was rainy, again. and it was already dark. Considering it's summer Tim just guessed that a storm was approaching.

When he was in front of your room he heard a little scream inside of the room so without knocking he barged in.

There you were, standing on Damian's bed with a katana on your hand. your hand was bleeding and your other hand was holding the katana like your life depending on it.

"What are you doing?"

He rushed towards you and grabbed the tall sword out of your hand and put it on the wall again. you gave a big sigh and you jumped out of the bed.

"I just wanted to see if they were real."

You said calmly. Tim got off the bed and turned around to face you. You were wearing black jeans with a big hoodie thats covering your face almost completly. the blood from the cut was dripping on the carpet slowly as you seemed like completely unbothered. He didn't say anything and went over the wardrobe to find a first aid kit. you fuys were getting injured more often than you would like to admit so there were first aid kits almost everywhere now.

"I guess you found out whether they were real or not princess."

He spoke teasingly while you rolled your eyes thanking every god or whatever you should be praying since you don't know who they are praying to in this world for not realizing you were lying.

You had an idea after long hours of thinking, you were going to follow Jason to be able to understand what all these Harbor things were. It was driving you crazy to not be able to remember anything because clearly it was important. That's why grabbing the katana seemed like a good idea until it wasn't.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the city skyline outside the window since you didn't bother yourself to open the lights. you were going to leave anyway.

He seemed like he just woke up. His hair was messy but in a pretty way, his eyes were a little puffy probably from sleeping so little and drinking all that coffee. his sweatpants were low on his waist. when he was doing stuff around the room you could see how his muscles were moving. he was the definition of handsome and charming.

Yes you loved every batfamily members, they were all good looking and such a husband material, at least you were thinking this when you were reading. sometimes when your feelings were overwhelming you, you were reading fan-fictions about them to ease your mind but it was not a lie that even though you forced yourself to read about others, it was always Tim that you found yourself reading. It was safe to say that he was your comic-crush if it was a real term. He was clever, quick, witty, charming and of course handsome. He was the nicest yet the baddiest character you've ever read. there was something about him that makes you want to jump all over him now that you realize it is Tim fucking Drake you're standing right in front of. You coughed to gather your thoughts and he came towards you with a bag in his hand.

Your heart was pounding being this close to him. You were getting angry at yourself for being this kind of a fangirl. He grabbed your hand and slowly he touched with a cotton that he put some alcohol early.

"Shit." you sweared under your breath. It was just a little cut and it wasn't even hurting that much beforehand but now it was burning like somebody put the hellfires  right on to your palm. After a little bit more alcohol he bandaged your hand.

He looked like he was doing some kind of operation. His eyebrows were frowned with concentration, you couldn't help but smile because of his nice touches.

"Enjoying yourself I assume."

He smirked while his eyes met with yours in seconds. You tried to look away but it was like the spell Zatanna cast over you this morning. you couldn't move.

Maybe the theories about him and the Viperia were true, they were secretly dating because he clearly had something for you, to be more exact Viperia.

"Don't get cocky Drake I can stare at whoever I want, wherever I want and whenever I want. It's my eyes after all."

He laughed with your answer.

"You still have your sharp tongue I presume."

His laugh sent a shiver down your spine, not from the cold but from something deeper, something dangerous. It had been so long since you'd heard that voice like this—lighthearted, teasing. For a moment, you wanted to let yourself get lost in it, but you couldn’t afford that luxury. You had bigger problems. Like what was about to happen at the harbor.

That's why you thought the sword was a good option to go with. since you were going to this mission in secret you needed a weapon just in case someone tried to attack you. Even though you had your hesitations you were sure that katana's itself is scary enough to drive people away.  but it was a horrible fail, who would've thought that thing would be heavy as hell.

"Why are you dressed like that anyway?"

He asked suspiciously while he looked at you with a great attention again. It was like he was trying to see through your lies and you were that if he stared at you more he actually might that's why you came up with a quick lie.

"Oh, I just needed some fresh air so I decided to go to the garden by myself..

He squinted his eyes like he was searching through your face. he wasn't convinced enough.

"Do you always get some fresh air while you dress like that?"

You sighed as you got annoyed.

"I didn't know Gotham had a dress code, Timbo."

You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes before brushing past him. If this conversation went on any longer, he’d put the pieces together, and you couldn't afford that. He was one of the best detectives in the world. He’d figure you out.

You were almost at the door when you felt the warmth of his breath against your neck. You froze.

"Careful, princess," he murmured, voice lower, softer—dangerous. "You almost have me believing that you got your memory back and you're hiding it from me."

Without another word, you pushed forward, quickening your pace as you  ran out of the room.

Damn it. He was too good at this. Too perceptive. Too much.

And you had to move fast before he caught up.

The wind was unforgiving, biting through your clothes as you shivered behind a stack of woods. The air was thick with salt and rusted metal. You could barely feel your fingers from the cold.

It had taken you almost an hour to find this Harbor. The walk was miserable, but you finally managed to track down the warehouse. Jason was inside, standing across from a group of masked men, Roy at his side, arms crossed. Both of them were suited up, Red Hood and Arsenal.

The wind once again blew your hoodie out of your head and you decided to give up from the secrecy. You have found the warehouse that the meeting was happening thank god. Through the broken window of this old warehouse. It seemed like it was an exchange: information for supplies. Standard business in Gotham.

But something about this moment—this exact moment—felt wrong again. Familiar, maybe even too familiar. As if you had seen it before.

Then, footsteps were heard. Soft but not quite. Like that someone wanted you to realize they were right behind you. You were fucked if this was one of the men from inside but you weren't going to give up without fighting. You turned sharply, already reaching for the knife that you put around your body—only to find Tim stepping out of the shadows, hands in his pockets, looking entirely unimpressed.

He was wearing a long black coat almost covering his entire body yet wearing nothing around his face. He was much more handsome under the moonlight and you realized how much his eyes resembled the sea.

"You really thought you could shake me that easily?"

You cursed under your breath, quickly grabbing his arm and pulling him down beside yourself to make sure nobody's seeing you.

"Are you insane? You can’t just walk up like that to me!"

"Right, because you're sneaking off in the middle of the night to spy on..."

He looked through the broken window with a deadpan look on his face.

"the red hood makes perfect sense, right?"

You were going to die that was for sure. You got caught and how could someone explain this situation.

"Why are you here?" He seemed more serious now. Your mind was racing, tracing back and forth to find a reasonable answer to explain all of these but the words weren't coming out of your mouth at all.

"I was… just curious."

Tim raised an eyebrow, didn't believe anything that was coming out of my mouth.

"Curious. About a bunch of vigilantes. During a weapons exchange. In the middle of the empty harbor. Alone."

He was scary when he was angry that's why you couldn't meet or refused to meet his gaze but his long fingers wrapped around your chin to make sure you were looking right into his eyes.

"Does this mean your memory’s back?"

That hit harder than expected. Your chest tightened and your breath hitched. There was no escape now.

"I—No. It’s not like that."

Tim leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower like almost a whisper. only inches away from your lips yet not stopping the eye-contact.

"Then what is it like? Because you're acting weird. for someone who just lost their memory you are quite active, persistent and curious. help me understand."

Before you could answer, movement inside the warehouse caught your eye. The sound of a gun being cocked. And suddenly, the scene hit you like a fast train.

The docks. The deal. The ambush. The gunfire. Blood. So much blood.

You have read about it, about this exact scene. It was when Roy Harper almost got killed and stayed in coma for months which pushed Jason over the edge of madness and made him a complete mess with a brutal side that kills everyone and everything that gets into his way.

It was one of the harshest things that you've read. It was a complete disaster.

You sucked in a sharp breath, eyes completely wide

"No. No, no, no—"

Tim frowned with worry.

"What? What is it?"

You spoke with a whisper like tone almost murmuring to yourself.

"This—this is wrong. If we don't help them it's gonna be worse than dying for Roy and Jason."

It was Tim's turn to be shocked.

"What are you talking ab—How do you even kno—You got your memory back right?"

You didn’t answer.

Because there was no time.

You pulled free, grabbing the knives strapped to your waist, and moved.

The window was big enough. You slipped through without hesitation, your body moving on autopilot. Everything was happening so fast Tim wasn't able to find an opportunity to react. There was a shooter hiding behind the barrels—you knew that. You knew because he was the one who shot Roy, the one no one saw coming.

You wouldn’t let it happen.

The knife left your hand before you could think. It struck metal, clattering against the barrel—enough to send the shooter scrambling out of his hiding place.

Chaos erupted.

Jason and Roy reacted instantly. Guns fired. Fists flew. The ambush was now an open fight, and they had a chance.

A chance they didn’t have before.

And then—arms wrapped around you.

Before you could struggle, you were yanked back through the window, landing outside the warehouse, pressed against something firm and solid.

Tim.

His scent filled your senses—coffee, rain and sandalwood, something distinctly him.

You gripped his shoulders to steady yourself, breathing hard. Adrenaline was leaving every part of your body as you tried to take deep breaths.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed, his tone sharp but quiet enough to keep from drawing attention to both of you.

His gaze flickered down, and suddenly, his expression changed. His eyes widened.

Your necklace was glowing.

His grip on you is tightened you could feel his fingertips piercing through your skin even though with your clothes on.

"Why is your necklace glowing?" he demanded.

He locked eyes with you, and this time, there was something ele

Suspicion.

Fear.

His voice was barely a whisper.

"Who are you?"

[eulaliasims]

Round 3, Shep 1 / 3

Believe it or not, I've actually played the whole autumn round in Veridia since I last posted. Unfortunately, some of that was two months ago, so caption quality may be questionable on some posts. Anyway, here we go, I'm not summarizing anything this time. You probably maybe remember who these guys are. Or not, I had to go check my tags a few times to make sure I was spelling names correctly.

Shep is having a pretty calm autumn. She checks on the bees (she's glad now her mothers insisted she bring that queen bee cell all this way to start a new hive, because the honey has been a nice little boon), chats up random passersby, and works a little bit on her weaving in the evening before it gets too dark for fine work.

When she's not weaving, she likes to spend time at the mead hall.

Xiang: Shep, you have bees, correct?

Shep: I do, in fact, have bees! I just finished a batch of honey, were you interested in buying?

Xiang: Actually, I was wondering if you would be willing to give Drustan a lesson or two about the bees. See, he's developed something of a phobia after an incident—

Shep: And you think learning about them will help?

Xiang: That's my theory. We can work out payment for you, of course, if you're interested in doing it.

Shep: Be paid to talk about bees? Sure! I could do that in my sleep.

(Reminder that Drustan actually got chased by bees three times in one round. On the other hand, I started playing Legend of Zelda: BotW for the first time and immediately got chased by bees, so maybe I am the problem.)

Elmet and Eisu are here too. Who's watching the kids, you ask? Eh, Mouse has got everything under control, I'm sure.

Helenet and Elmet's impending marriage has become the hot topic in town this week.

Helenet: What about you? Do you have your eye on anyone in particular, Shep? Oh, or if that's something you're not interested in, just ignore me, I'm a little tipsy I suppose.

Shep: I do, actually, but it's nothing serious yet.

Helenet: Well, just kissing is fun too! *giggle*

BIG NEWS! Selling off most of her honey meant Shep could finally afford that pottery wheel! She may only have 82 simoleons to her name now, but she can make plates!

That morning, Xiang brings Drustan by for his beekeeping lesson.

Shep: Rule number one about bees, bees mostly only get aggressive when they feel threatened, especially if their home is threatened. It's how they keep their hive safe from intruders trying to eat their honey and babies. Lots of beekeepers will use a smokey torch to make the bees sleepy when they collect honeycomb.

Drustan: Don't the bees get mad afterward that they don't have any honey?

Shep: You have to leave enough in the hive for them, otherwise you won't have bees anymore. It's what the baby bees eat. Anyway, my mother believes bees recognize their keepers and have people they prefer. I don't know, they do seem calmer after they've become acquainted with you.

Drustan: Hmm... does the silly hat make them bees like you more?

Shep: My hat isn't silly. I just burn easily. Do you want to look at the bees with me now?

Drustan: Maybe. From a safe distance.

[pynkhues]

I would LOVE to read your analysis of louis as byronic hero as apposed to his reading as gothic heroine. lots of the latter and zero of the former in the fandom.

Sure! Mmm, okay, so –

What are we talking about when we talk about Gothic Heroes?  

When we talk about gothic heroes, we’re really talking about three pretty different character archetypes. All three are vital to the genre, but some are more popular in certain subgenres i.e. your Prometheus Hero may be more common in gothic horror, whereas your Byronic Hero might be more likely to be found in gothic romance. That’s not to say they’re exclusive to those subgenres at all, and there is an argument that these archetypes themselves are gendered (in many ways, I think people confuse Anne being an author of the female gothic with Louis being a gothic heroine, but I’ll get into that later), but this is also not necessarily something that’s exclusive.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself, haha, so the three gothic hero archetypes are:

Milton’s Satan who is the classic gothic hero-villain. You can probably guess from the name, but he was originated in John Milton’s 1667 poem, Paradise Lost. He is God’s favourite angel, but God is forced to cast him out of heaven when he rebels against him. As an archetype, he’s a man pretty much defined by his pride, vanity and self-love, usually fucks his way through whatever book or poem he’s in, has a perverted, incestuous family, and a desire to corrupt other people. He’s also defined as being “too weak to choose what is moral and right, and instead chooses what is pleasurable only to him” and his greatest character flaw, in spite of all The Horrors, is that he’s usually easily misguided or led astray. (I would argue that Lestat fits into this archetype pretty neatly, but that’s a whole other post.)

Prometheus who was established as a gothic archetype by Mary Shelley with Frankenstein in 1818. Your Prometheus Hero is basically represented by the quest for knowledge and the overreach of that quest to bring on unintended consequences. He’s tied, of course, to the Prometheus of Greek myth, so you can get elements of that in this character design too in that he can be devious or a trickster, but the most important part of him is that he is split between his extreme intelligence and his sense of rebellion, and that his sense of rebellion and boundary pushing overtakes his intelligence and basically leads to All The Gothic Horrors.

And the Byronic Hero, who as the name implies, was both created by and inspired by the romantic poet, Lord Byron in his semi-autobiographical poem, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage which was published between 1812-1818. The archetype is kind of an idealized version of himself, and as historian and critic Lord Macaulay wrote, the character is “a man proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on his brow and misery in his heart, a scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection.” Adding to that, he’s often called ‘the gloomy egoist’ as a protagonist type, hates society, is often self-destructive and lives either exiled or in a self-exile, and is a stalwart of gothic literature, but especially gothic romance. Interestingly too, in his most iconic depictions he’s often a) darkly featured and/or not white (Heathcliff being the most obvious example of this given Emily Bronte clearly writes him as either Black or South Asian), and b) is often used to explore queer identity, with Byron himself having been bisexual.

Okay, but what about the Gothic Heroine?

Gothic heroines are less delineated and have had more of an evolution over time, which makes sense, given women have consistently been the main audience of gothic literature and have frequently been the most influential writers of the genre too. The gothic genre sort of ‘officially’ started with Horace Walpole’s 1764 novel, The Castle of Otranto and Isabella is largely regarded as the first gothic heroine and the foundation of the archetype, and the book opens even with one of the key defining traits – an innocent, chaste woman without the protection of a family being pursued and persecuted by a man on the rampage.

The gothic heroine was, for years, defined by her lack of agency. She was innocent, chaste, beautiful, curious, plagued by tragedy and often, ultimately, tragic. Isabella survives in The Castle of Otranto, but she’s one of the lucky ones – Cathy dies in Wuthering Heights, Sybil dies in The Picture of Dorian Gray, Justine and Elizabeth both die in Frankenstein, Mina survives in Dracula, but Lucy doesn’t. There’s an argument frequently posited that the gothic genre was, and is, about dead women and the men who mourn them, and Interview with the Vampire certainly lends itself to that pretty neatly.

Of course, the genre has evolved, and in particular by the late 1800s, there was a notable shift in how the Gothic Heroine was depicted. The house became a place of imprisonment where they were further constrained and disempowered, she was infantilized and pathologized and diagnosed as hysterical, and as Avril Horner puts it in her excellent paper, Women, Power and Conflict: the Gothic heroine and ‘Chocolate-box Gothic’, gothic literature of this era “explores “the constraints enforced [by] a patriarchal society that is becoming increasingly nervous about the demands of the ‘New Woman’.”

This was an era where marriage was increasingly understood in feminist circles to be a civil death where women were further subjugated and became the property of their husbands. This was explored through gothic literature as the domestic space evolved into a symbol of patriarchal control in the Female Gothic.

Female Gothic vs Male Gothic

Because here’s the thing – the female gothic and the male gothic are generally understood to be two different subgenres of gothic literature.

While there are plenty of arguments as to what this entails, the basics is that the male gothic is written by men, and usually features graphic horror, rape and the masculine domination of women and often utilises the invasion of women’s spaces as a symbol of further penetrating their bodies, while the female gothic is written by women, and usually features graphic terror, as opposed to horror, while delving more specifically into gender politics. More than that though, its heroines are usually victimized, virginial and powerless while being pursued by villainous men.

The Female Gothic as a genre is also specifically interested in the passage from girlhood to female maturity, and does view the house as a place of entrapment, but she is usually suddenly “threatened with imprisonment in a castle or a great house under the control of a powerful male figure who gave her no chance to escape.”

That’s not Louis’ arc, that’s Claudia’s arc twice over, first with the house at Rue Royale, then with the Paris Coven, and Lestat and Armand aren’t the only powerful male figures who imprison her.

Claudia as the Gothic Heroine

Claudia in many ways is the absolute embodiment of the classic gothic heroine. Even the moment of their meeting is a product of Louis’ Byronic heroism – his act of implacable revenge against the Alderman Fenwick which prompts the rioting that almost kills her. She’s a victim of Louis’ monstrousness before they’ve even met, and while he saves her, he arguably does something worse in trapping her in the house with both himself and Lestat, holding her in an ever-virginal, ever-chaste eternal girlhood, playing into Lestat’s Milton-Satan by enhancing the perversion of family and ultimately infantilizing her out of his own desire for familial closeness.

Claudia has no family protection before Louis and Lestat – a staple of the gothic heroine – she is completely dependent on them in her actual girlhood, and again in adulthood, never developing the strength to be able to turn a companion, to say nothing about the sly lines here and there that further diminish and pathologise her (Lestat calling her histrionic, Louis making her out to be a burden, etc.). This is all further compounded again with the Coven, and when the tragedy of her life ultimately leads to the tragedy of her death.  

Louis as the Byronic Hero

Not to start with a quote, but here’s one from The Literary Icon of the Byronic Hero and its Reincarnation in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights:

“Generally speaking, the Byronic hero exhibits several particular characteristics. He does not possess heroic virtues in the usual, traditional sense. He is a well-educated, intelligent and sophisticated young man, sometimes a nobleman by birth, who at the same time manifests signs of rebellion against all fundamental values and moral codes of the society. Despite his obvious charm and attractiveness, the Byronic hero often shows a great deal of disrespect for any figure of authority. He was considered "the supreme embodiment [...] standing not only against a dehumanized system of labor but also against traditionally repressive religious, social, and familial institutions" (Moglen, 1976: 28).

The Byronic hero is usually a social outcast, a wanderer, or is in exile of some kind, one imposed upon him by some external forces or self-imposed. He also shows an obvious tendency to be arrogant, cunning, cynical, and unrepentant for his faults. He often indulges himself in self destructive activities that bring him to the point of nihilism resulting in his rebellion against life itself. He is hypersensitive, melancholic, introspective, emotionally conflicted, but at the same time mysterious, charismatic, seductive and sexually attractive.”

Louis as he exists in the show to me is pretty much all of those things, and I think to argue that he’s a gothic heroine not only diminishes Claudia’s arc, but robs Louis of his agency within his own story. Louis chooses Lestat, over and over again, he’s not imprisoned by the monster in the domestic sphere, he is one of the monsters who’s controlling the household, including making decisions of when they bring a child into it and when Lestat gets to live in it – he wanted to be turned, he wanted to live with Lestat in Rue Royale, and while there are certainly arguments to be made about their power dynamic within the household in the NOLA era, importantly Louis actually gained social power through his marriage to Lestat, particularly through The Azaelia, he didn’t lose it in the way that’s vital to the story of the gothic heroine.

