#probably therapeutic

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

CASUAL

…your friends call you a loser.

chapter one

NSFW. MINORS DNI.

tim drake x reader

series inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan

readers can expect: fem reader x tim drake. not explicit consent but both parties are willing participants. mention of panty stealing. penetrative sex, prone bone/doggy style. reader on birth control, tim finishes inside. hair pulling. mean-spirited dirty talk. marking kink if you squint. use of 'sweetheart.' no mention of reader finishing. tim is kind of an asshole. don't say i didn't warn you.

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you laugh at his joke, probably louder than you should’ve. 

you feel lydia’s eyes on you as you raise the red cup you’re holding up to your lips. 

you curse yourself silently. what were you even doing at yet another one of these dumb parties??

sure, it wasn’t being thrown by the snobbiest frat on campus, but it is at one of their family homes. you didn’t even know neighborhoods like this existed in gotham. the houses were ridiculously huge.

 lydia was dating her guy now, making her a semi permanent fixture. she had him now, and didn’t really need you for emotional support. 

so again, what the hell are you doing here?

the fabric of your dress is tight against your chest, and you squirm. you think your left nipple is starting to chafe. lydia looks at you expectantly.

“what?” you blink at her over the rim of your red cup, blink out of your train of thought.

 “i asked if you’ve been seeing anyone lately.” your friend settles back into her boyfriend, leaning on him with his arm slung over her shoulders. her boyfriend, josh, is a calm drunk, bobbing his head to the beat of the music and staring off into the distance. 

“it feels like this is the only place i’ll see him.” you mumble under your breath, waving a hand at lydia’s confused expression. “no, i’m not really seeing anyone right now.”

 “well look around! you’re surrounded by future sugar daddies. take your pick.” she gestures, pointing at one guy across the room, raising her eyebrow. “him?” 

you shake your head, curling a lip. “definitely not.”

“bummer.” lydia sighs.

“besides, don’t sugar daddies look for younger women? the guys here are all my age, so it’s pointle-” a hand slides around your hip, and your voice trails off. lydia’s eyes widen when she realizes who’s attached to the hand, the one curving around your lower waist to the front of your body. 

an almost entirely inappropriate hand placement. 

your heart thumps hard in your chest. maybe you’d question who it was if you couldn’t smell the soap his dry cleaner uses. 

you can feel the warmth of his hip pressed into yours as he sidles up next to you. josh practically snaps to attention when he sees that his frat president has his hand around your waist.

 “tim!” josh reaches his hand out to greet him. “didn’t even know you were here!”

tim takes his hand, the one not radiating heat into your hipbone, and shakes josh’s. 

“that’s how i like it.” he punctuates his sentence with a squeeze of your waist, and it takes every ounce of composure you have to not react.

lydia’s gaze keeps dragging between tim’s hand placement, your face, and tim, just over, and over, and over again. you chew on the inside of your lip.

you know how it looks. 

“so you’re ‘not seeing anybody?’ well i can see the frat president with his hands on you!!”

tim and josh finish a conversation about some frat-related event coming up, one that you were not paying attention to. while they were talking it felt like every nerve in your body had rewired itself to where his hand was sitting on your hip.

josh steers lydia away, over to the kitchen, full of stainless steel appliances and an island covered in bottles. 

you can feel her keep glancing back at you, but you can’t meet her eyes. 

you can’t. 

you catch a snippet of the sentence she whispers into her boyfriend’s ear. “..such a loser.” 

your palms start sweating. she throws you another look before josh pulls her back around, kissing her forehead. 

tim nudges you towards him, and you look at him. except you’re about eye level with his chest. his shirt is a deep blue, almost black. it’s starting to become your favorite color. his dark jeans sit low, covering the top of his shoes.

he chuckles under his breath, and sticks a finger under your chin, pulling your face up so you can look at his. he looks down at you through half-lids, his blue eyes sharp and gleaming. your heart pounds in your ears, in between your legs. 

he doesn’t ask you anything, doesn’t need to, but you’re nodding anyways. he smiles that cheshire cat smile at you, and a chill runs up your spine. 

he grabs your hand and pulls you along with him, over to the grand staircase. 

eric, drunk as ever, nods approvingly at tim. he pats tim’s shoulder as the two of you walk past. the guy next to eric whoops, laughing. his eyes run up and down your body. you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. instead, you plaster a smile on and wink, hurrying after tim. 

the two of you make it up the wood paneled staircase, the walls of the hallway covered in pristine family photos. you shudder at the pictured family’s matching stares and smiles. tim squeezes your hand, coming up to a set of double doors. he flashes you a smile, and your heart melts a little. 

tim lets go of your hand to open the double doors, revealing a huge room, and a four poster bed, draped with fabric, centered in the middle.

his eyes are full of that hard glint, a look you’ve become all too familiar with. he shuts the doors behind you, locking them. 

walking over to the bed, he sits on the edge of it, looking you over with his head tilted to the side. 