Daniel Hart even said it in a recent twitter thread about Long Face, but there is an element of Lestat and Louis’ relationship that is transactional, and to me, for that to exist, they both have to have a degree of control over their circumstances and choices in order to negotiate those transactions. Claudia is the one who can’t, she’s the one who’s treated effectively as property, and she’s the one who lacks control over her circumstances.

While you could perhaps argue the constraints of the apartment in Dubai lend more to the gothic heroine archetype, I’d argue it as furthering the Byronic trope again by being representative both of Louis’ self-destruction and self-imposed exile. As Jacob has said a few times, Louis does seem to have known to a degree that Armand was involved in Claudia’s death on some level, and it’s that guilt and misery that has him allowing Armand his degree of control. The fact that Louis was able to leave Armand as easily and as definitively as he was I think demonstrates that distinction too – after all, to compare that ending to Claudia’s multiple attempts to leave the confines of the patriarchal house, both in Rue Royale and Paris, which were punished at every turn – first by her rape, then by Lestat dragging her back off the train, and then by the Coven orchestrating her murder.

Louis gets to leave because Louis can leave, he has both the social and narrative power to, and the fact that he does is, to me, completely at odds with the gothic heroine. Louis can, and does advocate for himself, Louis is proud, moody, cynical. Defiance is a key part of his character, just as his exile from NOLA society due to his race, and his chosen rejection of vampire society in Paris, is. He’s intelligent and sophisticated, travels the world, and has misery in his heart, guilt that eats him up, and self-destructive tendencies. That’s a Byronic Hero, baby!  

[hardware-sparks]

Today's (last week's, really) Trackpad Tuesday is sponsored by: Lying to your friends to protect them! I gave up on doing the dithering sorz Process parts under the cut

[zillychu]

designs for a zine piece! enjoy some background story my illustration never needed under the read more (fair warning I did NOT edit this at all):

newbie mage apprentices Sam and Tucker who became friends bc they're kinda… the ones at the bottom of their class and struggle the most, for different reasons. they become besties over time and practice together!

except one night, something goes terribly wrong. they spent the last few nights preparing for a project, a bigger spell that needs an intricate circle with precise measurements to work. but when they try to activate it, well… 

oops. they summoned a demon.

which is, for one, extremely illegal. only certified demonologists are allowed to summon demons because they're so dangerous. anything less than a perfect binding circle and thoroughly researched info on the demon, including their true name, is even remotely safe.

but, weirdly enough… the demon seems just as surprised as they are. as Sam and Tuck frantically try to figure out how to dispel the demon, they realize–oh god, did their circle actually sufficiently bind the demon? it can't leave. they watch the demon tentatively poke it's claws into the air around the boundary, and watch it fizzle, retreating back with a strained hiss.

okay. okay, they can do this. without death looming over their heads, they can figure out how to send the demon back. it's cool, it's fine. except while they leaf through their books, they notice the demon watching them. it looks kind of… curious. timid. interested in what they're doing. it catches them noticing his staring, and it. apologizes? it seems flustered?

weird, okay. they keep looking, and the demon starts talking. at first, little comments to itself. mumbles that soon get just loud enough to hear. little “ooh, is that a telescope?" and “is that what fire looks like up here?" and “that must be for making charcoal…”

Sam is the one brave enough to be like "are all demons as chatty as you??” and the demon gets flustered again, apologizing. says he's just never been topside before, he's only read about humans in tomes. oh wow is that the moon outside? it really IS blue up here! is it always blue? what are you doing up? I thought humans slept at night?

Sam and Tuck can't help getting pulled in with the demon's genuine curiosity. they're wary though, since they know demons can be clever, conniving. there's a number of ways a demon can get the upper hand on a summoner who has them bound. if he gets their full names, gets them to smudge and break the circle… there could also be ways they aren't aware of. so they consider their words carefully, but engage in some chatter while they research.

it's almost morning by the time they find a way to send the demon back–but as they prepare the spell, the demon says WAIT WAIT and they stop, uncertain. the demon starts stammering out how this is weird but like… he really had fun tonight. he doesn't get to just hang out much, especially with anyone his age.

Tuck is like “how do you know our ages??" and the demon points out "oh, you said something about Paulie’s 18th birthday party, so I thought…” and they're both like oh shit we didn't even notice we did that?

“Paulina" Sam corrects in her dumbfounded stupor. 

“Right, Paulina!" the demon snaps his fingers, but quickly loses his confidence when Sam and Tuck continue to stare at him like they're not sure what's going on. he coughs and fidgets and says “um, well, I was just wondering, I guess… if you wanted to summon me another time, I wouldn't mind. you see those circles there? yeah, that's what summoned me. the candles helped too I think. oh, it doesn't need all those runes though, probably don't want to redraw all those.”

Sam and Tuck are practically gawking, but… for some reason, this demon looks so sincere. so much like them, awkward and lonely and genuinely curious.

it's a bad idea. a terrible one, even. the demon probably noticed they're newbies and not demonologists. it could be hoping they make an error in their circle, or mess up a candle, or reveal their names on accident. 

But, well. They're stupid. they're also eager for anything to help them in school, and too empathetic for their own good. they send the demon off with a yeah, no. they then think about it for a week, and end up summoning the demon against their better judgment.

the demon is shocked and so happy, they can't help but be a little endeared. they lay down some ground rules, take care to be as safe as possible… and soon, this demon that introduces himself as “Phantom" becomes a nightly visitor. they talk about their worlds, find out they share a lot of common interests, and help each other in their studies. which, hello, demons also study? bro are you serious??

they play games, laugh till their ribs hurt, and open up to each other on a far deeper level than anyone expected. over time, Phantom becomes a true friend.

Sam and Tuck quietly begin to lament the fact Phantom is stuck in that damn circle. they want to take him places, let him see the human world he seems so interested in. they want to paint his stupid claws and noogie him between his dumb horns and hug him.

but it's an astronomical risk. it's legal for a demonologist with a proper permit, but it's still considered a grave taboo to grant access to a demon outside a circle. there's just too much at risk. demons can be dangerous enough to lay waste to entire towns, take multiple teams of military-rank mages to take down.

they wouldn't risk it… if they hadn't snuck into the library’s restricted section and copy a page from a demonologist book that gives them good framework for a contract. they make some edits to it though, giving Phantom at least a little wiggle room to protect himself if need be. and allow him use of transformation magic so he can hide somehow. but they spend weeks making sure they have airtight wording to ensure Phantom can't cause anyone or anything any substantial harm. 

when they finally bring the contract to Phantom, he's stunned. he cries. nothing needs to be said, they all know the gravity of their proposal. even if they ask for proof of Phantom's trust in turn, first. they ask for his full name, so they can bind him. just temporarily. but in that moment, they'll have full control over him. they could instead tell Phantom to serve them, force him to obey their every order. even if it's just for a moment, giving them his full name with the proper circle and incantation, is putting his life in their hands. 

Phantom, with tears still in his eyes, smiles warmly and nods. with only a breath to steel himself, he gives them his full name. Daniel James Fenton.

magic sparks in the circle, and Sam and Tuck finish the incantation. ethereal chains sprout up to wrap around Phantom's arms and legs, which makes him jump–but the unwavering trust in his eyes makes the two humans choke up.

they release the binding. all that's left is to break the containment barrier in the circle, so Phantom can walk free.

“Uh, about that…” Phantom laughs sheepishly… then proceeds to step outside of the circle, merely wincing when the barrier zaps around him.

Sam and Tucker gawk. Phantom scratches his neck. “Y-yeah, so… your barrier circle was already broken that first night. It's, uh… right over there. You missed a spot.”

abject horror overcomes them because this entire time Phantom's been visiting, he could have broken out? EASILY?? THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD.

Tucker falls to his knees, but soon starts to laugh. it's kind of hysterical at first but slowly, he and Sam are genuinely laughing. they're so STUPID, and Phantom is the most un-demonlike demon they've ever HEARD of. Phantom is still flustered, stammering out apologies because he wasn't trying to deceive them or anything! he just didn't want to scare them! without a proper containment circle they technically couldn't send him back either, so he just… went back using his own magic each time they “dispelled" him. 

once they've calmed down, Phantom morphs his body into a human form–which shock Sam and Tuck, because uh, only elite demons are capable of that. they were expecting an animal, or straight up going invisible. Phantom laughs it off, says he just, spent a lot of time practicing bc he's so interested in the human world (not a lie, but). he proceeds to adopt the nickname Danny, and they all have FUN WONDERFUL SHENANIGANS

(and sometime in the near future, when faced with something truly threatening he needs to protect them from, Danny reveals that. well. their contract also had some holes in it. and he's had access to his full demon power this whole time. whoopsie! it's a good thing he genuinely loves them and doesn't want to hurt anyone, or their asses would be SO dead lol)

they're about as normal about his full demon form as you'd expect from me btw:

[bisexualiteaa]

actually dying for a cooper howard x vaultie!reader smut where they have some slow burn longing steaminess, but coop thinks she’s too good for him UNTIL she comes in contact with a sex pollen-esque chem and he finally gives in to save her 🥵 please work your magic and elaborate however you want

A Flame in Your Heart

Cooper Howard x Fem Reader (SMUT!!)

CW: NSFW like absolutely filthy y’all, you’ve been warned. 💀 unprotected sex, irradiated cream pie, p in v, p0rn w/ plot, slow burn, flirting, cursing, perverted thoughts, dub-con (because of chem usage though consent is asked and given!) rough sex, dirty talk, choking, praise kink, degradation, squirting, mention of fingering, FEELINGS!! Slight deviation from TV series, possible grammar/spelling mistakes, cooper starts off mean but slowly warms up to reader

AN: I absolutely LOVED this request! I was up all night writing down all my ideas and spent all this morning perfecting it, and this has to be my longest one yet! I thank you for your patience anon and my lovely readers as I finally post this! Hope you enjoy and that I have done your ask justice! ❤️

Life outside of the vault was difficult to say the least. You felt hunger and dehydration in ways you’d never experienced before, going out of your way to do desperate things you would normally never do in order to get said food and water. The heat was unbearable, every stretch of land you walked across had a danger lurking around every corner, and worst of all, you’d never felt so alone. You weren’t sure what it was about you, maybe it was because you were new to the surface, maybe it was your nearly perfect skin, but everyone seemed to stare or glare at you when you would walk through. It wasn’t until you’d passed through Filly, meeting Ma June that you realized people didn’t take kindly to people like you. “Vaulties” she called them, an audible disdain in her tone, making you look down to remember you were in your blue and gold Vault-Tec suit. “I’ll be going then, have a nice day!” You said skiddishly, offering her a kind smile before turning and exiting the shop. You just wanted to make friends, why was that so hard up here? So when your eyes set on a man clad in classic Wild West cowboy clothes, watching smoke settle after a stand off, you weren’t sure why but you knew that was who you needed on your side in this world. Before you knew it, your feet were already moving and mouth speaking to him, grabbing his attention.

“I ain’t no charity case sweetheart, I don’t take on strays” The ghoul spoke, his southern drawl making him even more memorable than the marred texture of his skin. You looked to the dog that trailed not far behind him as he walked, changing its pace to keep up with the man. “The dog there with you tells me otherwise” you quipped. “Ain’t my dog” he responded harshly as he continued walking. “I can make it worth your while!” You yelled, making him stop in his tracks for a moment, a scary sight at first before you worked up the nerve to come closer once he turned back to you. “And how you suppose you’d do that?” He asked, and at first you didn’t know what to say, the words leaving your mouth before you could really think of a good enough reason. Did nobody like company anymore these days? “Well…I can be your scavenger! Pretty good at collecting stuff” you offered, shaking your bag and making things rattle around inside to prove it, making him give a huff of a chuckle. “‘f I wanted a pack mule I’d‘ve found a brahman” he shot you down. “Okay, then I can be good company to talk to!” You offered. “They make radios for when I want to listen to someone yack” he shut down once again. “I’m a good cook! Even with shitty supplies, I can make a stew that’d put a smile even on the meanest son of a gun’s face” you said, hopeful that he’d at least take you for something, but you had a feeling he’d probably turn you down again. “Iguana on a stick’s just fine” he said, though he had to admit the stew sounded good. Reminded him of home before all this wasteland bullshit. “Oh, umm…” you said awkwardly, your tone growing quiet and my how it put a sad look in your eyes. The evil part of him liked it, seeing your sweet innocent face all downturned but the part that was still human deep down, the part that hardly ever saw the light of day anymore, had half a mind to let you.

“Got a lotta nerve walkin’ up t’ me, girly. If you somehow been lucky enough that you ain’t met dangerous yet, you’re lookin’ at someone who could put you down before you’d even mutter your last words” he threatened, motioning to the double barreled shotgun in his hands. “I know, I saw it first hand. You hold yourself well, I envy that. I’m new to all of this and just really want someone who can help me hold my own the same way” you explained. “Look, I know I don’t look like much but please just give me a chance” you begged, looking up at him with a fighting spirit in your eyes that he had to admit, he was pretty impressed in seeing in a vaultie. “You help me, I help you, however that ends up being” you offered, standing strong on this and damn if he didn’t see a little bit of himself in you at that. He gave a sigh, tilting his head down before shaking it, not believing himself for the words he was about to say. “Alright, but the minute you start draggin’ you’re out, got me?” He said, and he hated the way his cold heart seemed to pump a little faster upon seeing your eyes light up with joy and a smile stretch to your face. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” You said, opening your arms up to hug him but being met with the barrel of his gun poking your stomach to keep space between you. “I don’t do hugs” he spoke gruffly, making you back up enough to where he’d drop the gun back to his side. “R-Right…sorry” you apologized, embarrassment washing over you but still glad to finally have someone in your company. “C’mon, I ain’t got all day now” he said, motioning you to start walking, so you joined him.

Your travels with him certainly weren’t at all what you were expecting them to be. From being used as bait, to being tied up with rope most of the time you’d traveled together, or being sent in as his scavenger, you weren’t prepared for a lot of the reality you faced with being up on the surface. Most nights made you question why you’d ever left the comfort of the vault, why you’d abandoned a trusty food supply, regulated temperatures, a safe place to sleep that wasn’t riddled with radroaches or had the likely hood of waking up to a raider with a knife at your throat for no reason. Then you would remember the experiment in your vault, why you left that awful place for arguably a worse reality on the surface but at least you had freedom. Out here you were free to say what you want, do what you want, consume what you want so long as you could defend yourself incase that supply wasn’t unclaimed. You’d gotten pretty handy with a gun in the most recent weeks. Cooper, you learned one night was his name, using empty glass bottles as targets to help teach you accuracy and how to hit things from a longer range. In exchange, you came a little more useful than he had first thought. You had some useful stuff on you for trade like chems, ammo and food, were a good extra bag to hold stuff in, and you were a better cook than you’d talked about. Sure you had a tendency to talk too much, and you weren’t great with a gun, but you were getting there.

“Might I suggest takin’ them clothes instead of wearin’ that suit?” He said, making you look at him weird for suggesting you strip a dead raider of their clothes. “Why would I do that…?” You asked, genuinely confused and not sure what he was implying either, he was a hard man to predict. “Because, people see that shit and get real mad. People up here don’t like vaulties or the ones that run ‘em” he said and it made sense, it helped you understand why you kept getting evil glares each time someone would look at you or talk to you. You figured he knew best, so you took the shirt and pants from one of the female raiders, tucking them into your bag to change into at a better time. He gave a chuckle watching you do so, apologizing to the dead body profusely as you took their clothes and whatever valuables they had on them for the betterment of your own survival. You were still so naive, part of him was hoping he could slowly start to break and corrupt your way of thinking, but that was a thought for another time.

Before you knew it, night finally began to fall. The sun setting across the horizon gave the air less of a hot, harsh bite as the temperature began to cool rapidly across the sands of the Mojave. All you managed to grab was a pair of beat up, old jeans and a tank top, so as soon as the sun set, the chill set in. As you both set up camp for the night just outside of an abandoned rest stop, you started a fire to cook some of that stew you talked about being good at. He had to admit, it was pretty damn good, likely the best thing he’s had since before the bombs went off. Though even the kindling fire couldn’t manage to chase the chill away, watching you run your hands up and down your arms to try and warm up some by it. He felt a slight pang in his heart, watching you shiver like that, how your eyes lit up by the blaze of the fire and your hair seemed to be tousled just right. You were pretty, too pretty to be trekking this wasteland, and certainly too pretty to be trekking it with him of all people as your company. Even he had a heart still, as cold as it was, so out of kindness he shrugged his duster from his shoulders, draping it around you. You looked at the fabric pooled around you, pulling it over you better before looking to him as he sat down across from you again. “Ain’t no use if the cold gets ya” he said, making you smile appreciatively at him as you realized what he did. “Thank you” you replied, a slight blush fanning to your cheeks as the chattering of your teeth finally died down and you grew warmer. It smelled like him, sure it had splatters of old dried blood and was rather worn, but it had that gunpowder and smoke smell to it that you associated with him. “Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya” he replied, trying to sound cold but it didn’t come off that way, making you chuckle. “What do I owe you?” You asked, making him fall silent for a moment as he pondered the answer to your question. He looked you over for a second before tipping his hat down to cover his face a bit, the signal that he was about to try and get some sleep. “Just keep watch for a bit, I’ll be up in a few hours” he responded, and while it wasn’t what you were expecting, you’d take it.

He was startled awake a couple hours later when he heard a commotion, you yelling at someone telling them to back off that this place had been claimed. The raider you were up against didn’t seem to like that very much, claiming that wasn’t how it worked up here. The altercation took a turn for the worst when the man reached for his gun but you were quick to fire and kill him before he could let out a shot. A shaky feeling set in your hands and a horrified expression across your face at the realization that you just killed someone. Cooper, who was certainly wide awake now, was rather impressed by your quick timing and precision, coming up behind you to lay a gloved hand to your shoulder. “Well would ya look at that, looks like them lessons been payin’ off after all. How’s it feel?” He asked, looking down at you as you stared at the gun in your hands. “He was yelling at me but…he was aiming at you. I don’t really know what came over me, I didn’t like that he was going to shoot you so I just…I killed him” you said, recounting the encounter to him as if he hadn’t seen it himself. He didn’t really know what to think in that moment as you explained how your mind worked, he was proud for sure at your show of improvement with a gun, yet also touched at the same time. No one ever really looked out for him since he started his bounty hunting, he was a well hated man by many but you defended him without really any reason to. You’d just learned his name not but two weeks ago, and before that he was dragging you around with rope yet you still defended him, had you two really gotten closer in the time that’s passed since? He wasn’t sure, but it was something he could mull over while you were sleeping. “Get some rest vaultie, sun’ll be up soon” he said, knowing you likely wouldn’t get much sleep with the adrenaline still coursing through you, but it was at least worth a try, you two had a long day ahead of you.

When you woke up that next morning, things felt a little different between you two. You weren’t some annoying little dog following him anymore, you were an equal. He no longer looked at you and treated you like you were lower than him as you both set out across the wastelands, he had respect for you. Hell, he even started talking with you now when you were out traveling which was almost unbelievable. You learned through those conversations that he used to be an actor in Wild West themed films, explaining his outfit, and that he was married before the bombs dropped. You of course told him bits and pieces about yourself in exchange, after all it only felt fair but it was also nice to just finally talk to someone after all this time.

When night time fell again you two sat enjoying a meal by the fire together, only rather than across from each other, he sat next to you, making a blush come to your face as you’d smiled sweetly at him. “Glad to know I don’t have germs anymore” you said jokingly, making him chuckle. “Give an old man some credit. It ain’t exactly all peaches and marmalade out here darlin’, even cute can be deadly” he said, the nickname and him calling you cute sending a deeper blush to your cheeks despite knowing it’s just how he spoke. Whether it was the lack of contact with other people for so long, or just his charm you couldn’t quite tell, but it always seemed to have an effect on you. “Just teasin’ you, I get it. I’d tie me up and use me for bait too if I’d been doing this as long as you have. It’s a shit hole out here” you said, making him look at you as you dropped the first curse word he’s ever heard from you. “Well I’ll be damned, either I’m a bad influence or you’re finally growin’ outta that naive shell there, vaultie” Cooper replied, making you laugh as you saw a smirk stretch to his thin, marred lips, the first one you’d seen in a while that wasn’t brought on by drugs, chems or that first sip of a good bottle of alcohol. “Probably both” you quipped, making him chuckle. “Yeah, probably. Been told I ain’t easy to stomach” he said, making you hum. “You’re alright in my book, Coop” you replied with a sweet, genuine smile that matched your tone and was that butterflies you felt in your stomach? Did you just call him Coop? No ones called him that in ages, why did it make his heart start to flutter a bit? “You ain’t so bad yourself, vaultie” he responded, still affording you that small smile before turning back to his food. “Keep making food this good and I just might have to keep you around” he joked, making you giggle and break the slightly tense silence. “It’s not much but I certainly try. I’ll definitely make sure to stay good at it, I like traveling with you” you said, unintentionally coming off flirtatious and fuck there it goes again, that feeling in his chest and his stomach like he needed to hit his inhaler but he felt great. What were you doing to him?

“Hey, if it isn’t too much can I ask you a sort of…personal question?” You asked, holding the beat up bowl in your hands as you looked over at him. This was normally the part where he would say no, absolutely not, he wasn’t here to be questioned on his personal matters. Yet, with you, it was different. Ever since last night he hasn’t been so on edge with you, it was like he’d warmed up to you. “Depends on what you’re askin’ there, sweetheart” he said, the nickname once again making you blush. “Do you…miss them? Your wife and daughter?” You asked, not sure if it was a good subject or good question to ask but after finding out, you were genuinely curious. He looked down at his bowl again, thinking of the proper response to your question. The old him would have been defensive, told you it was none of your business, but now? He wasn’t sure. “Ain’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about ‘em. About the way I ran out on ‘em when them bombs dropped” he answered, making you give him a sad look as genuine guilt filled his tone. This was the most honest and open he’s been with you this whole time. “I feel guilty. Not sure if I feel guilty for runnin’ out and leavin’ ‘em behind or guilty for the way I ran out, been tryin’ t’ figure that out for quite a while now and I still ain’t sure” he added, and you sympathized with that. Everyone has regrets, things they’ve done in the past that they aren’t proud of, people up here were no different in that aspect. “Well, in the short time I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve come to understand that everything you do has a valid reason behind it. So even if you feel it was a shitty thing to do, you obviously had a reason for doing so. No one can blame you for trusting your gut, and I don’t think you should blame yourself for doing so” you responded, your hand falling to his as a comforting gesture, your words ringing in his head almost as if you’d opened something in his mind, something he’d never really gave himself to think about before. He looked down at your hand that rested on his, noticing the way you didn’t flinch away from him like others did, the way you were brave enough to walk up to him, talk to him, *trust* him when he made it very clear that you shouldn’t. It was smaller than his, softer for sure, but warm all the same, then he looked up to see that caring look in your eyes and smile on your face that told him that you cared. “Guess you’re right, still wonder sometimes if it was the right choice to make” he replied. “I understand. Everyone has regrets, we all look at the past and hold at least something that we’ve done before in regret, it’s what makes us human” you said, making him give a huff as a chuckle. “You got anybody?” He asked, making you look down as you moved your feet along the dirt. “An ex-husband, but not anyone I really care about, no. My parents passed a few years before the bombings and he and I split up when I caught him cheating on me with some other woman in the vault..” you explained, not sure why it hurt you to tell the tale still, but you felt it was only fair considering what you’d asked of him to share. “Sorry t’ hear that” Cooper said, making you chuckle weakly, a somber look coming to your face that made his heart wrench. “I haven’t exactly been in love since, and considering he and I split up just a little over ten years ago, really says something I guess, huh?” You asked, trying to laugh to bring up the mood, knowing you sounded pathetic. “He was the fool, not you darlin’. He was the one skippin’ out on one hell of a woman” Cooper said, making you look to him and blush a bit as you gave a chuckle at his response.

“Thanks” you replied appreciatively and with a smile before casting your gaze down to see your hands were still connected and it left you blushing harder with embarrassment, you’d been holding his hand this entire time without realizing it. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable if I have I-“ “relax vaultie” he cut you off, pushing your hand back down onto his to assure you that he was far from uncomfortable. “It’s…rather nice actually” he admitted, making you feel relieved but your heart fluttered in your chest from it. A thick tension soon began to set in between you both after that night, something of an unspoken, kindling romance beginning to develop. “Then there it can stay” you said, making him smile softly at you, tipping his hat at you as a silent thank you.

Months passed on like this, where you’d spend the days scavenging, picking the land for its resources you could find and hunting bounties by day, then spending your nights by a fire growing closer and closer with every passing day. Through your shared meals, jokes, deep conversations, and plenty of near death experiences, you started to notice your fondness of the ghoul you traveled with. The way you’d hang onto his words with that southern accent that seemed to pull at your heart strings, or the way you’d go out of your way to stand between him and a stray bullet. You’d helped him on more than one occasion in getting out of a sticky spot, or getting him the stuff he needed to keep from turning feral. In return, he started to notice he was feeling the same towards you. There was this sudden need to keep you safe, to do nicer things for you, to speak better towards you, even flirt with you at times. Some nights there’d be so much tension in the air, it’s a miracle you haven’t jumped each other yet. Though in his eyes, as much as his heart yearned for you, he knew you were too good for him. You’d been hurt before, and he had a reputation for hurting people, feeling undeserving of even just the sweet smiles and company you afford him even now. You didn’t need someone like him, you needed a good man, someone who didn’t kill for a living, someone who could treat you right, someone who didn’t look the way he did. You were soft and warm, he was rough and cold, though he supposed that’s where the term “opposites attract” came from. So even when he was a whole bottle deep, he was sure to hold his tongue to a certain point.

Some of those nights around the fire were spent sober, others not so much, and this night happened to be one of those nights spent under the influence. You two had stumbled across a mini-mart, doing your best to out run the radstorm that had been trailing you guys for hours, coming in just to find whatever supplies you could to make it through the next week and possibly hunker down for the night. So imagine your surprise when you seemed to have found the largest chem stache you’d both ever laid eyes on. “Coop! Come here, you gotta see this” you said, making him run towards you to make sure you weren’t hurt or in trouble. His nerves were eased once he saw you, fully intact. “Tell me I’m not seeing shit” you said, pointing to all of the supplies sitting in a box on the table, joined by other supplies around it. You both looked at each other in complete and utter disbelief, this would keep you stocked for months, maybe even a whole year if you conserved it well. “Well ain’t that just the prettiest fuckin’ sight” he said. There was no way a horde of chems this large and this valuable was just completely unprotected you reasoned, so you routed around the place, scoping out for any raiders, straggling traders or ferals who happened to still be around. It was as if heaven was shining down on you both as you found no one around, seemed like no one had been here for days. So you did the most logical thing anyone would do in this situation. Stuff each of your bags to the brim of drugs of all varieties! Seeing as you had food, chems and even some clean water and alcohol lying around, Cooper locked and barricaded the door shut, proposing it could be a good spot to sleep for the night. With a radstorm approaching, it was best to have a roof over your heads to keep out the rain and potential radiation sickness that came with it. “This is the closest fuckin’ thing to a slice of heaven I’ve seen in ages” he said, aside from you is what played in his mind but he couldn’t speak that out loud, no matter how much he wanted to. “You said it!” you replied, and it’s even better with you here you thought, but thought it best to keep it to yourself. He plopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up to rest on the small table that seemed to be in shambles, enjoying a tape that was playing on the TV that he was surprised to still see functioning. “Holy shit, this thing still works?” You asked, amazed to see working technology out in the wastelands, sitting next to him as you watched it with him. He gave a smirk at your reaction, thinking it was cute the way your eyes would light up when you got all excited over something. Deep down it made him want to give you everything you laid eyes on like that just to see it pointed towards him. “Guess so” he replied, enjoying your excitement only to see you turn and look his way, which was his signal to stop staring holes into you before he gets caught. “I dunno about you baby doll, but I ain’t about to spend tonight sober with this stache sittin’ here ‘n front of us” he said, making you laugh as he routed through all the different drugs and chems til he found what he was looking for.

In the process of searching through it all, a small metal box fell to the floor at your feet. It looked like a box of mentats only the design was different, instead of the characteristic green and white box was a red one covered with hearts labeled DN-Chem. You supposed the worst that could happen was turn into the man sitting next to you, which you figured wasn’t the worst fate to succumb to all things considered, so you went against all better judgement and said fuck it, popping two of the mentat like chems and chasing it with the vodka he’d found to wait for it to take effect. “The hell is DN?” He asked, looking at the box, wondering what it was you took. “Don’t know, guess we’ll find out here soon because I took two” you said, taking another sip from the bottle of vodka he passed your way, and he gave a chuckle as you handed it back to him. “You come a mighty long way, little lady” he commented before setting the metal pill box down. He took the bottle from you, taking a swig, then placing one of the small viles into his inhaler before taking a hit of it then lying back, breathing a sigh of relief as it and the alcohol entered his system like the perfect remedy to any ailment. As about a half an hour rolled by, you waited for the high to set in but it never came, instead you were just getting hot, like really hot. There weren’t any windows open, and it was night time so you shouldn’t be this uncomfortably hot for how it was but you felt like you were on fire. “Shit, it’s hot as hell in here…” you complained, shaking off your jacket that you’d picked off of some raider a few weeks back, making him look to you curiously. “Lightweight” he quipped, making you chuckle. “Accept I don’t feel anything, I just feel hot” you said, making him hum with intrigue before turning back to the TV. “Give it some time, you’re new to all this. ‘m sure your body is wonderin’ what the hell you just put in it” he said, and he had a good point, maybe it was just a side effect of not doing them so often compared to his every day use.

As time went on, you began to notice the way your eyes couldn’t help but be glued to him, more specifically glued to the way his legs were now spread as he sat back. You wondered to yourself what he looked like beneath all that cowboy get up, what his reaction would be like to see you getting on your knees for him and slotting yourself between his spread legs. You shook your head to try and rid yourself of such inappropriate thoughts, but what you couldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried was the feeling of arousal beginning to pool in your panties. Sure he flirted with you every now and again, but you doubt he felt towards you the same way you did for him. To him you were sure you were likely more akin to a pet than a friend, useful and nice to have around, but not anything further. At least so you thought. You’d rather hoped you were wrong in assuming so, that maybe he saw you the same way you saw him. You bit your lip as you tried bouncing your leg to relieve the ache between your thighs, a light pink dusting your face and neck even up to the tips of your ears, but nothing worked. Even as you closed your eyes, all you could picture was you laid out on the couch beneath him, or bent over it with him behind you, or you riding him on it. “Been awful quiet. You doin’ alright over there, sweetheart?” Cooper asked you, and the audible whimper you let out from the nickname left you completely embarrassed. You clasped a hand over your mouth, god you were horrified but he gave a grin and a chuckle in response. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me all the sudden. I feel so…weird?” you said, unsure if that was really the proper word to explain it but it was the only way you could really word it off the top of your head with how much your brain felt as if it was turning to mush. “Ya took some chems, it’s gonna feel a bit fuzzy” he said, trying to assure you that feeling a little funny was normal, but this? This didn’t feel normal, not even for a chem high. You tried your best to swallow harshly, doing everything you could to try and relieve the dry ache you felt in your throat at the moment upon looking at him. You grabbed the bottle of vodka, taking a few sips but even that couldn’t grant you bliss from it. The throbbing in your core was driving you absolutely insane. You swore up and down that it was like you could feel your heartbeat in your chest, stomach, and in your cunt all at the same time. “No, this is different…I don’t think what I took was a normal chem, Coop…” you said, trying not to panic at the effects that were setting in but god you felt like you were absolutely feral. He turned to look at you, watching as you clamped your thighs together and the red that fell over your face. “I feel like an animal in heat” you said bluntly, making him go into a near coughing fit as you took him off guard. However that piqued his interest enough to pick up the little metal box again to see what it was you took. “I ain’t ever heard of a chem that does that, was that DN shit the only stuff you took?” He asked, growing slightly concerned for you and whether he had a possible horde of laced chems, or just an extremely horny woman on his hands. Speaking of hands, you were lost in thought staring at them, at the way they gripped the couch like you wanted him to grip your thighs, at the way they looked in those leather gloves he always wore. You wondered how it would feel wrapped around your throat, or how it would feel if his fingers were buried deep inside of you. Shit. This was getting out of control.

“Hey, ya with me still?” He asked, snapping to try and get your attention back on the matter at hand, making you shake your head yes as you broke from your perverted thoughts. “Is that DN shit the only thing you took?” He asked again, making you shake your head yes once more, because you knew damn well your voice was going to betray you the moment you tried to speak. That had to be it, it was the only thing that was different out of it all and the only thing he’d never heard of before. He knew it wasn’t the vodka either because he was drinking it with you, so if it was affecting you, it would have affected him and it hadn’t.

It took him a minute to put two and two together before he finally realized the abbreviations stood for Date Night, reading the instructions and effects on the inside of the tin’s lid. “Shit..” he said as he read it, realizing this was a hand made thing thrown into the bunch by whoever was running this place. “Did you read the lid before you popped them pills?” He asked, making you go wide eyed. As if this couldn’t get any fucking worse, this shit show could have been avoided had you just read the inside of the lid. “There was instructions?? Oh my god…what the fuck did I take?” You asked, concerned for yourself and the tone he had while reading it. “Somethin’ that the creator of it called Date Night. Looks like it’s a…well looks like it’s a handmade sex chem” he said, making you cover your face with your hands out of sheer embarrassment, you’d never wanted to die out in a radstorm more than you did right now. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking, cooper…” you whined, watching him read it more. “How much of it did you take?” He asked, almost scared to know and you were scared to know why. “Two?” You replied, making him whistle at that as he read it. “Fuckin’ hell sugar..” he said through a chuckle, and that nickname made a shiver run through you, sending electric bolts straight to your throbbing cunt. You did your best to bite back the whimper. “You’re only s’possed take one, and with you bein’ new t’ all this, I wouldn’t have taken more than half” he said, making you just wish you could just dig a hole and die in it already. “Fuck me…wait, shit! N-Not literally fuck me I- well I mean I’d like if you did but…FUCK! Forgive me Cooper, I’m so sorry, I can hardly think straight” you said, making him chuckle. “Well sweetheart, I think you and I both know there’s only one good fix for this situation” he said, making you whimper pathetically at the thought, your thighs squeezing together even more as you tried to fight to stay sane. Your eyes cast downwards to his lap once more, seeing the tent forming in his pants, clearly you weren’t the only one all worked up here. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to, Coop. I can run off and take care of myself if it makes you uncomfort-“ you rambled but before you could finish, his hand cupped the side of your face, pulling you in for a long awaited kiss. You moaned into it without meaning to, feeling the way your body immediately relaxed upon wrapping your arms around him with no hesitation as the sweet innocent kiss turned passionate and dirty rather quickly.

“I won’t lie t’ you, doin’ this with you has passed my mind more times than I’d care to admit, but I don’t wanna cross that line unless you really want this” he said, looking into your eyes and making sure that this was truly what you wanted, that you felt the same way he did. “Coop, I know I’m under the influence of whatever the fuck this drug is, but trust me when I say, I’d be just as good with it sober. Been thinking about it for probably just as long as you have, if I’m honest with you. I want this, I want you and right now I want you so fucking bad that I might lose my mind if you don’t fuck me” you answered bluntly, taking him by surprise at just the sheer amount of absolute filth that left your otherwise innocent mouth, making him chuckle at your use of curse words and how desperate you were for him. “That so sugar?” He asked with a grin, enjoying teasing you at your neediest moments, including now. “God yes, Cooper please..” you begged, nearly moaning in reply and he’d spent time mulling over it before, denying himself the chance but just as the chem stache was a pot of gold, he took this as one of the best opportunities being placed in his lap by whatever higher power existed out there, making him waste no time in kissing you once more. “Good, because I don’t think I’d be able to hold myself back once we’ve started” he said, and the idea made you moan. “Don’t want you to hold back, want all of you” you said, and your wish was his command.

By the time your brain could finally catch up with you again, your clothes were strewn out all around you, your tank top hanging over the back of the couch, your jeans thrown haphazardly on the arm rest behind you, his pants on the floor, his hat on the table and shirt and duster having fallen somewhere behind the couch. By now, you’d already cum on his fingers twice, and on his cock once, this was your fourth round and this shit still had you on fire. “Yes!! Oh fuck, Cooper!” you moaned as your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him as close to you as you could get, your fingers digging crescent shapes and puffy red lines into his back that unfortunately he knew wouldn’t stay long thanks to his ability to heal stupidly fast. “Doin’ so good for me, baby doll. Look so pretty like this for me, all splayed out like a needy little whore” he praised and degraded through his groans, making you moan and roll your eyes into the back of your head at the praise mixed with degradation as his cock was drilling deep inside you like tonight was all you guys had. “Yeah, you like that, huh sweet thing? Like it when I tell you how good it feels and call you names?” He asked, making you nod your head yes because there wasn’t a single thought in that brain of yours other than his name, which you spoke like a mantra. “Never knew such a sweet lil’ thing like you would be such a dirty little minx. Fuck…enough to make a man like me go feral, ya know that?” he said, making you giggle as you moved his free hand up to your throat, urging him to choke you, and he groaned at the sight. Your kiss swollen lips all puffy and shining with spit, your cheeks dusted a constant pink that grew darker anytime his cock brushed that spot deep inside that made you cling to him, your eyes half lidded, looking up at him like he was your savior. It made him absolutely rock hard knowing you’d pick him over anyone else in this god forsaken wasteland. “My, you are just a little freak, ain’t you? Oh we are gonna have fun together, you and me honey” he promised, squeezing your throat tight enough to restrict your airflow but not enough to hurt or cause any damage. Just enough to get that puddle of a brain of yours all fuzzy as you got closer to your fourth orgasm of the night. “Cooper…’m so close, so close please!!” You begged, feeling the heavy drag of his cock as he pounded into you, leaving you damn near screaming as it nudged your cervix and that spongy little bundle of nerves deep inside. “Go on honey, I gotchya. Let go for me, wanna see those pretty faces and hear those pretty noises you make” he said, angling his hips just right to hit that spot over and over again. “Oh fuck, oh fuck I’m gonna cum again, I-“ you warned before your moans rose in pitch as your walls clamped around him, gushing on his cock as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your body arched off the couch, stars filling your vision for a moment as you felt your release gush out and coat your inner thighs, screaming his name like it was your only chance at salvation. “Well ain’t I just the damn luckiest man in the wastelands right now, got me a pretty little vaultie and she’s a gusher” he said, making you whimper at his teasing but judging by the way he emptied himself inside you for the second time, you took it as a sign that he liked that about you. “Holy shit, I-I didn’t know I could do that” you said, thoroughly shocked with what your brain and body were doing as they almost seemed to almost be working against each other. “Do it again for me” he said, grabbing you and moving you both to where you were straddling him this time. His hands rested on your hips, helping guide you as you speared yourself on his dick with ease from how absolutely soaked you were, making you both throw your head back and moan. “Now that’s a damn good sight” he said, making you lean in to kiss him once more as his hands helped you start and keep a steady rhythm with your hips. It was definitely going to be a long night, but one you two have been needing for months, maybe even longer.

It’s a good thing ghouls have remarkable recovery time, because in order to finally get you sated and back to normal, you both had to spend all night going at it. Granted, it was aided by the mix of pent up sexual tension and pent up sexual frustration, but it was dawn before you both had gotten to a point where you could even *try* and fall sleep. First few times was on the couch between missionary, doggy and you riding him, next was you bent over it, with your pretty legs spread and ass in the air for him. Then, you used the arm rest of the couch as a pillow beneath your hips as he stood up while you laid out on the couch. He liked that one a lot for the way your tits would bounce with each and every forceful thrust into you, jolting your body. After that, it was done standing up with your back pressed against a wall, your legs and arms wrapped around him to keep him deep inside of you and fill you til he had nothing left to give you. From that point on, the rest of the night was all a hormone-hazed blur, but you knew well that he took care of you. You woke up unbelievably sore, your joints aching in places that you had no idea could even ache, a swollen, angry throb between your legs for the harsh, almost punishing treatment to your pussy followed by bruises, bite marks, scratch marks, hand prints etc. littered your skin as you woke up curled into Cooper’s side. You gave a gravelly groan as the sun shone in your eyes through the windows, making him chuckle at the way you were such a ray of sunshine except in the morning. Coming to learn that you absolutely *hated* mornings. Though you suppose you started to enjoy them more since traveling with him. “Mornin’ sunshine” he said coyly, making you groan disapprovingly at the way the sun was in your eyes, making you hold your hand up to cast a shadow on your face and grant you some relief. “Morning” you answered, your voice hoarse and half gone from sleep and all your activities that transpired the previous night. “Ain’t that a pretty sight” he said, turning and seeing you curled up to him, naked, your hair all messy from sleep and the hickeys and bite marks littering your skin, making you chuckle. “Last night was definitely something, can’t believe you’ve been holding all *that* out on me” you joked, making him give a dry laugh. “Could say the same thing about you, sugar. Had no idea that mind a yours could be so filthy. You’re a wild thing to party with, lil’ lady” he teased, sliding his arm around you to keep you close, making you hum as you lay soft, appreciative kisses to his collarbone and chest. “You’re fun too, and thank you for taking care of me last night. I’m sorry that it ended up happening the way that it did, I wanted to work up the courage and tell you some other way, I really did, but I guess life had other plans” you said making him chuckle as he saw you blush when he kissed your head. “Drunk words are sober thoughts they say, so I’d say I made out pretty good. But don’t sweat it, not sure how I deserved someone as good as you, but it’s good to know I ain’t as hard to stomach as most people say” he said, pulling you in for a soft, heartfelt kiss. “I think you are just perfect, Cooper” you said, your hand resting on his scarred chest as you looked at him with that gaze he swore he’d do anything to see pointed his way.