“wait, drake, is this the master bedroom?” you ask, turning around to see the whole room. there’s even an en suite bathroom. 

rich, rich, rich. 

“yeah.” tim reclines farther back onto the bed, leaning on his elbows. 

you say nothing, awkwardly shuffling your feet. 

“..and?” tim prompts you. he raises a hand to bat at the fabric overhead, catlike as ever.

“isn’t that like, a little disrespectful?” you run a hand through your hair, nervous. 

tim raises an eyebrow at you, and flops back onto the bed. his arms are behind his head, making his biceps bulge. a strand of hair falls into his eyes. your heart ba-bumps in your chest. his angular eyebrows scrunch together. he looks actually, genuinely confused.  

“to who?” he scoffs. “they should be so lucky.”

at that, you bite your tongue. (with great difficulty.)

you choose to look him up and down instead, noting his smug smile. the hardness of his eyes. it feels like you're under a spotlight, the front row full of critics. heat creeps up your neck.

"is it hot in here?" you lift your hair into a makeshift ponytail, noting the way tim sits up. his eyes tracking your movements, the way your fist curls around your hair, lifting the sweaty strands off of your neck.

"so take your clothes off. might cool you down a bit." he smirks, the hardness back in his eyes.

"real original, drake." you shoot back.

he shrugs, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"you'd heat right back up, though. so i can't say it's the best long term solution."

he unlaces a shoe, kicking it off, its twin following in quick succession. he looks at you pointedly, an eyebrow raised. you realize you’re as still as a statue, and staring, so you also begin to undress, toeing off your shoes and leaving them up against the end of the bed. it’s almost comical, your shoes, neat and upright, next to his, haphazardly thrown about, one on its side and the other just fully upside down. 

his shirt is next, tim easily pulling it up over his head and tossing it to one side of the room. his abs ripple as he leans back, the stretch revealing a sharp v-line poking out of his boxers. 

preening under your gaze, he leers right back, his lips curled up as he flexes his biceps. 

“like what you see?” he huffs out a laugh at your sheepish expression. 

you shake your head, silent as you turn away from him. his fingers quickly find the zipper of your dress, and soon that hits the floor too.

 

the expensive denim of his jeans scrapes your inner thigh as he ruts against you. a line of hickeys trace the curve of your neck. his mouth on you felt like heaven, warm and wet as he made his way from your jawline to your collarbone. 

proof of his open-mouthed kisses, dark red and glaringly obvious. 

a problem for future you. morning you. rational you, who will not enjoy the struggle of covering them up. 

tim snaps the band of your underwear. 

you’re brought back into the moment, lifting your hips off of the bed as he slides them down your legs. he tucks them into his jean pocket, giving you a look that almost dares you to protest. you don’t. they join the growing list of your things tim’s taken. a hair tie, a necklace, two other pairs of underwear. 

his lips are on you again, rough and passionate. you moan into his mouth from the feeling of his denim-clad bulge hitting your bare clit. tim wears a smug smile on his lips as he kisses you next, and you hook your legs around his hips in retaliation. your hands run up and down the smooth expanse of his back, the light scratch of your nails making him shiver. 

“control, right?” tim says, his eyes hungry as you unbutton his jeans.

“..what?” you shake your head, confused.

“you’re on birth control, right?” 

you internally roll your eyes. it makes sense that he’d be so thorough, being an heir, and famous, or whatever, but he asks you every single time. like your answer was gonna change any time soon.

“yes, timothy.” you draw out your words, feeling petulant.

he raises an eyebrow at this, tugging on a strand of your hair. 

“uh-huh.” 

his hips snap into the soft flesh of your ass again, sending a spark of pleasure up your spine. you’re facedown on the bed, tim holding himself up over you, your hips raised up just enough for him to thrust into you. one of his hands curls into your hair, yanking at it. 

“tim, i-” 

his pace picks up, unrelenting. 

“what was that, sweetheart? have something to say?” 

you moan in reply as he holds the rhythm he’s established, his fingers gripping at your hair, pulling. 

“you usually have so much to say, y/n.” you can hear the smirk in his voice.

his taunting dies down as he gets closer, one hand gripping your ass so hard it’ll probably leave bruises. the other uses your hair to pull you closer to him, giving you a messy kiss. he sucks in a breath just to let it back out through gritted teeth, groaning deep in his throat. he puts you against the bed again, the hand that was in your hair now pressing down on your lower back. his last few thrusts are sloppy, quick, and you’re clenching around his cock at the speed, your hands clutching at the sheets. 