“You really wanna be my girl?” He asked softly, sounding shocked and with some self doubt still lacing his tone, but he had to be sure this was what you wanted outside of the drug’s effects. He cared for you deeply, in a way that he hasn’t felt in a very long time, but maybe you were just the right person for him to finally open his heart up to. His question made you giggle as your heart fluttered in your chest with excitement. “I absolutely do, I meant it when I said it last night, I mean it just as much now. I think we’ve danced around it for long enough, don’t you?” you replied, making him smile the most genuinely happy smile you’ve seen him wear since you’d met. “Just checkin’” he said, before laying a sweet kiss to your lips, wishing every morning could be like this one. Maybe it could, now that you were here with him.

[mariasont]

hey girlie, first of all absolutely adore all of your hotchie fics no one writes him as well as you do!! second of all i am dying to read bimbo!assistant! x hotch smuuuutt (only if ur comfortable, pls ignore if not!!) i feel like that would be the only time hotch would have her completely and utterly speechless (idk why but i literally cannot get hotch w a breeding kink out of my goddamn mind!!!!!!) anyways hope ur having a fab day, and thank u for feeding us over the last few days 😘

Space Between Distraction & Indulgence - A.H

summary: bimbo!assistant!reader want’s aaron’s attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit stuff going on here, fingering, p in v, no condom (bc we trust hotch is responsible but you shouldn’t be), dirty talk, hotch is a boob man sorry not sorry, after care with a side of psychoanalysis bc he can’t help himself

wc: 6k (got a little carried away my b)

a/n: thank u sm for requesting ugh!!!! u all r going to give me a god complex if you keep talking about how i write hotch LOLOL i love u sm hope u like the fic!!

Saturdays with Aaron had a way of making time feel like something slippery and golden, something you could almost touch before it vanished between your fingers. The mornings stretched long and languid, a lazy kind of indulgence that should have felt endless, but somehow, with him, it never was.

You woke up late. Very late. The kind of late that made you blink at the clock in mild disbelief before flopping back against the pillows. And then there was the warmth. Not just the heat of the blankets, but something deeper, something winding low in your belly.

Oh. Right. The dream. You swallowed, biting your lip as if that might make the memory dissipate. It wasn't outright filthy, but it had been suggestive enough. Annoying. Frustrating. Embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that made you wish Aaron was still in bed.

He wasn't, of course. That would require Aaron Hotchner to do something reckless and irresponsible, like relax. If he wasn't keeping the country from total collapse, he was finding something equally as urgent to fix, probably buried in reports right now, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the page like national security depended on it. And maybe it did. You didn't know.

What you did know was that you'd been circling him all afternoon, orbiting like some needy little planet trapped in his gravitational pull, and he still hadn't acknowledged you. A small part of you—one you didn't want to name—had hoped he'd notice you by now. That he'd glance up, see you, reach for you. But he hadn't. And that was okay. Really. You weren't needy. You weren't desperate.

But you noticed him. You always noticed him. And this version of him, the weekend version, was particularly hard to ignore. The casual clothes, casual for him, anyway, stomped all over your ability to think straight (not that you had much to concentrate on in the first place).

The grey crewneck he had on stretched across his shoulders, molding to the shape of him like it had been made for him. His jeans, worn in all the right places, settled on his hips in a way that made you feel like a pervert just by looking.

Even his hair had you practically drooling. Not messy, of course—Aaron Hotchner didn't do messy—but it was softer than usual, a little mussed, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times without bothering to fix it.

It made him look almost touchable, like someone who should have been stretched out next to you on the couch, letting you mess it up even more, not hunched over a pile of paperwork like the case files were going to disappear if he blinked.

His forearms flexed every time he turned a page, his muscles shifting subtly every time he moved. You didn't even realize how blatantly you were staring until his fingers skimmed up to his jaw, scratching absently at the stubble there. Because now all you could think about was how it would feel under your fingertips, under your lips, under—okay. Enough.

The magazine in your lap was technically open, fingers flipping through glossy pages filled with designer gowns and scandalous headlines. Normally, you'd be all over it, sipping coffee as you devoured the who wore what and who was caught with who. But today, you weren't really reading, you were just holding it, turning pages for the sake of it. Something to occupy your hands while you definitely didn't stare at Aaron.

He had started keeping these around after you mentioned, offhandedly, how much you loved them. You hadn't even meant it as a suggestion, but the next time you visited, there it was—sitting on the coffee table like it had always been there.

He hadn't spared you so much as a glance since you walked in—not even when you'd practically drifted past his desk, close enough that he should've felt you there. He had mumbled a good morning, sure, but his eyes never left the page, his attention locked onto whatever was in that file.

You sigh—loudly. Pointedly. The kind of exaggerated little huff that normally earns you at least a glance, maybe even a what's the matter, sweetheart?  There was no reaction today. He just flipped another page, one hand smoothing over the text, the other tapping against the desk like you were completely invisible.

You toss the magazine onto the table—just a little too hard. Then you stretch out on the couch, shifting just enough that his button-down rides up, baring more of your thighs than should be considered decent. The air against your skin makes you hyperaware of what isn't there—only your favorite panties. The tiniest scrap of fabric between you and absolute obscenity. If he so much as glanced in your direction, he'd have the perfect view. But he doesn't.

You sigh again, softer this time, just enough to sound absentminded, like you're not trying to get his attention (even though you absolutely are). As you push yourself off the couch, you stretch a little, giving yourself an extra moment to watch him. You make your way toward him, steps slow, letting the hem of his shirt brush against the tops of your thighs as you move. His fingers flex against the page.

You settle against the edge of his desk, bracing yourself on your elbows, making a very intentional point of pressing your tits together. It's the kind of thing that should be subtle—just a natural consequence of your posture.

Months of Aaron have taught you more than just the way he takes his coffee or how he organizes his files. You've studied him—memorized him even. And one thing has become crystal clear:

He's absolutely a boob man.

You realized it gradually—the subtle stiffening of his posture whenever you leaned a little too close in the office, the way his fingers flexed when your blouse had just a bit too much give.

Then, when you started dating, it became even clearer. His hands never just grabbed—they claimed, like he was making up for all the times he couldn't touch.

His voice would go low, reverent, when he murmured, so pretty, sweetheart, his thumb brushing over your skin like he needed to feel it. And your bras—he had thoughts about those, much to your surprise. Which ones were his favorite. Which ones he hated because they got in the way.

But it wasn't until months later—when he had you spread out beneath him, his mouth hot and urgent against your skin—that he admitted it. His voice was rough, breathless, his grip tightening as he groaned, been trying so fucking hard not to look at these for years. And then, just to prove it, his mouth sealed over you like he had years to make up for.

"Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe lunch?"

His eyes lift—quick, practiced, almost indifferent.

Almost.

Because before they settle back down, they pause, just for a fraction of a second, right there. Right at the collar of his button-down, where the top buttons are hanging loose, where your skin is warm and soft and practically begging for attention.

But then, before you can revel in it, he's already looking back down. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart."

You bite your lip, actually contemplating throwing his stupid case file out the window. He's either knows what you're trying to accomplish and ignoring you on purpose or he's just that focused. You weren't sure which was worse.

You shove off the desk, but you don't step away. Instead, you step closer. Your hands find his shoulders first, sliding down to his chest as you lean into him, pressing against his back. The shift is immediate. He goes still, his spine going ramrod straight, like his brain has just caught up to what's happening.

Your shirt is paper-thin, your nipples are pressed right against him, and unless he's suddenly gone completely numb, he feels it.

You sink against him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, breathing him in. Gods, he smells good. Clean, sharp, like something expensive.

You recognized it as the cologne you bought him. The one you picked, the one you dabbed on his wrist in the middle of a department store and grinned, telling him, This. This smells like you. This is the one.

Your fingers skim over his collar, your nails just barely catching against the heat of his skin.

"What are you working on?" You let the question drip from your lips, your voice all honey, sweet, but not innocent.

Aaron hums low in his throat. "Case notes."

"That's boring. Is there anything I can do to help? Your assistant is very willing to be of service."

His fingers pause and your stomach flips. But then, before you can savor it, he moves. His hand finds yours, slow, gentle, lifting it with patience. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, featherlight, frustratingly chaste, before setting your hand back down like you're some good little thing that's been successfully pacified. And then you catch it, the tiniest twitch of his lips.

"Thank you, honey, but I've got it under control."

You make a noise, half scoff, half petulant whine, and shift your chin against his shoulder, angling yourself just enough to shoot him a pointed glare. "You always say that. What's the point of having such a capable assistant if you're not going to use her?"

"Hmm. So that's what you want? For me to use you?"

"I don't know. Is that an option?"

Aaron's laugh is low, the kind that rumbles through his chest without much warning. It's never loud—it doesn't have to be—but it still manages to send your stomach into a ridiculous free-fall.

"There's just some stuff I need to finish up."

You groan, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder, arms squeezing around him like you can physically hold his attention. Like you can will it away from the pages in front of him and back to you where it belongs.

"Is that your way of telling me I just have to sit here and be patient?"

Aaron's pen doesn't pause. "Mhm."

You huff. "And you think I'll be able to do that?"

His answer is immediate. Too immediate.

"You've survived this long," he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I think you'll manage."

"Fine," you say after a moment, stepping around the chair before sinking into his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you, but he doesn't. He never does.

You shift until you're settled, one leg draped over his, chest brushing his. His breath stutters—just a little, just enough to tell you that he feels you. His fingers flex against the desk, pressing harder into the wood, tension rolling through his back as he goes perfectly still beneath you, like he's waiting to see what you'll do next.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you hum, arms draping easily over his shoulders as you sink against him. Your cheek brushes his, lips just close enough that if he turned his head, just a little, you'd be right there. "You said you had to finish working. Don't let me stop you."

A slow inhale, a slight tilt of his head, then—his pen moves again, like nothing's changed. Like you haven't changed anything. You exhale against his skin, hiding your smirk in the crook of his neck, fingers idly tracing slow, featherlight circles along the nape of it. He's humoring you, and that's fine.

You let him pretend for a while, content to exist in the space between distraction and indulgence. You shift in his lap, weight pressing into his just enough.

His body reacts before he does, muscles tightening, his breath slowing like he's thinking too hard about not reacting.

"Sit still."

"I am still," you reply, the words light on your tongue, but the slow curve of your hips tells another story.

"Sweetheart."

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush, your forehead pressing to his as your lips part ever so slightly. "What? I'm not doing anything."

Aaron's breath comes out sharp, ragged, the sound scraping its way from his throat like he's been holding onto it for too long. His chest pushes against yours, every inhale pressing you closer, every exhale heating the space between you. He leans back, just enough to create the smallest sliver of distance.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction that sends a shudder through you, tightening every muscle in your body with anticipation. The feeling sparks through you, sharp and intoxicating, sending heat pooling in your stomach. His reaction was subtle, the shift of his jaw, his hand brushing against the desk, like he doesn't trust himself to touch you yet.

His gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to where your bodies fit together, the rise and fall of your breath syncing with his.

His hands land on your hips, thumbs pressing in, not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you he could if he wanted to. When his eyes meet yours again, there's no rush, no immediate reaction. You knew exactly what it meant and what usually followed, he was just waiting for the moment you tip the scales too far.

"Do you want to tell me what exactly it is you're trying to do?" he asks, his voice low, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name for a second.

You push against him again, grinding just enough to feel the press of him, the heat of him, and god. His fingers dig in—tight—like he's trying to stop you, but you don't miss the way his breath catches, the way his grip falters for half a second. Your fingers curl into his shirt, and suddenly, you can't remember what your original plan was.

You shift forward, your body molding to his, your breath fanning against his skin as your lips brush his ear. Your teeth scrape, light, but not accidental.

"I'm just feel a little... overlooked." Your fingers tighten where they rest, nails digging in just enough to make sure he feels it. "Is it so bad that I want your attention?"

His grip tightens, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips with a kind of warning you'd be stupid to ignore. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, scorching into your skin like a brand.

"You have my attention." You don't believe him. Not really. You press your lips into a pout, brow furrowing just slightly. "But if you keep moving like that, I might now be so nice about it."

Your hips shift, an instinctive little squirm, testing to see if you can push past his hold. You can't. "I can't help it."

"You can't help it?" he repeats, almost thoughtful, like he's turning the idea over in his mind. "I think you can. You just don't want to."

You want to argue, you really do, but nothing comes out, only a sharp inhale that never quite makes it into words. Because he's right. He knows he's right.

The little noise that escapes your throat is purely instinctual, frustrated but breathy, like your body is already conceding before your mind catches up.

"I told you to stop," he murmurs, but the way it sinks into you, the way it wraps around your ribs like something stretched too tight, tells you exactly what kind of trouble you're in.

He mirrors you, crowding in, his breath skimming your ear. His palm presses into the small of your back, slotting you back into place. "But you don't listen, do you?"

You shake your head without even meaning to, the deafening roar of your pulse making it impossible to think clearly.

"No, you don't," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, turning darker, more intimate. His hands flex as if to remind you of the control he holds. Then his lips graze your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin. "You push. You test the boundaries. And then you pretend to be shocked when I hold you to them."

His fingers slide down, dragging over your thigh with an almost excruciating slowness. He pauses to squeeze there.

"First, you sprawled out on the couch—" his thumb sweeps over your skin, "like you didn't know exactly how that would look."

Your breath stutters, catches, knots itself into something tangled and messy as his hand moves, sliding higher, pressing firmer, stopping just shy of where the ache blooms.

His eyes darken, the heat behind them smoldering with something deep, something that settles like fire in the pit of your stomach.

"Then you leaned over my desk, practically shoving these—" His hand moves before the words fully land, cupping the curve of your breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple. "—right in my face."

Your breath catches, your hips lifting, your thighs parting like you're meant to be touched. Like you need him there. But he doesn't give in. He just moves lower, slow and taunting, until his palm covers the heat between your legs, pressing lightly over the thin fabric of your panties.

His fingers flex, testing. Feeling.

"And now this," he murmurs, and gods, his voice, his voice, is like a razor wrapped in velvet, smooth and cutting all at once. "You squirm and pout like you don't know exactly what you're doing. But I know better, don't I?"

The words settle in your spine, and suddenly, you don't feel like you know what you're doing. Like you're the one pulling at a thread you don't quite understand, but it's already too late to stop. A shiver rolls through you, bone-deep, leaving your muscles lax, your body melting into his like you were always meant to be here.

"I'm sorry," you murmur so quietly, you're not even sure if he hears it. "I just... I wanted you to notice me."

Aaron's hum is low, deep, almost amused. His thumb finds your jaw, sweeping along the curve of it as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I noticed you. I always notice you. In fact, you're all I ever notice." His hand slips away from where you want it most. "But if this is the only way you know how to ask for my attention, sweetheart, then I think we have a problem."

Your grip on his shirt is useless, you're clinging to him, to anything, but he's the one in control. His hands settle on your hips, demanding, guiding you over the hard line of his cock, forcing you to take the friction, to feel every inch of him through the layers still between you.

The friction is blinding, sending heat licking up your spine, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your legs tremble, a sharp, choked sound escaping before you can stop it, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking deep into muscle as pleasure coils tight and insistent in your belly.

"Aaron," his name slips from your lips, high and uneven, like it costs something to say it. Your head bows, forehead pressing into his shoulder, hands trembling against his chest. "I wasn't trying to be bad. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

"No, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You didn't think, did you? And now look where that's gotten you."

His words should sting, but they don't, not when his hands are so gentle, smoothing down your spine like he's soothing something raw inside you. And then his voice, warm and promising, settles over you, "But I'll take care of you now."

And gods, you need him to. He's so hard, the thick length of him pressing against you through denim and cotton, teasing, tormenting. Everything burns—your skin, your stomach, that deep, pulsing ache between your thighs. Your head swims, feverish, your mind caught between more and please and I can't take this. But he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. If you want to keep going, you'll take care of it. Go ahead."

Your hands move with the kind of urgency that betrays just how badly you need this, need him. Your fingers trail down, brushing over the tight muscles of his stomach, and it's almost enough to make you dizzy, just touching him, just knowing what's waiting for you beneath layers of fabric.

The button of his jeans fumbles beneath your fingers before finally popping open. And then you're pulling him free. He's thick in your hand, burning hot against your palm, and something about that, about feeling him like this, for you, makes something feral sink its teeth into you.

And then he finds you.

His fingers slip under your panties, gliding through the obscene slickness there, and you don't mean to react so violently, don't mean to moan so loud, but it rips out of you before you can stop it.

"Oh, honey," Aaron murmurs, almost thoughtful, like he's just now realizing the full extent of your undoing. "I didn't realize you'd gotten this worked up."

Like it's an observation. Like it's fascinating.

His fingers push, stretching you open, teasing just the right spot, and you jerk against him with a sharp, strangled moan. Your grip around him tightens, your strokes turning sloppy, uneven, desperate.

"Aaron—" His name tumbles out high and needy, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

"I didn't mean to—" Your voice shakes, a hitched little gasp tangled between syllables. "I just—" Your breath stutters, heat climbing, overwhelming. "I didn't know what to do."

"You don't have to know what to do." His fingers slow just enough to let you catch his breath as he murmurs. "You just have to let me take over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Your nod is frantic, almost mindless, as his words echo in your ears.

"Please." It falls from your lips like a confession, like you'd say anything if it means he'll give you what you want.

His fingers thrust deeper, and the shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, straight into his kiss. It's messy, frantic, all clashing mouths and stolen air, your breaths coming too fast to match his, like you're afraid if you let him go for even a second, he'll pull away.

Your grip on him tightens without thinking, your fingers flexing around his cock, but the sensation barely registers now, drowned out by the wetness pooling between your thighs, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls.

You can't keep up. You're chasing something that feels just out of reach, your hands leaving his cock, fumbling for something solid, something real. They find his face, fingertips brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw, trying to find yourself in him, in the way he's ruining you.

You kiss him like you can tell him everything that way, like he might understand the ache better through lips and tongues and the way your body trembles under his hands.

And then—he stops. His fingers slip free, and the sound you make is a whine, a protest, your hips tilting, seeking, trying to drag him back in. But he doesn't move, doesn't give you what you need, just smirks against your lips like he enjoys watching you squirm.

"You're so impatient," he murmurs against your lips.

But before you can protest, before you can tell him that yes, yes, you am impatient, please just give it to me, his hands tighten on your hips. And then—oh.

He lifts you, positioning you just right, and then, lowers you down.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your breath catches, lips parting in a broken gasp. The stretch is devastating, inch by inch forcing your body to open, to yield to him. He's so deep, impossibly deep, and for a second, you forget how to breathe, how to think, your only thought being how does he even fit?

It feels endless, your thighs shaking against his as he takes his time, forcing you to feel every slow, torturous inch. Your body clenches around him, your nails dragging over his scalp as you bury your face against his neck.

"Breathe," he murmurs, voice thick, lips grazing your temple. "That's it. Let me take care of you. You just have to let me in, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay," you whisper, voice shaky as you bury your face against his neck, arms wrapping tighter around him.

His other hand moves, dragging up your spine before wrapping around your waist. And then—he presses deeper.

The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, punched-out gasp. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you breathe, just sinks in, stretching you open until he's fully seated inside you. Until there's nowhere left to go.

"That's it," he groans, voice tight, his mouth ghosting along your jaw. "So tight. So warm. Fuck, sweetheart, you know this is what you were made for, don't you?"

You try to think of something, something teasing, something bratty, something that might tip him over the edge, but your body betrays you, trembling around him, squeezing down so tight you feel him shudder.

"God, you're tight," he mutters, his fingers pressing into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. "I can feel every little tremble, every squeeze. You feel that, sweetheart? How perfectly you fit around me?"

"It's like you don't want to let me go. Is that what you want, honey? To keep me right here?"

Your body clenches down instinctively, like you're answering him without meaning to, and his breath catches for just a second before his lips curve against your skin. You nod, frantic, a little dazed, a little wrecked, and his chuckle is pure sin.

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls back just enough to create the kind of unbearable friction that makes your breath catch, your body tightening like a bowstring.

"Every little sound you make drives me insane." His breath drags over your cheek, his lips just shy of touching, like he's teasing himself as much as he is you. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

You try to answer, you really do, but your lungs don't work properly anymore, your body focused on the pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Your fingertips tremble against his shoulders, your thighs quiver, and Aaron knows exactly what that means.

"That's it. I can feel you trembling, sweetheart. You're so close, aren't you?"

His words strike something deep, something primal, and the fire curling between your thighs roars in response. Your head tips back, your breath breaking apart as your hands scramble for purchase, fingers sliding to his face, thumbs brushing over the roughness of his jaw. You pull him into a kiss that's all hunger, all desperation, your lips parting to let him devour you.

He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your chest, and then his hips snap up into you. The stretch is suffocating, the sheer fullness of him sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your body with every deep thrust.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "You don't have to hold back. Just let go for me, sweetheart."

It crashes into you harder than you expected, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. Your moan catches halfway, tumbling out in pieces as your body convulses, clenches tight, gripping him in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.

He thrusts deep, brutal, final, and then he's gone, his head dropping back as a groan tears from his chest.

He fills you in thick, pulsing waves, each pulse making your thighs tighten around him, making you gasp at how deep it settles. The feeling is overwhelming—the heat of him, the weight, the way his cock still twitches inside you, like he’s unwilling to let a single drop go to waste.

You're not sure where your body ends and his begins, your limbs heavy, useless, boneless as you slump against him. Your breath stutters, still uneven, every exhale pushing against his chest as the last waves of pleasure roll through you.

"You take every drop so fucking well," he murmurs. "Meant to keep you full."

His fingers press into your hips, just a little tighter, just enough to make you feel how deep he still is.

"Don’t move yet."

Your breath stutters, the words landing deep, something fluttering tight in your stomach.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, his hands absently smoothing up and down your spine. His voice drops, lower, rougher—

"I want to make sure it sticks."

You shudder, pressing closer, your face tucking against his neck as everything—the fullness, every drop of his cum—settles in.

Aaron exhales, his chest rising beneath you, and suddenly, he shifts. His grip on your hips soften and slide up, like he can feel the way you're trembling against him. 

"Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

You try, you really do, but when you inhale, it's a stuttering, gasping thing, barely controlled. Your thighs still shake, your body still throbs around him, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he enjoys this—enjoys feeling you like this, soft and trembling in his arms.

"Easy," he murmurs. One hand slides up your spine, cupping the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "That was a lot."

You nod—or, at least, you think you do. Everything feels floaty, light, warm. Your head feels like it's filled with pink clouds. Your limbs feel soft, useless, like you're some well-loved doll that's been played with for hours.

He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze.

"You okay?" His brow furrows slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You blink slowly at him, lips parting, trying to focus.

"Mhm," you hum, then pause, frowning just slightly. "Wait, no—hold on."

His jaw tenses immediately, but you reach up, poking his cheek with a weak, clumsy finger.

"You didn't kiss me," you mumble, like it's the most important fact in the universe. "You're supposed to kiss me after, 'cause, like, you love me and all that."

Hotch lets out a slow breath, like he's holding something back. His head tilts, just barely shaking, like he's in mild disbelief of you. And okay, fine, maybe you do say a lot of dumb things. But this wasn't dumb. It was valid. It was scientifically proven that post-sex cuddles should include at least one (1) I love you and one (1) kiss, and you were simply holding him accountable.

"Of course I love you," he murmurs, like the answer is so obvious, so unquestionable, that it almost makes you feel silly for asking. And then he kisses you.

It's deep, drawn-out, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are. 

You're still in his lap, still tangled in the ridiculous, oversized leather chair, but you don't feel like you're anywhere. Not in his apartment, not even in your own body. Just floating, existing in between his lips and yours.

When you finally pull back, it's not even voluntary—just the sad, unfortunate reality of needing air.

"Wow," you murmur, your fingers lazily brushing over his jaw.

"Wow?"

"Mhm." Your tongue darts out, sweeping over the kiss-swollen curve of your bottom lip, like you're trying to catch what's left of him there, trying to savor it. "Like... I feel very wow."

A smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands don't stop moving, don't stop tracing, don't stop feeling. His fingers smoothed absently over your hips, up your spine, his palms blending into your skin. Like he's checking for something. Like he's making sure you're here with him.

And for a second, you think he's about to kiss you again. He looks like he wants to, his gaze flickers to your lips, his hands flex just slightly, his body leans in just a hair. But then his gaze flickers, his lips part slightly as if he'd just remembered something.

"You said something earlier."

You blink again, brain lagging behind slightly as reality creeps back in, still floating somewhere in bliss. Which you felt was a more pressing topic than whatever he's about to say.

Your face scrunches up immediately, like maybe if you look cute enough, he'd drop it. 

"I said a lot of things earlier," you rush out, voice a little too high, a little too hasty, your hand flapping vaguely in the air. "So many things. A real stream of nonsense, actually. I was just saying words, you know, as one does—"

You shift slightly, suddenly painfully aware of the position you're in, and he doesn't even blink.

"Aaron," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You're literally still inside me and you want to have a conversation right now?"

"Yes," he says simply, like of course he does, like this is completely reasonable, like you aren't still wrapped around him, skin warm and sticky from what you just did.

His brows furrow slightly, and his head tilts in that very specific way that means he's already pulling apart the words, unraveling them like a thread, and working through them with that brain of his before you can even begin to take it back. 

"You said you felt overlooked," he states plainly, like a fact, which you guessed it was. "If that was something you just said in the moment, we can drop it."

His eyes narrow, studying you like he already knows the answer. "But if you meant it, then I want to understand why."

Your mouth parts, ready to push out something easy, something light, something that won't lead to the very real, very terrifying act of actually admitting things.

He was serious. Not angry or annoyed. Just serious. And concerned.

You exhale, suddenly very invested in dragging your nails lightly over his chest, watching the way they disappear into the fabric of his shirt, how his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch.

"I mean... it's not a thing," you mumble, barely glancing up. "More like a thing-adjacent."

"Sweetheart." The firmness in his voice made your stomach flip. It's not a scolding or a warning, just his way of making you hear him. "I'm not interested in whether you think it's a thing or not. I'm interested in whether it's true."

"I mean, I guess... maybe a little."

His fingers flex, like he's taking that in. He nods once, slowly. "That makes sense."

Your brows furrow. "It does?"

"Yes," he states plainly, like it's obvious. "You pick up on subtle changes—even the ones I don't intend to project. And when I get hyper focused on something, I shut everything else out. Not just you. Everyone."

"It's a defense mechanism. A way to compartmentalize. It doesn't mean I don't notice you. It means my brain assigns the highest level of urgency to the task at hand, and everything else—everything outside of that—is temporarily shut out."

"When I do that, it makes sense that you would feel like I'm not paying attention to you," he continues. "Because in those moments I'm not."

Your breath catches. He says it so matter-of-factly, so plainly, that it almost doesn't sting at first, it just lands.

His grip tightens ever so slightly where his hands rest on your like he already knows how you're taking it.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to be paying attention," he murmurs, fingers brushing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. "It doesn't mean you don't exist in the back of my mind, even when I'm caught up in something else."

Aaron leans in a fraction, his eyes holding yours.

"Do you know what I did last night after you fell asleep?" he asks.

You blink. "Uh... sleep?"

He smirks. "Eventually. But first, I checked the thermostat. You always get cold at night, even when you say you won't."

Your face warms. "That's just—,"

"And before I left for work last week, I moved your car closer to the building because I saw you left your umbrella at my place."

"I—,"

"And when I'm out of town, do you know what I do every morning?"

You swallow.

"No."

"I think about what you're having for breakfast," he murmurs. "Not consciously. It's not something I try to do. It just... happens."

"You always eat something sweet," he continues, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "It's usually a pastry or something covered in chocolate. Sometimes cake, if we're being honest."

Your scrunch your nose again and he smiles.

"So, tell me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up. "Does that sound like someone who overlooks you?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Your heart aches—not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your chest feel too small for everything inside it. Because he's right. He notices everything. Not in the big, showy romance-movie ways but in the little things. In ways that matter.

You inhale a little too hard, blinking quickly, but the stinging in your eyes isn't going anywhere.

Aaron sees it immediately. "Sweetheart."

You shake your head quickly, sniffling.

"I'm not crying," you announce, even though your voice cracks on the last word, which kind of ruins the effect.

He smirks. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly, poking his chest. "I just—I feel very loved and now I have to process that."

"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do you need time to process, or should I just assume you're going to be attached to me for the foreseeable future?"

Your smile is instant, automatic, the kind that takes over your whole face before you can even think about stopping it. Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers curling into his shirt like you have any intention of letting go.

"Oh no, you're definitely stuck with me," you declare. "Like, you might need to call someone if you ever actually want me to let go."

His smirk is instant. "You're saying I should alert the authorities?"

You nod sagely. "I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do. But by the time they arrive, I'll have already made a compelling argument about how you should just let it happen."

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99 @historicallyweirdandqueer @in-the-kosmos @lcvealwayss @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs @reire11

taglist is closed for now until i can figure out the best way to include more than 50 mentions :(

[itneverendshere]

we say we’re different but we got the same eyes - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you needed to stop taking other people shift’s. 

it’s not like you wanted to, but at least they were paying you to do so, enough to let you actually chill this summer without stressing about rent or whatever else adulthood decided to throw at you.

all you had to do was show up and do the job. first at lila’s dinner, now at the bougie country club, as a cart girl.

you’d done this before, and sure, the old men were always a little too handsy with their beer guts hanging over their tacky polos, but at least they tipped well. you could tolerate them. smile, giggle at their half-assed jokes, and let them feel like they still had it. 

fine. pay me for my pain, grandpa. 

today however, instead of your usual sugar-daddy wannabes, you were babysitting frat boys. fresh out of their first year of college, probably still hungover from their last keg stand.

nineteen-year-old idiots in pastel shorts and backwards hats, making everything about themselves.

“bro, you remember that party at kappa? dude, swear i blacked out after like, five shots.”

wow, five whole shots? congrats, you absolute child. should i get you a sticker for that?

don’t even get started on their conversations about girls. one of them, chad or brad or whatever his stupid name was, just had to loudly detail how some poor innocent girl “totally wanted him last night but was playing hard to get.”

yeah, bro, she was probably just trying to get through the night without having to mace your entitled ass.

it was constant. the whole damn morning. all they talked about was frat parties, girls they didn’t deserve, and how they "couldn’t wait to get back to school."

you'd give anything to remind them how utterly irrelevant their frat status was in the real world, but you couldn’t. nope. you had to keep your game face on, pour their drinks, and pretend like they weren’t giving you a headache that rivaled your worst hangovers.

at least the elderly snobs tipped well. sure, they were pretentious and acted like you were beneath them, but they'd slip you a twenty or more with a smug little wink. that made it easier to tolerate their "i’ve been golfing here since before you were born" bullshit.

but these brats?

half the time they forgot to tip at all, and when they did remember, it was a crumpled five like they were doing you some grand favor. and of course, of course, they couldn’t just keep their obnoxious, beer-breath comments to themselves. no, they had to make it worse by hitting on you—hard. 

painfully hard. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except instead of pulling over to help, you were stuck right in the middle, praying someone would just tow your ass out.

“yo, what’s your name again?” one of them asks. bryce, probably. his face just screams bryce.

he's leaning against the cart like he thinks it's going to make him look cool, but really, he’s just sloshing his drink all over the place. classy.

“it’s on my name tag,” you deadpan, pointing to the little badge pinned to your polo. you're not about to give him any more than that.

but he's not letting it go. “oh yeah? cute name for a cute girl. you single or what?”

jesus christ. here we go.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d get stuck in the back of your head. 

“’m here to work,” you sigh, voice sweet enough to mask the absolute disdain you're feeling. you know what comes next.

they always think they can charm you if they just keep going, like you are some kind of challenge.

“c’mon, don’t be like that,” another one chimes in, this one wearing sunglasses even though it's barely 9 a.m.

who do you think you are, pitbull? 

he gives you this sleazy grin like he thinks he's smoother than he actually is. “we could take you out after your shift. grab a drink. bet you’re fun, huh?”

fun? FUN?! if by fun he means fantasizing about driving this cart straight into the water hazard just to escape this conversation, then sure, you're a real blast.

you look around the course, hoping maybe one of the older golfers needs a refill or something—anything to get you away from this nightmare. no luck. it's just you and these clowns.

“i don’t date customers,” you say, a line you’d perfected at this point.

you plaster on your fakest smile, the kind that said please tip me and then leave me the hell alone. but bryce wasn’t giving up.

“you’re really gonna turn us down? i mean, we’re the best thing on this course right now.”

best thing?

the only thing they're the best at seems to be embarrassing themselves. this is the type of guy who probably thinks buying a girl a drink meant she owns him something.

you can't even be mad; it's almost... sad. almost.

“maybe you should focus on your game,” you suggest, glancing at his scorecard. “you’re, what, ten over par already?”

that shuts him up real quick, his face going from cocky to confused like he didn't expect you to know how golf worked.

his friend with the sunglasses? he's still trying.

“we can show you a good time, y’know. we’ve got a house down on the beach. you like boats?”

ah, yes. the boat move. the go-to for guys who think a half-assed yacht and a cooler full of cheap beer is the height of luxury.

you’d seen it a million times in this godforsaken town.

you're not impressed.

you shoot them another smile, “i like tips.”

they all blink confusedly, clearly not used to a girl calling them out so directly. the frat boys mumble something between themselves, looking awkward for the first time all day.

finally, one of them fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and tosses it your way. 

oh, wow, big spender. 

you scoop it up, shoving it into your pocket and giving them a little nod. “thanks, boys. good luck with your game.”

you thought the twenty bucks might’ve bought you a few minutes of peace, but no. they're back at it, swinging at golf balls like they aren't trying to flirt in between their awful shots.

you roll the cart over to the next part of the course, half-listening to their constant chatter.

something about “last semester” this, and “pledge party” that. god, they just never stop. it's like someone hit the repeat button on the world’s most annoying playlist.

one of them calls you over again, like he can't wait five minutes for his next drink. you start prepping them, half tuning them out, just trying to get through it, when suddenly, miraculously, they shut the hell up.

for a second, you think maybe the universe is finally doing you a favor. you don't even question it, just start pouring drinks faster.

a quiet frat boy is a gift. but then you hear it:

“dude!” one of them practically tackles the other, all wide-eyed and hyped up like a little kid who just saw his favorite cartoon character. “is that rafe fucking cameron?!”

oh, for fuck’s sake.

your stomach drops. of course it has to be him. because clearly, your morning isn't being shitty enough. you don't even look at first. 

one of the guys starts flipping out, hitting his buddy’s shoulder like it's the coolest thing to ever happen.

“bro, no way. no way. that’s rafe cameron? he used to be the president of our frat, man. two years ago! he’s a fucking legend!”

legend? you almost laugh.

the only legend rafe is to you it's a legendary asshole. a smug, infuriating, gorgeous asshole who you have been avoiding like the plague. the same one who has been blowing up your phone nonstop, trying to get back into your life.

the same one you swore down you’d never sleep with again after he pulled that stunt at the dinner—and then, of course, ended up in his bed two nights ago. you haven't spoken to him since. you’d been ignoring him again—well, trying to—but now here he is. in the flesh. and these idiots are drooling over him like he's some kind of frat god.

you turn your head, and he's striding across the green like he doesn't have a care in the world. of course he looks good. he always does.

wayfarer’s pushed up in his hair, that cocky-ass grin on his face, wearing a polo like he's the face of a country club catalog. you know he’d see you any second. hell, he probably already has. 

yeah, you’d been avoiding him, and yeah, maybe you’d blocked his number twice, but that didn’t stop him from calling with a different one. or from somehow finding you the other night at the party when you were weak enough to let him back in, only to get burned again.

“holy shit, he’s coming this way,” one of the frat boys mutters, shaking with excitement.

you don't move, don't acknowledge him. but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like a sixth sense at this point. you'd crave it so much before, when it was all a silly game in your head, see how much you could push until he cracked and gave into you. now it's a curse.

the boys are watching him approach like he's some kind of celebrity.

“should we say something to him?” one whispers. “i heard he’s like, killing it in the business world now. family’s loaded.”

yeah, you think bitterly. killing it. if you count being a trust fund brat as an accomplishment.

rafe's closer now, and you know this moment is inevitable. the frat boys are giddy, already nudging each other, probably ready to beg him for networking advice or whatever the hell frat bros did.

you keep your eyes down, focusing on pouring the drinks, acting like you don't even notice him. like he doesn't phase you in the slightest.

“hey,” a familiar voice drawls. you don't have to lift your head to know it's him. naturally, he stops right by you. because why wouldn’t he?

“rafe fucking cameron!” one of the guys yells, unable to keep it together anymore. “you’re like a legend, man. kappa forever!”

you never cringed so hard in your life.

rafe smirks, that signature look spreading across his face. “yeah, somethin' like that.”

you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. no way in hell are you about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still gets to you. 

everyone else around you are tripping over their words just to get his attention. it's embarrassing to watch. the kids acting like he's some kind of messiah, not just some white rich guy with a trust fund and a bad attitude half the time.

“man, the outer banks is fucking sick,” one of them says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “we’ve been hitting the beaches, bars, y’know, living it up. and bro, the girls here? smoking hot.”

here we go. 

you pretend to be very invested in the cooler, rearranging the ice just to keep your hands busy. they're about to start pointing at you any second now; you can sense it.

the way they keep looking over at you made it obvious they're gearing up for something.

and then, like clockwork, it happens.

“yeah, man,” one of them gestures way too enthusiastically in your direction. “that cart girl over there? we’ve been trying all morning.”

oh, fuck right off, you resist the urge to throw a bottle at him.

you’d rather die than hear what lame pickup line is coming next, but what you really don't want to hear is whatever rafe's about to say.

there was a pause, as if he's taking a second to let it sink in. and when he finally does speak, his voice is all smooth confidence, casual as anything.

“so,” he starts, still with smirk you hate and know so well, “you’ve met my girl?”

my girl? my fucking girl?

one of them, manages to stammer, “uh—wait, she’s… she’s your girl?”

you can feel the tension creeping up the back of your neck. this's exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.

no matter what happened between you, no matter how messy things got, he always acted like he owned you in private. never in front of his friends, like just because you ended up in his bed, you were his to claim whenever he felt like it.

still keeping your eyes glued to the drinks, you feel your blood boil. you aren't his fucking girl. you're barely on speaking terms, aside from that one weak moment.

he's only saying it to mess with you.

one of the frat boys lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “damn, man. didn’t know you were still pulling like that.” he shoots a glance at you again, not even bothering to hide the once-over.

rafe just chuckles, that low, infuriating laugh of his, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “what can i say?” he drawls, as if the whole thing is just a game to him. “guess i’ve still got it.”

you're this close—this close—to snapping. you can feel your fists clenching at your sides. you're not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. not here. not in front of these frat boys who're still looking at you like some kind of trophy.

rafe’s voice is closer now. you don't have to look up to know he's standing right by the cart.

“you good over there?” he asks, that fake casual tone still lingering.

you don't answer. just kept doing your job, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts. but he isn't going to let it go. he never did when he wanted to prove a point.