“mm, fuck, that feels so good,” tim finishes with a low moan, warmth filling your insides in someone else’s four poster bed. 

the praise makes something in your chest start fluttering around, and you turn over to look at him once he’s pulled out. he's sat up, on his knees. his thigh muscles are on display, sending more flurries of desire through your body. the veins in his hands are in hard relief as he fists his cock, milking out every last drop. his cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess, a few raven locks sticking to his forehead.

he's dressed before you know it, tossing your dress up on the bed for you absentmindedly. tim looks over at you, and he's back over you in a flash. he gives you one last quick kiss, pinching your nipple.

"i'll text you."

with that, he's gone. it'd be like he was never here if there weren't hickeys covering your neck and his cum wasn't between your legs.

you dress quickly, tottering over to the bathroom. you look in the mirror, assessing. you use your hands to tame your hair back down. your eye makeup is smudged. and you don't have your underwear. you better get home quick if you don't want his cum dripping down your legs at this frat party.

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tim drake wayne's fan club:

(and THE most patient people on earth. i love you. thanks for waiting.)

(taglist:)

@dfgcbgdc @benditlikegumby93 @agent-nobody-knows @jaybunsblog @astermos-74 @ravenna-reid @borutoistrash1-blog @slut4animedilfs @nuggget-consumer-9000 @turtleturtleturtleturtleneck @hellishattempt @trashhighwaybird @sergeant-angels-trashcan @lilithskywalker @timdrakeisasugardaddy

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[qvert]

New Hobbies

[soranker]

touched up and colored some old dunmeshi doodles from earlier in the year ^_^

[vodid]

zero's pressure

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I gave in

Enjoy <3333

BABY!! 🫵 they have matching big dark eyes

He’s so small could cradle him and rock him to sleep and sing him a lil lullaby

{ @signanothername }

[caycanteven]

"You are a stubborn little thing, do you know that?"

"I do. Though, would you have me any different?"

"No, I would not."

"Why?"

"I would miss the way your soul burns with passion for what you believe in."

"How romantic. Anything else?"

"...and with how adorable it is that you think you can challenge me."

"Ah, there it is."

[solomon-revisited]

my copy has finally arrived... sixteen old songs from my earnest friends

THE CORONER'S GAMBIT LINER NOTES

TRANSCRIPT:

HE was a guy from California who'd fallen in love with a woman from Iowa. She was working at a water testing lab. They lived in a very small house whose pipes froze every winter. The landlord would come by and put space heaters under the sink. Years later, they retained the memory of the water coming back on - the sudden sound of the shower, the rush from the sink. They slept on a foam mattress in the bedroom in the summer, and on the couch in the living room in the winter, since the house did not have central heating, rendering the bedroom essentially uninhabitable from December through March.

They were not really the kind of people to plan things: they had fun when and where they could on an austere budget. The ice skates they bought used from Play It Again Sports made for fun Christmas mornings on West Indian Creek in Nevada, one town over from where they lived. He learned to cook, and to bake: they didn't go out to eat, because there really wasn't any place to go out and eat, though on occasion they would get a pizza from Casey's, because their town had a Casey's. Under the right circumstances a gas station pizza can be just the thing, and they sometimes found themselves in those circumstances.

He made music which was slowly reaching a wider audience. If he played in New York or Chicago as many as a hundred people might show up. He was idly entertaining the idea of becoming ambitious about it: as a child, he'd been pretty pretentious, and although he was working hard to shake most of that off, a little pretension isn't a bad thing in an artist. Just as a seasoning, as a little extra flavor here or there.

One summer he took a job as a harvest help at the Farmers Cooperative Exchange down the street from the very small house where the pipes froze in winter: getting the corn and soybeans into the grain elevator and into a big Morton building where the beans formed giant mountains, which he sometimes had to climb to knock down the peaks. If you don't knock down the peaks the beans get too hot and might rot. The job didn't pay much, and he wasn't good at it, but during slow stretches he would write song lyrics on scraps of paper or in a small notebook, and when he got home from work and washed off the crop dust, he'd set the lyrics to music. "Elijah" was written like this. So was "The Alphonse Mambo."

He took a Greyhound bus to Omaha to record some of the songs, so that the album would have a nice varied feel to it, but he got very sick, which is not an uncommon thing to have happen after a Greyhound ride, and only a few songs came out the way he wanted. He kept those, and then they got married and moved to Ames because the City of Colo had purchased their home from that landlord and intended to knock it down, which they did do, he affirmed years later: and in Ames he put the album together, and then later they moved to North Carolina and a whole lot of other things happened, too, but the main thing is that this album is a document of a time when two young people in love hadn't yet located the spot on the current that would carry them to their destination, twenty-five years later, parents of two beautiful children, worlds away from Colo, the place where, for better or worse, as the saying goes, all this really began.