“hey, baby.” he greets you again, leaning in slightly. you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. “you gonna pretend you don’t know me now?”

you take a deep breath, finally turning to face him. he's standing way too close, sunglasses pushed up on his head, that stupid expression plastered across his face.

the frat boys are all watching, wide-eyed, like they just stumbled onto some kind of reality show drama.

“you’re funny, cameron.” the guys all exchange glances, clearly picking up on the tension but too dumb to understand it, “can you guys give us a minute?”

one of them pipes up with an awkward laugh, “wait, but we—”

you don't let him finish. “one. minute.” 

they finally catch on that it isn't a request and before they can awkwardly protest or ask why, rafe tilts his head towards them, craning his neck just enough to raise a single brow. the change in his posture is subtle but enough to have them clamming up instantly.

like magic, their frat-boy bravado melts right off. it's wild how fast a bunch of college boys can shrink under the gaze of someone like him.

the power trip they’ve been riding for the last hour stop.

“uh, yeah, you know what?” one of them coughs out, backing up so fast he almost trips over his golf bag. “we should, uh… we’ll hit the bathroom. real quick.”

“yeah, yeah, we’ll be right back,” another one adds, practically stumbling over himself to follow.

they scatter like scared puppies, tails tucked between their legs, and you can't help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches at the corner of your mouth.

finally, a moment of peace.

except, it's not peace. not with rafe standing there. 

as soon as the frat boys are out of earshot, you spin around, without thinking, you shove him in the chest with both hands, hard enough to catch him off guard. he stumbles back a step, his face twisting into a look of surprise.

"are you fucking crazy?" you snap, "do you not get the fucking hint, country club? i don’t want this. i don’t want you here, and i sure as hell don’t want your bullshit claims that ’m your girl in front of those idiots. leave. me. alone.”

he steadies himself, raising both hands as if trying to calm you down. “’m trying to be better, okay? ’m trying. i apologized the other night, didn’t i? ’m—”

“no, you didn’t!” you look at him like he's the dumbest man on earth, cutting him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. “you didn’t apologize! you said i was overreacting, that i was being ‘dramatic.’ then, you fucked me and acted like that made it all better.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath as he glances around the mostly empty golf course before his eyes move back to you, his voice low but firm. "that’s not how i meant it—"

“you always have an excuse,” you interrupt, stepping closer, not backing down. “every time, it’s the same thing. you think a half-assed apology or a night in bed makes up for the way you treat me in public? like ‘m just some thing you get to claim whenever you feel like it?"

he visibly recoils at the word you chose, like it hurts him, “i know,” he finally mutters “i know i was a dick at that dinner. but ’m trying, okay? i’ve been calling you, texting you—”

“i didn’t ask. am i that good in bed? go find someone else.”

rafe’s hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh escaping him. he draggs his tongue against his cheek. his voice coming out clipped, “i don’t want someone else,” he grunts out, sounding more exasperated than ever. “jesus fucking christ.”

you let out a laugh, stepping back, eyes rolling.

“oh, right. that’s it? ’m really that good in bed, huh? that’s why you’re here?” you cross your arms, your tone biting, daring him to say otherwise. “that’s all this has ever been, right? physical. you don’t call unless you want something. so what now? why are you trying so hard? what the hell are you trying for?”

he doesn't respond right away, his fingers are digging into the bridge of his nose like he's trying to hold himself together. the silence continues, and you can see him wrestling with his words. he's never been the type to say what he was feeling.

everything is buried under layers of cocky bravado, that impenetrable wall he put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. including you.

finally, he dropps his hand and takes a step closer, his voice coming out rough like he's forcing the words out. “’m here because i don’t want someone else. i want you, alright? can you just get that through your fucking head?”

you scoff, “because i know you and won’t get attached?”

he snaps, raising his voice, “no! fuck, it’s not that simple.”

"not that simple?" your hands are shaking, and you accidentally knock over one of the bottles you’d been holding before, sending it tumbling to the ground. you don't bother picking it up.

“it’s pretty fucking simple. we’re just fucking. so, tell me, what exactly is complicated about that? you call, i come over, we have sex, and that’s it. so why the fuck do you start ignoring me in public like ’m some kind of fucking disease?”

rafe opens his mouth, but you don't spare him the chance to speak, you're on a roll, months of pent-up frustration. 

“i don’t give a fuck if you’re with someone else, rafe!” you can hear the bitterness dripping from every word. you're practically spitting them out, “what pisses me off is that you had the audacity—the fucking nerve—to ask me to stay that night. do you know how fucking stupid i felt? how the fuck do you think i felt when you acted like i didn’t exist the next day?”

you can feel your hands trembling again, the adrenaline making you shaky, cursing under your breath.

“for once, i was nice enough to care about you, to stay, and that’s the shit you pulled. treated me like a ghost. like i was nothing.”

he just stands there, staring at you, his jaw tight, but he doesn't say a word. his face is hard to read, but you don't care about his feelings. you're not done yet.

“i was fine with the sex. i was fine with leaving afterwards and then you had to go and fuck it all over.”

rafe’s blue eyes flash, and you can see the realization hit him, like he's connecting the dots too fast for your liking.

his brows furrow as he breathes out, “wait. you’re mad at me because i made you—” he hesitates, like the word is foreign in his mouth, “care for me?”

you let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “oh, for fuck's sake, country club. don't flatter yourself.”

“you always do that shit,” he points out, stepping closer “you never call me by my name when we’re having a serious conversation. it's almost like you’re running away.”

you arch an eyebrow, incredulous. “are you delusional? you’re the one acting like a child.”

“’m not being delusional. you only say my name in my room when it’s just the two of us.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he's trying to keep this moment between you, his blue eyes lock onto yours making your stomach twist. “’m clearly not the only one who’s pretending here; you’re just as bad.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you walk back, trying to create space, but he closes the distance with easy confidence.

“pretending? please. ‘m not the one playing house in my bedroom while acting like i don’t know you outside of it.”

rafe lets out a low, frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair like he's close to losing it. 

“god, you’re fucking infuriating,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you think i don’t fucking feel it too? you’re the only one pissed off, the only one confused?” his voice dipps lower in frustration. “i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard i try. "

“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you mocked back, “must be so hard, huh? being obsessed with a girl you can’t even respect in public.”

his hand reaches out to grab your wrist. you gasp, not out of fear but because the heat of his touch awakes the resting butterflies in your stomach. you hate how much your skin reacts to him, how just the feel of his grip makes your brain go foggy and shut down.

“i do respect you,” he growls, as if you just insulted him, “i just—fuck.” his eyes dart between yours, as if searching for something. then, like clockwork, he points at your work uniform—the stupid polo and that absurdly short skirt that's practically a sin in itself.

“this,” he grits out, fingers gesturing to the tight polo that does absolutely nothing but make your boobs look way too inviting, “is not okay.”

you blink, pretending to be unaffected, but his words have a way of crawling under your skin.

“oh, right,” you nod sarcastically, even though your pulse has kicked up a notch. “blame my uniform, like that’s the reason you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

rafe groans like you're causing him actual physical pain, his hands gripping the edge of the golf cart now, knuckles turning white.

“shit, yeah, i’ll blame the uniform,” he says, eyes blazing as he corners you. “that tiny-ass skirt, walking around in front of me all day, making me lose my goddamn mind.”

just like that, his hand slide right under your mini skirt, his fingers gripping a handful of your ass with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.

the sudden contact sends a rush of heat through you, and a soft gasp escapes your glossy lips.

that’s when he takes his chance.

with another low groan, rafe seizes the moment, pressing his body against yours, leaning down as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, the kiss deepening in an instant.

it's not sweet—you can tell that now because you know that hidden part of him, you can tell the difference when it comes out. today he's desperate like he’s been waiting to it for days and can't take it anymore.

he's a starved man on a mission. it's a feverish mess of spit and teeth, his grip on you impossibly tight.

his hand still kneads your ass, blunt fingernails digging into your skin trying to keep you from bolting away. at the same time, his other hand slides up to your neck, firm but not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you locked in place—he's daring you to pull away, knowing full well you won't.

logic doesn't stand a chance against the way his lips move against yours, he's sucking all the fight from you.

his tongue slides against yours, and your stomach jumps at the sensation, making you gasp. you try to pull back for a second, needing air, needing space, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place as his lips move against yours like he'll die if you stop.

and maybe he would. maybe he's just as messed up about all of this as you are.

rafe’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and right then and there, you know your panties are already ruined. you can't stop the small whimper that escapes your throat, and he moans at the sound, his hips pressing harder against yours, making you feel just how much he wants you.

“fuck,” he almost whines against your lips, like he's barely keeping himself from fucking you out there in the open, not giving a shit if anyone's watching. his hand on your neck glides around to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tuggs slightly, tilting your head back so he can kiss you even harder, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

the truth is, you do. you know exactly what you do to him because he's doing the same thing to you.

but there's no way in hell you’ll admit that. not when he already has you completely under his spell, melting into his touch, drowning in the way he kisses you like he owns you.

you attempt to hold onto that edge of disdain you always throw his way when things get too personal. his breath is hot and ragged as he hovers.

his hand, still tangled in your hair, loosens slightly but stays there. it's so fucking unfair—the way he just sneaks under your skin, the way your body betrays you every time he gets close. you hate it.

especially with the way his fingers are already sliding up your bare thigh under that ridiculously skirt, as if he owns every single inch of you, like he has a goddamn right to touch you like that.

and instead of pushing him away like you should, you find yourself leaning into him. and fuck, the look in his eyes—all black, wild, like he it's his last shred of self-control—is enough to make your pulse skyrocket.

“asshole,” it comes out weak, pathetic and almost breathless, and you hate yourself for it.

“yeah,” he whispers back, lips brushing yours, his hand still in your hair, still holding you close. “but you like it.”

god, maybe you did.

the frat boys finally return, their laughter breaking the bubble that had you on a leash.

within seconds, you're pushing rafe’s hands away, stepping back as of them claps him on the back.

“we miss anything?”

“nah, just catchin’ up,” rafe said, brushing off the whole thing as if it's no big deal.

you, on the other hand, pick up one of the empty glasses, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

one of the guys chuckles. “man, you two… y’all good?”

no. not when there's the slightest of the slightest possibility that you're starting to feel something for him. not the stupid crush you had before, or the simple curiosity of figuring out how he was in bed. 

real, scary, big girl feelings. 

no way. not after everything. not after he pulled that same crap, acting like you didn’t know you in front of his friends, then turning around and getting all possessive when it suited him.

 “better than ever.”

eyes locked on rafe, you bite out the final blow.

“yeah, better than ever. just like every other fucking rich frat boy—using daddy’s money, pretending you’re a god. but deep down, you’re all the same. losers. why don’t you keep them company, huh? you’re all family after all.”

his blue eyes drop to the green field at the mention of his dad, but he keeps quiet despite realizing you’re doing this on purpose.

he’ll let you have this one because he knows it’s deserving. fuck he’d probably let you punch him in the face if you asked him to. 

you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him behind, knowing you hit him exactly where it hurt.

[parfaitblogs]

risk ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you have the sweetest regular, and it’s probably too soon to tell him you love him!

pairing: spencer reid x barista!reader genre: fluff tags: s1 spencer. who rambles. biblically accurate career!reader sorry if some of the coffee talk makes no sense to you. reader makes all the first moves. y'all kiss (aww). written in timeskip sorta it's not crazy (like maybe a month). not proofread sorryyy (im not). word count: 2.2k a/n: first instalment of my spencer reid eras tour🙂‍↕️ season 1 spencer reid i freaking adore you. he's so cute. gif!! i thought gifs in this series could be cute lol. envisioned 1x10 spencer bc of his nightmares if that means anything. enjoyyy ily im off to work 🏃 

There are many reasons you come to work each morning. The money (an obvious one), your coworkers who usually make each day a little bit more bearable. And Spencer. A regular who had become a little notorious for having an odd coffee order, that most of the store workers hated making. 

Except for you. 

It wasn't especially odd. But in a store that thrived on making the perfect cup of coffee, sometimes it meant remaking it three or four times because the shots didn't pour at the right amount of time, and recalibrating the machine was a hassle you all didn't want to deal with in the middle of the morning rush he usually came during. 

You had taken note of him the first few times he came in — always keeping to himself, flashing the most awkward smile you think you've ever seen on a human being, and ordering his old order (a large latte with as much sugar as you could fit in the cup). It was by the seventh time that had you thinking of him a little more often than just while you were at work. 

He looked a lot more exhausted than usual. His usually tame hair now loose and hanging over his face as he took a weary step towards the counter, fingers brushing strands away and tucking them behind his ears. 

"The latte, right?" you had asked him, and he had frozen, and you stood in fear of this not being the Spencer you thought he was, and you had just asked a total stranger about a coffee they've never ordered. 

But then he let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. "Uh, no. Not today. Um—do you guys have a limit on how much coffee I can have?"

Your eyebrows furrowed. "No... we don't. I wouldn't recommend any more than like five shots in our largest size, though. It'd probably taste gross. But we can add as much as you need."

"Five's good. Yeah," he nodded his head, fingers wrapped tightly around the leather strap of his messenger bag. 

"Just... a five shot latte?" you clarified, and he froze again, shaking his head once more. 

"Do you recommend anything else? I—uh, I want it to be sweet enough still."

"I can do you a mocha?" you offered. "White chocolate mocha if you're looking for it to be even sweeter."

"I'll try that," he nodded his head, and out came his awkward smile, which had you smiling back just as awkwardly. 

Which was how he got to his current usual. It honestly became a test to ensure your coffee machines were actually running well, considering pulling five well-done espresso shots at once was no easy feat. And, again, most of your coworkers hated making his drink. 

Which was why it was palmed off to you. Every single morning without fail. And maybe in another universe you would join them in the hatred for this man's frustrating drink order. But then, in that universe, you wouldn't get to talk to him every morning (and slowly break him out of whatever shell he had locked himself up in). 

"I never asked," you began, staring at him over the top of the coffee machine while putting white chocolate fudge into the bottom of the cup. "Why did you change your order randomly?"

He parted his lips and his eyebrows creased together for a few seconds, as if he was deciding whether or not to tell you. You were kind of grateful he concluded on trusting you. 

"I wasn't really sleeping. When I asked about changing my order," he explained, hands letting go of the bag strap so he could talk with them. "Then I guess I just liked the taste of it? And it kept me awake. Which is a bonus."

"I can imagine it would," you nodded your head in agreement, flashing him a small smile, which he returned, bashfully. "Why weren't you sleeping?"

He went silent, and you almost cursed yourself for asking. Maybe you had gone too far. It was why, when you had begun to busy yourself with making his drink a little faster, you jumped when he spoke up again.

"I was getting these nightmares," he said, and your head lifted from the milk you were steaming. "Because of what I do for work."

"Law, right?" you asked, and he let out a small laugh, tucking hair behind his ear. 

"Sort of. I'm with the FBI."

"Oh, that's right," you replied, nodding your head in recognition. He had said that to you at some point in the earlier days when he first started coming in, because you had asked where he works so close by to be coming in as often as he did. "Can you tell me what part? Or is that confidential?"

"No, no, I can. I'm with the Behavioural Analysis Unit," when your face twisted into confusion, he added, "We use psychology to analyse serial killers and catch them. Well, not just serial killers, actually. But that's what we focus on."

"And it works?" you asked, eyebrows rising as you placed a lid atop his coffee, sliding it out on the pick-up section where he was standing by. His face fell slightly, and so you were quick to add, "Not—I didn't mean it like that. I just mean I'm shocked. That psychology is all you really need to catch a serial killer."

"It's not all we need. There's a lot of other elements that go into finding one. But our primary focus is how their brain works and we use behavioural science to figure that out. Actually, we used to be called the Behavioural Science Unit when it was first created."

He was too busy talking animatedly with his hands for him to have picked up his coffee, and you were too busy watching him with a smile to remind him it was ready. 

When he did reach for it, you could feel the familiar pang of disappointment that had started shooting through you every time he was picking up his coffee and leaving. A weird sensation that left you clawing at the walls of your brain to come up with something to say to keep him there. 

It was probably why you blurted out, "Are you seeing anyone?" Which was followed by stunned silence from him, and regretful silence from yourself. What a question. 

Slowly, he began to shake his head, his lips twitching into a confused frown. "No. I'm—I'm not." 

It shocked you a little. He wasn't jaw dropping, per se. But he was attractive. You had said it a few times to your coworkers whenever they asked why you talked to him so much — there was a running joke that you were already secretly dating him behind their backs. Not funny.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to..." you hesitated. "Go out for dinner? Maybe? I'm so sorry if I'm totally overstepping. In fact, I encourage you to say no, because this is a little weird. I'm so sorry," you rambled when you were met with only silence from him, wondering if you had weirded him out of the ability to talk. 

"With me?" he pushed out, his voice a little higher pitched than usual, and you nodded your head, because maybe he wasn't weirded out. Maybe you had just flustered him. You hoped so, at least.

"Yeah," you said. "Is that weird? Or is it okay? To ask that?"

"It's okay. Yeah. Yes. I would love—like to. I mean, that would be nice. Yeah," he stammered, and you smiled. 

"Here," you held your hand out and gestured for his coffee, taking it back and picking up a Sharpie to write your number atop the lid, before you slid it back to him. "I get off work at one. Call me?"

"I will," he nodded, eyes fixated on the number for a few seconds more, before he returned his eyes to you. "I will. Um—bye!" he took a step back, and you let out a loud laugh when he stumbled into a chair behind him. 

He was sheepish as he waved to you, bidding you another goodbye, the sound of the bell above the door ringing once, and then again when it fell shut. 

And you had, somehow, secured a date with Spencer.

Which turned into two dates. Then three. And then, with some weird stroke of luck and twist of fate, you were spending every evening you could at his apartment, and him at yours. 

But you were yet to kiss. 

Not by any particular reason. Really, nothing either of you did ever really called for a kiss. Which was as frustrating as it was understandable. Frustrating, because you felt like you were simply friends, who sometimes went out for dinner, and had feelings for each other. But he had told you very early on he'd never been with anyone before, let alone ever been on a date. Hence; understandable. 

But frustration was more overwhelming than you had thought, because you were on his couch, blanket draped over both of your bodies, as he read you a book — The Chameleon. A short story by Anton Chekhov (an author whom you were only barely familiar with). And yet, all you could think about was kissing him. 

In your defence, he was very kissable, as you stared at his lips while he spoke, your heart stuttering quite uncomfortably in your chest. You weren't sure what it was precisely about him that made him like that. Maybe it was the natural pout of his lips, or how they twitched in humour at the little jokes Chekhov had written into the book that only made sense in Russian, despite him attempting to translate it for you. 

Whatever it was, it was overriding your senses, and in true Spencer fashion, he hadn't noticed you weren't intently listening to his reading until he glanced down to catch a reaction to something he said. You caught as he closed the book and placed it off to the side, jostling you from your haze. 

"You don't like the book, do you?" he asked, and you were quick to shake your head. 

"No, I do," which was true. The parts you were actively listening to you enjoyed. "Sorry, I'm distracted."

"By what?" he shifted on the couch to face you.

You fell silent at that, the answer hanging on the tip of your tongue, unsure whether or not saying it could ruin things. You didn't think it would. "You."

"I'm distracting?" he asked, eyebrows creasing together and a confused frown pulling his lips down. 

Which confused you. "Yes?"

"I don't think I'm meant to be sorry for that," he said. "But I am."

"You shouldn't be," you breathed out with a small laugh. 

"Right," he nodded his head, laughing too, awkwardly. "How am I distracting?"

You studied his face for a few moments, which ended up being a pathetic excuse for a lip study, because you were fixated on them again, and you decided Spencer probably didn't even realise that that was what you were doing. 

"We haven't kissed yet," you told him, instead. 

"No. We haven't," he agreed. 

"Do you just not want to kiss me?" you asked.

He did that thing he does when he's thinking — furrowed eyebrows and parted lips, eyes blinking a few times, before he comes up with his response. 

"I just don't want you to be disappointed. I've never kissed anyone before."

"I concluded that," you answered. "I won't be disappointed."

"You might be," he mumbled, and his gaze averted from your own, which had another smile stretching across your lips. 

"Only one way to find out, right?"

He hesitated before nodding his head, lifting his eyes back up to look at you. It was then that you learned that, like everything else, you might have to make the first move on him. Again.

The thought made you laugh, and though he wanted to, he didn't get a chance to question why you were laughing, because your hands were on his face and you were pulling him into you, lips meeting his in a gentle kiss that elicited a surprised squeak from him. 

"You've gotta kiss me back," you murmured against his lips, and his response was a quiet 'oh'. 

But he was a fast learner, because soon after he was. Objectively, it wasn't the best kiss you've ever had in your life. But it got better by the second, and he was doing enough to make your heart stutter in your chest, his hands reaching up to cup your own face, palms and fingers covering the mass of your cheeks. 

His hands there provided him the ability to keep you there, and you had to pry them off your face so you were able to pull back for air, breaths coming out in short pants. Only for a short second, because he was chasing your lips again, and you laughed, before letting him kiss you again. And again. And again. 

Until both of you were out of air, and he was glassy-eyed and pink-lipped. Though, you were probably his mirror image of that.

And he smiled at you, crookedly. And you wondered if it was too soon to say you loved him. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[xhyjin]

fights with toji! weren’t a common occurrence in your relationship with him, but when they did happen, you often found yourself shutting down—completely avoiding and ignoring his presence. you’ll admit it was a childish and selfish thing to do. “you should talk to him about your feelings” is what you tell yourself all the time, but you keep doing it, and it isn’t your fault! this is how you cope, and you can’t change it.

at first, he doesn’t really notice that you’re ignoring him. it had been a day since you two argued about a petty incident—him leaving the toilet seat up, causing you to fall into it late at night when you were too half-asleep to notice. he called it a “dumb thing to be mad about” and said there was “no need to argue,” but this had been your last nerve. you didn’t want to argue in the middle of the night, but you also didn’t want pajamas that were wet from toilet water, so you just walked off and changed into a different pair while he went back to bed, thinking everything was fine.

it was not.

he woke up, noticing you weren’t in bed. it wasn’t unusual, but it was definitely rare, you’re not a morning person and only wake up early when you have plans for the day. he shrugged it off and continued with his day, walking into the kitchen to see you making breakfast “good morning, princess,” he greeted, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you. you didn’t answer, and he still didn’t notice, instead resting his full weight on you and inhaling your scent before letting go and heading to the couch to scroll on his phone.

you were mad at him, yes, but you still made him breakfast. he should probably hope you didn’t mix toilet water with his coffee, but you weren’t that petty. still, he didn’t notice. instead of talking about your plans for the day like usual, the two of you ate in silence. the more he didn’t notice, the more upset you got. he didn’t even notice the evident pout on your face! or the shift in the air between you two—a thick tension that, somehow, only you could feel.

it wasn’t until the middle of the day that, while you two were watching a movie, or at least he was, that you found yourself teetering on the edge of the couch, about to fall off as you sulked. you weren’t even mad about the whole toilet seat situation, but rather the fact that he hadn’t noticed you were ignoring him! you had enough and stood up, intending to go to your shared bedroom to sulk, but as you walked by him, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down on top of him.

"you done being upset, baby?" he asks. so he did know, you think to yourself. he doesn't even let you answer before connecting his lips to yours in a passionate, yet playful kiss. he bites your bottom lip, causing you to squeal and pull away, and when you do, you see a smirk on his handsome face that makes you want to smack it off. "i'm sorry, baby. i promise not to leave the seat up again, and i'm sorry that because of my inconsideration, you fell into the toilet."

you sigh, looking away from his gaze as you sit on his lap, his arms wrapped securely around your waist so you can’t escape even if you wanted to. “come on, baby, please?” he pleads, reaching for your face and turning your chin toward him. his eyebrows are furrowed with a needy look as he asks, “do you want me to sit on the toilet with the seat up? would that make us even?” almost desperate, he suggests. at that moment, you finally smile and nod, half joking and half agreeing. “oh, my princess is back,” he sighs in relief once you stop ignoring him, making you giggle. you lay your head on his chest as he kisses your head all over.

[pedantic-poison]

Delicious | LN4

pairing: fem sainz!reader x lando norris

genre: SMUTTTTT, 18+ MINORS DNI, p in v, fingering, light choking, use of pet names (darling, baby, sweetheart, good girl, etc), cream pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all!!!!), language, hold the moan vibes, dirty talk, Lando being a hoe

requested: yes!

word count: 3.9k

author's note: i LOVE me some brother's best friend trope

When your older brother first joined McLaren, you were unbelievably proud of him, so, naturally, you moved heaven and earth to make it to his first race with the team. Meeting Lando, you finally understood why all of Carlos' stories from before the season started were about his new teammate, and how much he made him laugh. He was friendly to you, and kind, and had a knack for making sure you never felt out of place. He also made your chest go a little tight, but you chose to ignore that feeling. Best not to complicate things for your brother.

It's been years since you first met Lando, and you can't quite use that excuse to convince yourself you need to avoid Lando. You still try, certainly, but it doesn't really carry the weight it used to, not with Carlos at Ferrari now. Would it still be messy? Maybe. Would it be a complete shit show? ...Probably not, right?

That little tendril of doubt created just enough space for that weird feeling Lando elicited to bloom. And now, with the Summer break giving Carlos time off, he's invited Lando to your family's home, for an entire week.

"Morning," the sound of Lando's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. As if it wasn't already bad enough that he was staying in your house, now Lando had the audacity to show up in the kitchen, voice gravely from sleep, with a pair of gray sweatpants hanging low enough on his hips to show the V-line of his muscles there. Your eyes trailed up his torso, allowing yourself to indulge in his tan skin and taut muscles for just a moment, before your gaze met his. A knowing look danced across his face, eyes glinting with mischief, as he smirked at you over his mug of coffee.

"Oh, um, good morning," you coughed out, embarrassed at having been caught. "How'd you sleep?" you managed to force out.

Lando took his time, finishing his sip of coffee before answering, "Slept alright. Couldn't fall asleep for a while, for some reason, though." You couldn't quite decipher the look on his face while he said it, but he didn't give you enough time to overthink it. "You?"

Your face heated immediately at the reminder of what exactly you'd been doing last night, instead of sleeping. "F-fine, thanks." It had been four long days where Lando had made himself seemingly unavoidable. Even at night, when you could close your door to the rest of the house, and lock yourself away, your thoughts strayed back to Lando no matter what you did. Last night, the ache in your core had gotten so unbearable that you'd touched yourself to the thought of him. It seemed that even the walls of your room couldn't quite keep Lando out.

"What's got you thinking so hard over there, Sainz?"

You schooled your expression, refusing to let him throw you off balance again. "Wouldn't you like to know, Norris." The coffee mug in your hands hid your face rather well as you lifted it to take a sip, leveling him with a look that you hoped seemed like a challenge.

Pushing off the counter he'd been leaning against, Lando took a step closer to you. "I really, really would, actually."

You allowed yourself to lean in for just a moment, inhaling the smell of him, before pulling back. "Too bad." Chair legs scraping against the floor as you pushed away from the table, standing and taking your mug and book with you.

"Oh, come on! You're really gonna tease me like that?" he whined, shouting at your back as you headed up the stairs.

"Gotta make you work for it, Norris!" you called back, retreating into your room once again, giddier than you'd care to admit, and telling yourself that you'd only left because you had work to do. Certainly not because you weren't sure how much longer you'd be able to hold on with Lando under the same roof.

Just three more days.

The loud splashes and laughter from outside drew your attention away from your book, for what felt like the hundredth time in two minutes. Sighing exasperatedly, you rolled over on your bed, craning your neck up to look out of your window.

Carlos and Lando were in the pool in the backyard below you, squealing like little kids as they hit each other with water balloons. You rolled your eyes at the childish behavior, even as you fought (and failed) to keep a smile off of your lips. You heard your father's voice ring throughout the house, and Carlos and Lando must've heard it too, because they quickly dropped their makeshift weapons at the call that they needed to get cleaned up for dinner. Your parents weren't terribly strict, but even they preferred for everyone at their dinner table to be fully clothed and not dripping everywhere.

Just as you'd made your way out of your room to head downstairs, you froze, finding a sopping wet Lando Norris in the hallway. Even after you (accidentally) ogled him this morning, you couldn't manage to keep your eyes on his as you watched the way the droplets of water fell off the ridges of his chiseled chest and torso. You hadn't quite noticed how close you'd come to running into each other, barely a foot of space between you, that seemed to shrink more and more the longer you stared. And you weren't the only one. The sundress you wore hung off your body in a way that made Lando want to memorize every line and curve of it himself. Looking wasn't enough - he'd always been more of a hands-on learner, anyways. And the way the gentle breeze swirled the skirt of it around your hips and legs made him want to find out if you were wearing anything underneath it. Made him want to rip anything he found there off with his teeth.

"Hermanita! Lando! Dinner in twenty minutes!" Carlos shouted up, from the sound of it in the kitchen, most likely helping your parents like the doting son he was. Helping, unlike you. Standing in the hallway, now only inches from Lando, chest rising and falling erratically as you tried to convince yourself that you should not fuck your brother's friend and former teammate in your parents' house with your entire family downstairs.

"Twenty minutes," Lando breathed, barely above a whisper. He took a final step forward, mouth painfully close to touching yours as his spread into a mischievous grin. "I can work with that."

His lips crashed into yours, hands gripping your face delicately as he did so, moving only after yours landed in his hair. Lando finally, finally, got his hands on those hips that had been torturing him, tempting him, for years, squeezing as he pulled you into him. Your fingers raked through his curls, tugging gently as you pushed him backwards into your room. He went willingly, grinning into the kiss at your enthusiasm as you kicked the door shut behind you, letting you take charge for the time being and falling to the bed when the backs of his knees hit it, hands dragging down your thighs as he went. For a moment, you paused, taking in the way Lando was looking up at you. Adoring. Reverent. Hungry.

His hands on your thighs urged you forward to straddle him, sliding his grip up your back to pull your torso flush with his. "God, these fucking tits," he groaned, squeezing you harder into his chest before sliding his hands around to your front, cupping them harshly. Through lidded eyes, you watched his hands, large, nimble, and veiny, knead your breasts while he hummed appreciatively, unable to look away from your chest for even a moment. "Been waiting to get my hands on you for so long, sweetheart," he heaved, speaking into your skin as his lips trailed over your exposed chest, just under your collarbone, punctuating the statement with a final, firm squeeze of your tits.

Before you could finish the whine building in you at the loss of his hands, Lando had yanked down the flimsy straps of your sundress, allowing your tits to spill out over the neckline. Lando swears he could come from that sight alone. "You're so gorgeous," he muttered, more to himself than to you, before looking back into your eyes, "so fucking gorgeous." His lips found yours again, stealing your breath as one hand reached up to ghost over your nipple, already sensitive and hardening from the cool air in your room, while the other lowered to rest on your waist, gently urging you to rock your hips against him at your own pace. "So," his kisses now landed on your jaw, "so," your neck, "beautiful. I think it might actually kill me," gently nipping at your pulse point before soothing the tender skin with his tongue.

Your breath had grown shallow from the attention he paid to your neck and chest, hitching as he tweaked your nipple just right, almost harsh enough to be painful but light enough to make you crave more. But what caused your breath to quicken was the feeling of Lando under you. Those strong, muscled thighs, bracketed by your own, felt so firm you couldn't stop your mind from wondering how they would feel if you ground yourself against them. The way they tensed as he moved, or restrained himself from moving as he tried to let you set the pace, felt so delicious against your thighs and through layers of fabric, you can't imagine how they would feel flexing against your core. Delicious as those thoughts were, they would have to wait for another time, because nothing was more tempting than the press of his hard cock against you, straining at the material of his swim trunks, the remaining water of the pool dampening your already wet panties.

"Shh, sweetheart, we've got to be careful," Lando startles you, the hand that had been on your tits gently closing over your mouth, and only then did you realize just how much noise you'd been making. Your cheeks heated at the realization, feeling your breath catching in your throat, rapid and uneven, whimpers and whines and a whole host of other, embarrassing sounds trapped beneath the firm press of Lando's large hand. You were so worked up that even that thought, the sheer size of his palm against you, how those thick, nimble fingers would feel between your thighs, made you whine louder, hips speeding up as you sought some kind of friction. Lando's eyes darkened as you ground yourself onto him, harder, faster, hand tightening around your waist and thighs flexing underneath you. He was holding back, you could tell, his restraint hanging by a thread, and every move you made threatened to fray that thread to its breaking point.

You wanted to make him snap.

There would be another time to savor this, to take your time, to memorize every inch of him, later.

You raised one of your hands from his broad shoulders, gripping the hand that covered your mouth and tapping twice. Immediately, Lando removed his hand, eyes filling with concern that he'd done something wrong, but before he could ask you were already whining again.

"Please, Lan," you begged, hips pressing down as harshly as you could manage. "Need you so bad, please, please," your voice was thin and breathy, and if you weren't nearly delirious from finally having this, having him, within your grasp, you might've been embarrassed by it. "Don't tease me, I c - can't take it."

Lando's head fell back with a groan, making no effort to silence himself as he did with you. "Fuck, darling, you want me that much, huh?" You nodded eagerly, hips continuing their grind as you felt Lando's cock twitch beneath you. "Such a desperate little thing, aren't you?" he asked, latching his mouth on the flesh of your breast, sucking a harsh mark into the delicate skin. Low enough that your family wouldn't be able to see, you realized, but dark enough that you'd have a reminder of him on your skin for the next few days. The thought made you flush with heat. The sudden bite of Lando's teeth on your tit shocked you out of your haze. "I asked you a question, sweetheart."

You blinked down at him, bleary eyed, "W-what?"

His grin was wicked as he looked up at you, "Aw, poor baby's already going cock dumb and I haven't even fucked you yet." Your cheeks heated, and he didn't give you the time to gather yourself enough to formulate a comeback. "I asked if you were a desperate little thing for me? You desperate for me to fuck you stupid, darling?"

A whine escaped your lips, unbidden, at his words, and the look in his eyes told you he wouldn't let you deny its cause. "God, yes, Lan, yes I'm so desperate for you, want you to fuck me so bad, I - fuck -"

The sensation of his fingers sliding your thong to the side scrambled your brains again, scattering any thoughts you'd managed to gather. The rough, calloused pad of his thumb brushed over your clit, and your body rocked violently into his hold, chasing the pleasure. "Keep talking to me, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me all the filthy things my pretty little girl wants me to do to her," he whispered into your ear, lips going back to attacking your neck.

"W-want - want you to - ah- fuck me with your fingers, think about those p-perfect hands all the - fuck - t-time, want your thick fingers in me before you fuck me, Lando," you moaned out, pushing through even though your whines threatened to interrupt you.

"Good girl," he purred, sliding his middle finger through your folds, moaning into your neck at the feel of you. "So fucking wet f'me, darling, fuck," his left hand tweaked your nipple, as his right slowly sank a finger into you. The sound he let out was almost animalistic as he felt you clenching around him, reacting to the stretch that even one of his fingers made you feel. "Holy shit, you're so tight, baby," he lifted his head to be level with yours, wanting to watch your face as he touched you. "How am I gonna fit my cock into this tight little pussy of yours if you can barely take one of my fingers?"

The only answer you could give him was a needy moan, one that had his left hand going back up, not to cover your mouth, but to rest on your throat. "Shh, remember, sweetheart, you don't want your parents to hear us, do you?"

You shook your head fiercely, but immediately lost your train of thought again as Lando began to pump his finger in and out of you, slowly to let you adjust. His thumb landed firmly back on your clit, and the way he curled his long, thick fingers had him reaching a spot inside of you you'd never managed to reach before.

"What else do you want me to do, darling? Don't tell me you've already gone brainless? I've barely gotten started with you."

"Want more, Lan, want you to stretch me with your fingers so you can fuck me, want to feel you - oh, god," you barely managed to catch yourself before you screamed at the feeling of Lando pushing another finger into you. Even though he was aided by your wetness, Lando slowed his pace as he let you adjust again, easing into you as gently as possible as he maintained his circles on your clit.

"Want to feel me what, sweetheart?" he encouraged, curling his fingers to that same spot, this time hitting it hit his index and middle fingers and making your brain short circuit.

"Want to - Lan - w-want, I, fuck," you babbled, head falling to the crook of Lando's shoulder as you struggled for words.

"Come on, now, darling, be a good girl and tell me what you want. You do want to be a good girl f'me, don't you?" He chuckled lightly at how quickly you nodded, head staying buried in his neck.

"I- I want t-to feel you in me, feel your cock in me, feel you stretch me out with it, f-feel you fill me up - stuff me full with you, with your cum, leave me dripping with it."

The hand on your throat tightened harshly, briefly, before both of Lando's hands were off you and working on his swim trunks. "Jesus christ, baby, you've got a dirty little mouth on you. Such a perfect fucking girl for me, darling, such a dirty little thing, god you're perfect," he mumbled the praises into your mouth, stopping every so often to kiss you tenderly, hungrily, as his hands made quick work of the tie on his swim trunks, pulling them down enough to let his cock spring free. Your eyes widened involuntarily at the sight of it slapping against his stomach, the hard muscles of his abs and the red, leaking tip of his cock mesmerizing you.

You lifted your hips, allowing Lando to yank you closer to him until you hovered just over his cock, both of your hands bracing against his shoulders as one of his went under your dress to guide his cock through your folds.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?"

"Yes, please Lan, please, ple-"

You had to cover your mouth with your own hand this time, the stretch of his cock making your eyes water, tears springing from them. Lando stared straight into your eyes as he sank you down onto his cock, bottom lip trapped between his teeth in a feeble attempt to silence himself. Both of his hands landed on your hips, gripping harshly as he held himself back from fucking up into you right away.

"God, baby you're so tight, you have such a perfect little cunt," he panted, eyes fixed on yours, not wanting to miss a single expression on your face. Finally, he bottomed out, the slow glide of his cock in you heavenly, fingers flexing against you as he forced himself to be patient.

A weak whimper left you despite the hand over your mouth as you slowly rose up, dropping harshly back onto Lando's cock and digging in your fingers at the sensation.

"Fuuuuuuuck," Lando ground out, hips bucking slightly up into you as you sank back down on him again.

It didn't take long for your legs to begin to shake, pace faltering as you grew tired. "Lando," you breathed out, head nestled in the crook of his neck again.

"Yes, darling?" His voice was thin, reedy, telling you he was just as affected as you were, even if he was better at hiding it.

"Can't - can't," your own gasp interrupted you as the head of Lando's cock hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. "Too tired, need you to - god."

Lando chuckled, chest rumbling underneath your forehead, "You need me to do it for you, baby? You already too fucked out to move?"

"Please," you whined, unable to muster any embarrassment at the desperation in your voice. He knew he did this to you. Why bother trying to hide it?

Something in your neediness got to him, hands sliding up to your waist and squeezing as he gave himself a better hold on you. "That's a good girl. Don't worry, sweetheart, I've got you."

He lifted you off his cock, before slamming you back down onto him, hips fucking up into you harshly. The feeling of him manhandling you with ease was nearly enough to make you come on its own, but that combined with the way he kept hitting that spot inside of you, over, and over, and over again? You were so close you felt like you were going to explode.

And Lando knew it, too. Could tell from the way your hands scrabbled for purchase on his muscular shoulders, the way your head went limp on his shoulder as you gave him complete control over your body, from the way you clenched around him, and when he dropped one of his hands to graze a thumb over your clit as he fucked up into you, you were helpless to do anything but collapse into his embrace as you rode out your high.

Lando continued to hold you up by your waist, limbs sluggish and heavy, as he chased his own high, spurred on by your whimpers of overstimulation. But what finally pushed him over the edge was the sound of your voice, wrecked and fucked out, whispering weakly in his ear, "Please, Lando, please fill me up."

He came with a groan that he tried to bury in your neck, nipping lightly at the skin as he came down, chest heaving and moving you with it since you still hadn't managed to regain control of your own body just yet. The feeling of him painting your walls made you whimper, unintentionally clenching around him again, which elicited a deep groan from him.

"You keep squeezing me like that, darling, and you're gonna get me hard again."

You giggled, which earned you a playful swat on the ass from Lando, chuckling along with you as he stroked your cheek tenderly, admiring you in your post-orgasm haze.

"Lan-"

"Dinner is ready! Hurry up and get down here, we're starving!" The sound of your brother's voice jolted both of you out of your stupor, matching looks of panic on your faces.

Before you could say anything else, Lando whispers, "We're talking about this later tonight, sweetheart." Placing a kiss on your cheek, Lando lifts you off of him, hissing at the feeling, and setting you on your bed next to him before getting up and running across the hall to his room.