Dedicated to my wife, Lalitree, and to the City of Colo, Iowa.

This is the original text of the paper bag that housed the first edition of this album. I am leaving it intact rather than revising it. Stage Bidet's moment comes ever closer: let the people tremble in fear.

Elijah, Baboon, Horseradish Road, Onions, and the Alphonse Mambo recorded in Omaha with Simon Joyner, Chris Deden, Lonnie Methe, Brad Smith, John Kotchen, Steve Micek, and Pat Oakes. All of them are owed money and are to be treated with deference and respect. Five of the remaining songs were recorded at Main St. in Colo, which is a small town in Iowa, and the rest were recorded two blocks north of Emma McCarthy Lee Park in Ames, which is a considerably larger town half and hour west of Colo. Though happy circumstances currently have the Mountain Goats claiming Ames, we continue to straight up represent Colo and will put the slap down on anyone who disrespects it. Transfer and levels by Bob Durkee at FBE in Pomona, California, with Joel Huschle attending. As a result of some regrettable but inevitable conversations that took place during the transfer, Bob, Joel, and the Mountain Goats have formed a new, super-powerful punk rock machine called Stage Bidet, and we urge you to watch for us and clear us a wide berth whenever we're in your town. Instead of thanking all the people I always thank to whom I say, collectively and with no less sincerity: thanks. I am just going to spend the time left us here addressing an absent friend. Rozz: I wish you hadn't've gone and killed yourself. Though I hadn't seen or spoken with you in eight years since that night when, as far as I can tell from the reports I was later able to piece together, you tried, not without reason, to strangle the life out of me out there on the landing of Damien's apartment and I probably never would have ever seen you again anyway, it was still hard to hear that you were gone. All your friends had been predicting your death since the early eighties, and no-one could bear the thought of you growing old, but none of that did anything to soften the blow when I heard. I don't really believe that the dead see or hear what we do out here in the realm of corruptible things and I don't imagine that the anyone reads the scribblings on the backs of album jackets to them, either, so I am really only addressing a memory. To that memory I say: I thought of you now and then when I was writing these songs. I don't suppose they'd do much for you, but I thought of you all the same. All your friends miss you in some way, a little or a lot. The rumors about your final hours are dismal and tawdry: I am sure they would please you immensely. For your sake, I hope that the Christians were wrong and that you were right about whether the faithless are destined for eternal torment. In the event that you are a ghost and are wandering the earth moaning and rattling chains, I moved to Iowa from California four or five years ago, stop by any time. Have a seat on the couch until I get home from work. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator, or to the whiskey and sake on top of it. Make yourself right at home.

Album cover design by Tom Hart

[seriousturd]

Been loving this dynamic

[lets-go-hurt-someone]

Sometime post-game…

Durge: So I’ve got bath salts, scented lotion, essential oils, incense, twelve different types of herbal tea, and a small gong. Gale says this will help us meditate and calm our emotions, so we can heal from our traumatic pasts.

Astarion: Or!— and hear me out on this— let’s forget about all that nonsense and go do crime instead. It’s way more fun, and, I assure you, very therapeutic.

Durge: I don’t know… will— will there be stabbing?

Astarion: Of course, darling!

Durge (dropping everything): Crimes it is!

[witchedwicked]

Hizashi helping Ochako with her quirk counseling movement. Giving her advice as well as any professional contacts and resources he had that would be useful to her. Segments on his radio show, bringing her on for interviews about it. He’s always had a soft spot for her compassion and determination, so he’d want to support her however he could.

[killyourrdarlingss]

I'm so obsessed with him just being a menace and scratching up the tombs. Literally an icon.

Also Raziel?? Lookin great honey

[swearingcactus]

i would like to share my "V is a firework in the sense that you know all his screaming and thrashing isn't going to make his end any different, but he'll go out with a bang and everyone will watch in wonder; and how fireworks are often a veteran's PTSD trigger and even though Johnny is stuck with fireworks personified he wouldn't want to be anywhere else" idea that's been rattling around my head

[roseworth]

what a fucking week (it’s 2 pm on a monday)

[pinche-pendejito]

ok but like, of course Luke and r2-d2 are besties when they’re just flying in space alone together all the time. Do you know how long it takes to fly from Hoth to Degobah?? It’s… well it’s probably not fast! >:/ I’d start airing my deepest secrets like 2 hours into the trip and it’d just keep going from there lol

[constellation-skirmishes]

hey guys did you know i love women

[krisalyce]

what if i said lights kamera action