After you managed to muster the strength to move, you quickly fixed your dress, trying to make sure that your face and hair weren't dead giveaways for just having had the best sex of your life. You rushed downstairs, blaming your breathlessness on having run to dispel your mother's concern, and sat down quickly, trying to avoid any questions about what had taken you so long.

A few seconds later, Lando joined you, sitting across from you, eyes burning into you in a way that made you shift in your seat. That turned out to be a huge mistake, because just as your brother passed you the salad, Lando's cum leaked out of you as you realized belatedly that not only had you not cleaned up, but you hadn't even put your panties back on. You froze, quickly shifting back and squeezing your thighs together in an effort to stop him from seeping out of you, and miraculously, none of your family seemed to notice.

But the way your eyes widened told Lando exactly what had happened.

When your parents asked how the dinner was, you stammered out some poor excuse of a response, not really knowing how to speak to your family with Lando's cum dripping out of you.

Lando shot you a wicked grin, winking quickly enough that no one else saw it, and stared right into your eyes as he answered.

"Delicious."

[urhoneycombwitch]

roommate!Eddie Munson x roommate!Reader

foreword: have u ever had a buddy so good you jack off with him <3 roommate!Eddie x reader fic for ya. link to roommate!Eddie mlist here

cw: drug mention, R wears a bra, has breasts (implied to be large enough to “spill”) + V, no pronouns used only petnames, nipple play, R is queer (talks about Molly Ringwald in a sexual nature <3), praise kink, mutual masturbation, but as friends, we’re all normal here okay, we Do Not talk about our hidden feelings in this one soz

wc: 2.3k

___

An unfortunate shift of the pillows supporting your body pulls you from the depths of sleep, consciousness surfacing, breaching with a soft huffy groan. 

Waking up on a normal day is hard enough. Waking from a good dream, one where someone’s head was between your legs and everything was swelling lush with heat? Now that’s torture. 

You burrow the cold side of your face under the covers, eyes still screwed shut in defiance of being awoken before the dream could pay off. There’s a heartbeat pounding near the apex of your thighs; with one leg stretched out and the other draped around the curve of your body pillow, your hips roll forward automatically, seeking friction.

The soaked front of your underwear drags against the pillow’s seam, catching your clit on the next glide of your hips. Another soft moan, breath fanning from your parted lips. If you can stay in this grey area of sleep and waking, maybe the horniness will swallow your mind back to the dream…

When someone’s hand brushes your bare shoulder, your movements freeze. Goosebumps prickling in the palm-owner’s wake, you blink against the morning light pouring in through your bedroom window and try to orient yourself.

Your head is nestled in the curve of someone’s neck, left arm tucked secure around their chest. Leg hitched over their waist, cotton boxers band digging at the plush of your thigh- something else solid and warm trapped against their stomach.

A snuffle from your human body pillow, and the waking world hits you sideways, all at once- Eddie. You’d fallen asleep with Eddie last night, after helping him play-test a new hybrid strain and dancing to records all evening, until you both collapsed in a heap of giggles. In your bed. 

Which means that you’ve been humping Eddie’s leg in your sleep. And the thick length trapped under your thigh belongs to him, too. 

Before you can even fully process or think up an escape plan holding the least amount of embarrassment for you both, Eddie’s stretching the arm that isn’t cupping your shoulder up and out with a long yawn. 

His hips shift, pressing himself into your leg unintentionally, and you can feel the moan that rumbles through his body- at your ear, vibrating under your hand on his bare chest. Eddie mumbles something incoherent and sleep-addled, pulling you in closer, nosing at the crown of your head.

“Uh-” your voice comes out half-squeak, half-croak, not fully pushing off Eddie but keeping your frame tight enough to roll away at a moment’s notice. “H-hey.”

Eddie’s palm smooths down the plane of your upper back, stopping at the wide band of your bra. He makes another noise, this time a bit less sleepy- and then he, too, freezes, all those points of contact along the length of your own body stiffening, muscles tensed with realization. 

“Oh, fuck. Shit.”

Eddie’s voice is like rocks on pavement, three shades of gravelly, really not helping your whole ‘wet as a river’ situation, one that he can probably feel leaking onto his bare leg at this point. He doesn’t immediately roll away, though; he remains in that freeze-mode, tense and poised, holding you against the span of his side still.

Well. As frozen as one can be with a throbbing case of morning wood.

“I guess we… fell asleep,” you say, carefully, adopting the same cat-like stillness, the pause before a big leap. “Sorry-”

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry. Jesus.” Eddie uses the hand that’s not cradling your shoulder to scrub down his face. This close, nestled into his neck, you can feel his loose hair tickling your cheek, the light scratch of his day-old stubble against your forehead when he speaks. “I’m gonna… go take care of this. And then maybe. Breakfast? Christ. Can’t think. All my blood’s elsewhere right now.”

You breathe a chuckle. His arm is still wrapped around you. 

“Yeah. Okay. Or you could just- take care of it. Here, I mean. With me.”

Eddie’s breath stops, actually stops, then stutters back into steady rhythm under your hand. “...yeah?”

He sounds unsure but curious, excitement bleeding into the edges of that one word as your thumb sweeps across the spot where his ribcage meets. “Yeah. Be doing me a favor, too- I was kind of in the middle of a… a good dream. Prob’ly me that woke you up, anyways.”

Eddie’s hand drops from your shoulder, slithers back to his own space, disrupting your head rest briefly- until you realize he’s doing it to make enough room for you both to stretch out flat (on your mattress that was barely designed for one full-grown person). 

“A good dream,” Eddie parrots, as you both re-situate under the thin cover of your floral-patterned top sheet. Shoulder to shoulder, skimming the heat from each other’s bare skin as you stare resolutely at the ceiling, there’s a frizzy mass of black hair in your periphery. A hint of a smile in Eddie’s voice as he asks, “What were you dreamin’ about?”

You can feel the rippling shift of his bicep as his arm moves, hand sliding unseen beneath the sheets- a sharp inhale as his hand finds purchase over the bulge in his boxers. 

In response, your own hand follows the contoured path to the spot below your navel, toying with the band of your panties before slipping underneath. Cupping yourself, feeling the heated slick coat your fingers before dragging it back up to rest your middle against the beating pulse of your clit- “Ah- um. Was dreamin’ about. Uh. Molly Ringwald.”

A few days from your latest John Hughes marathon, it’s the first feasible famous person that comes to mind. Luckily, Eddie just laughs, in a stilted gasp when his fist finds his aching cock- “Oh, fuck- yeah? Redheads do it for you these days?”

“Uh huh.” Maybe if you keep the focus on someone else, you’ll both be able to come out of this event unscathed. Walk away with your hands clean- er. Well. Nope. 

A better analogy is gonna have to wait, because your abdomen’s tightening with each pass of your wet finger over your clit, pleasure licking and sparking, the usual slow-build to orgasm forming with shocking rapidity.

“What was she doing?” Eddie, sounding strained and strung-out already (really makes you wonder how long you’d actually been using each other, in sleep, grinding and working the other person up), hand moving in long strokes- “In your dream, I mean. Licking you out? Did she use fingers?”

It’s not like you haven’t heard Eddie’s dirty talk before- in fact, you helped cultivate it, years ago when he was nervous for a third date and wanted some advice. You’ve coached him on sex techniques, he’s given his own expertise, you’ve both appraised the other's nudes, for christ’s sake- this is just a natural extension of your friendship. Your closeness. 

Eddie’s feeling awfully close, now, his arm bumping against yours with each pass of his fist over his dick, your leg periodically grazing the downy hair of his shin as your hips jolt upwards, into the electricity stemming from the pad of your finger. 

Choking on your words around a bright surge of pleasure- “Y- yeah. Her mouth. Fingers. All of it.”

“Fuck.” Eddie’s form lurches, doing a half-crunch forwards- risking a glance, you catch a glimpse of the sweat beading at his temples, the dark slant of his brow in concentration, jaw working through the grit of his teeth- “Why don’t you use some fingers, then.”

Like he’s got you under some sort of command spell (because you’re not touching the alternatives with a ten-foot pole), you obey, middle and ring fingers curling into the tight channel of your cunt. There’s a spot you hit on your front wall, gummy and responsive, muscles reacting on instinct by contracting and spasming around your fingers.

You’re close already, panting, head tipped back against the bottom sheet, neck bared, eyes squeezing shut at the wave of pleasure that begins to pulse insistently. “I’m- fuck, Eddie. Keep talking, please-”

“So good,” Eddie says, almost funny in how quick he is to interrupt your pleading. “So good for me. Sound so wet, too, bet you’re soaking…”

You are, in fact, rivulets of slick joining into one just under the globes of your ass, cooling and sticky, a bit uncomfortable but since it’s laundry day and you feel this good you can’t really bring yourself to care.

A half-gasp whimper as you writhe your pelvis up, again, chasing that edge, tantalizingly close, the wet noises from your weeping cunt and plunging fingers spurring Eddie on.

“That’s it, baby.” He’s encouraging even in his own heady fog of pleasure (must’ve had a good sex-talk coach), voice low and rough at your ear as he drops his chin to get closer. “Tell me what you need, hm? Lemme get you there.”

“Need you- you, to…” Frustrated by your lack of breath, in lieu of communicating with words you slide your fingers from yourself, seeking Eddie’s hand before you can overthink the action. You leave a trail of slick against his hip bone, and Eddie releases himself to give you his hand- moaning, cock twitching, as you coat your own heated wetness over his dry palm. 

This time, when you both get your hands back on yourselves, it’s with a tandem whine, Eddie’s ending with a hiss through teeth- “Fuck. Fuck, yes. So wet. So good.”

“Yeah?” Like you never left, your pussy molds easily to the shape of your three fingers again. Your other hand leaves your side to paw at your clothed breast, nipples peaking through the lace. “I gotta- I’m gonna take my bra off. Please.”

You don’t actually wait for permission, but Eddie gives it anyways as you slide the cups down, babbling encouragement- “Shit, sweetheart, yeah. Whatever you gotta do. So good for me, tellin’ me what you need. Good job.”

One day, you’re gonna regret telling Eddie you get off on praise, but not today; with one nipple pinched firmly between thumb and forefinger, your other breast spills to the side, resting against Eddie’s upper arm.

He groans, from his toes, fist slipping over his cock with ease thanks to your contribution. The sounds filling your small room are obscene, sex-dipped moans and glossy wet hand movements all reaching a crescendo as both your hips jerk up at the same time.

Keeping the same pace against your clit as Eddie’s keeping on his dick, the spark of pleasure has turned into a roar that swims up to your ears, a white-out of an orgasm fast approaching each time the heel of your palm slams into your clit. 

“Eddie- jesus, Eddie- Eddie Eddie Eddie-”

You’d feel sheepish about how desperate you sound if Eddie wasn’t matching your energy two-fold. His lanky frame thrashes when your speech devolves into a repetition of his name, keening as his fist staves off tipping over the edge with a tight ring at the base of his cock- “That’s it, baby, y’can do it, angel. Come on. Come with me. Please, please-”

With a final cruel twist to your breast, you come undone, orgasm spooling heat throughout your whole system, Eddie’s name unraveling in a long cry. Eddie follows you, fucking up into his fist, ropes of cum shooting to the top of the sheets tent he’d made, hunching against the spasms crawling up his abdomen. 

You ride the last of your orgasm out on the stretch of three fingers, releasing your nipple when the pressure turns to a twinge of pain. Under the covers, your bare chest heaves around the stretched elastic band of your shoved-down bra; with shaky, uncoordinated hands, you reach behind and beneath yourself to undo the hooks, flinging the offending clothing in the general direction of your hamper.

Eddie chuckles, breathless, bellows of his ribs nudging your forearm as he sinks back into his (your) pillow. “Christ. Good thing it’s laundry day.”

There’s no room for shame, no ounce of you that wants to dwell on what this could mean, right now- although there’ll be plenty of time for that later. As it stands, you’re both swathed in a quiet, post-sex bliss, neither wanting to disturb the peace. 

In a dreamy haze, you take note of little things- the drag of Eddie’s pinky against the back of your hand. The glint of his rings stored in a neat line atop your nearby dresser. A block of mid-morning sunshine from the window cast over the bed, prickling at your legs with warmth.

After a few minutes of this, Eddie sits up, mumbling apologies when you snatch the sheets to keep yourself covered. “You want first shower?”

He looks at you over his shoulder, down the lovely arc of his nose, brown eyes tender and staying on you for a beat too long. Squirming under his gaze, you find anywhere else to look (other than the pale slope of his back, smattered and dotted with freckles), shaking your head. “Nope. All yours.”

You flick your interest back to the ceiling as Eddie pulls up his boxers, grimacing at the mess he’s made of your sheets; before leaving, he bends to scoop up your tossed bra, snapping his own underwear to emphasize- “I’ll start this load before showering, then I’ll come back for your bedding.”

At your nod, Eddie leaves to clank around in the laundry closet; then there’s a rusty squeak of the shower handle, a subsequent rush of water, and Eddie’s pleasant husky humming floats down the hall through the open doors. 

You roll onto your front with a contented sigh, burying your nose in the pillow Eddie was just lying on- it smells like him, now, smoky and spicy and familiar. 

You spend the rest of his shower time coming up with a good excuse to save this pillowcase from being washed.

___

for more roommate!Eddie content: masterlist

[purinfelix]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ park sunghoon bf headcanons

a/n: maybe im just typical sunghoon bias but y'all cannot tell me he wouldn't be the most perfect bf ..... ANYWAYS i could probably do a pt2 of this just bc i have sooo many thoughts abt this man - or if u want hcs for any other members lmk too!

✦ such a responsible boy, like obviously he has all his own habits but he feels the need to keep them up especially around you

✦ for the first few months of your relationship he wouldn't kiss you first thing in the morning since he insisted his breath stank and would go to brush his teeth (though he grows too weak to your pleading, and gives in easily)

✦ it's this habit of taking care of himself that extends to you, he feels a sense of responsibility for your health and wellbeing

✦ "don't use your phone in the dark, it's not good for your eyes" - "make your bed first thing in the morning, it'll get messy otherwise" - "make sure to drink more water today, it's hot out,"

✦ they might sound like petty scolds or nagging to most but really they're just his way of making sure you're okay and showing that he cares about you, right down to the little things

✦ on that note, the type of boyfriend who is willing to go with you everywhere even if he's just trailing behind you - if it's to the supermarket or even around the block for your morning walk he's keen to come with

✦ a little clingy like that, though has enough self-awareness not to bother you, but he just wants to be around you lots !!

✦ i can definitely see him being an "acts of service" guy like he definitely does things for you without asking, and without even saying anything - like if he sees you struggling he'll help you silently, only turning to smile with satisfaction once he sees the grateful expression on your face

✦ admittedly at first he does do it a little bit so that he can show off in front of you - "they'll think i'm so tall and strong if i help them reach this shelf" is probably his thought process

✦ in that way he's really observant and attentive! like you might not think that he listens to all your rants or when you mention little things but he really takes it all in, also just the best listener ever

✦ tiny little things about your habits, foods you like or dislike or even your preferences when it comes to like what side of the bed to sleep on he learns and they become like second nature to him

✦ but if you ever point out how close he pays attention to you or any of the things he does for you he'll brush it off coolly with some excuse - "i'm only giving you the bigger piece because i'm not that hungry okay?" - even though you know far better

✦ this is because, despite how cool he might seem on the surface, he's not the most forward type, and things like pda or straightforward confessions make him flustered !!!

✦ like the few times he's grabbed your hand in public when you're walking together he physically cannot look at you while he does because he knows how red his face will get - but you can still notice the tips of his pale ears blushing pink

✦ whenever you're alone though he will go to absolutely any lengths to get you back for it and has a special talent of knowing just where to kiss you or what to whisper in your ear to get to you

✦ sometimes he tries reciting old cheesy romantic lines but he gets too shy or embarrassed to finish them

✦ like if you watch a romcom with him he'll be all sulky talking about how unrealistic it is and how corny the dialogue is, but give it a couple days and you'll notice him trying to act smooth like the main man

✦ also the kind of boyfriend who finds joy in teasing you lightly

✦ always saying things like "what would you do without me?" or "aren't you so lucky to have such a good boyfriend?" jokingly whenever he helps you out

✦ but if you were to ever try to get him back by saying something like "oh but you're so in love with me aren't you?" he'll just respond back slyly with "and what if i am?" or something and watch with a smirk as you take in his suddenly shameless words

✦ he's said it himself but he's really protective and possessive type (thinking about his reaction to the viral perilla leaf debate)

✦ though he's careful never to blame you for anything - because he isn't insecure about your relationship or how you feel, he's more worried about others having their eye on you

✦ really patient - definitely the kind of boyfriend who lets you do whatever you want like squish his face or bite his arm without even acknowledging it

✦ though he also definitely tests your patience once he gets comfortable enough and once he knows he can be weird around you - like he really is the loudest introvert if you give him the opportunity !!

[aangelinakii]

BATBOYS + SHARING A BED.

characters written about in this piece : bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, duke thomas

note : not smut and also didn't write damian again sorry 😭😭😭 i will get to pookie soon

BRUCE WAYNE

as expected for such an extravagant man, bruce literally sleeps perfectly. he's like a marble statue, a renaissance painting you'd find etched into the ceiling of a cathedral. his bed's never too hor nor cold; maybe it's worth investing in his bedsheets. he likes to keep you close but also have his own space, so he isn't one to roll over and invade your side of the bed, or necessarily like it when you do while he's trying to sleep. i think he'd opt for falling asleep with an arm around your shoulders or over your waist, but with a little bit of space between. in the mornings or just before going to bed he would Not mind the barriers being crossed for some cuddling

DICK GRAYSON

for dick it's a tricky one, very much season dependent. he's such a hugger that it can be suffocating sometimes, especially in the summer. he runs cold, so in the winter huddling so close is ideal to warm him up, but his cuddly habits don't bode well with summer months, where you're so sweaty your hair is literally sticking to the back of your neck. he probably needs to fall asleep with his arms around something, and, well, the closest thing is you, so you're in for it you are. depends on if you run hot or cold at night, but his chronic cuddling syndrome could be an issue. the point is, dick loves falling asleep in your arms or with you in his, as he secretly hopes you'll meet again in his dreams

JASON TODD

differently, runs hot, so cuddling in the summer is almost out of the question unless the ac is on (but don't forget to keep it on a timer so you don't get sick !!!!) in the winter he's more open to it, as long as you're hogging the duvet. i think he's a cuddle before bed kinda guy, but likes some distance while he sleeps so he doesn't overheat and sleeps through the night. can be a bad sleeper at times, so will wake up during the night especially if having nightmares or just too hot — this can sometimes wake you up, so it depends on if a) you're a deep sleeper, b) you can get back to sleep soon enough, or c) if you stay up with him :) at those times he does appreciate you staying up with him, helping calm him down so there's the chance he'll fall back asleep, but doesn't take away from the fact he'll feel a little guilty

TIM DRAKE

i can see tim being either the deepest sleeper even an atomic bomb won't wake him, or the lightest sleeper that has him waking up every 30 mins because a piece of fluff from the blanket keeps landing on his forehead. probably depends on his stress and fatigue level; if he's super wrapped up in a case or there's a lot going on in his vigilante life, i think he'd struggle to get to sleep or to stay asleep, in which he'd appreciate you accommodating his needs with some small talk before bed, where the only light is from the moon spilling past the curtains, and maybe a warm cup of chamomile and honey. however, if he's been worked to the bone the past week, as soon as his head hits the pillow he is Gone, and then is Gone until 10AM the next day, no matter what time he fell asleep at. definitely one of those moments where you leave the room for a milisecond being like i'll be right back, and then you come back and he's out. it does help though that he's the type to reach out for you during the night, so you wake up arms tangled :((

DUKE THOMAS

duke's really sweet,, i think he'd be the type to need to fall asleep on his own or in his own space, but then during the night he shuffles closer to you, or instinctively pulls you into his side. and then he wakes up in the morning teasing you with "ugh you couldn't even get enough of me while we were sleeping" but you know very well it wasn't You who put him there, pushing you against the wall or almost off the edge of the bed (but he will deny it all he can if you say it was him). but in the mornings he's def a cuddler. he's got his day shift to go and get ready for, but he really really just wants to stay here where it's warm and ureghhh.

he also has the yellow bumblebee pillow pet and pink fuzzy bunny slippers