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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years

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You’re not my type [Hotch x Reader]

Summary: Reader is the new press liaison to the elite Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. A stray comment from her leads to a lot of questions from her teammates, especially her unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. When they’re thrown together on a case that hits close to home for Reader, will that comment tear them apart? Or will it bring them closer together?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner / (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Angst then smut, with plenty of fluff sprinkled throughout.

Word Count: 8.4k

Content Warning: This gets pretty angst heavy in places. The team is chasing an Unsub that’s a serial r*pist/mu*derer. Mentions of an attempted a*sault to someone Reader cares about. Providing comfort to victims of the unsub. It’s dark in places, but if you can stick with me, I promise I will mend the angst and take you to the land of smut and fluff. Because there is plenty of smut.

A/n: Have you ever had a story that just grabbed hold of you and refused to let go? This story was supposed to be half this length and pure fluff. Reader and Hotch dug their claws into me and made me tell their own story. I’m not mad at it, and if you give it a chance, I hope you love it as much as I do. masterlist

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized text = reader’s thoughts

--“You’re not my type” --

The clock was moving so slowly, I couldn't help but think it was moving backward.

Come on, hurry up. I wanna go home.

I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that it was going to be 4:30 pm for the rest of my life. I still had some files to hand out to the team; I usually do that part of my very glamorous job in the mornings, but since I had nothing but time now, I thought why not.

I had been a “sort of” member of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit for 5 months. Jennifer- wait, JJ, had the job as media liaison before me; she was the last person to officially hold the position. When she left the unit chief of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner, and the technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, had split the roll. That is until Chief Strauss had decided that she wanted the BAU to run more efficiently. Meaning that Hotch got less paperwork, Garcia got a break from talking about mutilated bodies, and I got shuffled around from the public relations office.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed working with the team, I really did, but I couldn't help but feel excluded sometimes. They're all practically a family. I didn't really have any sort of family anymore, just a best friend that has always felt more like a sister.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I made my way towards the bullpen, shoving the doors open to see the team sitting on various desks talking to each other. Loudly.

“Shut UP, man!” Derek Morgan’s voice was loud, but amusement was clear on his face. Actually, everyone seemed sort of amused. Rossi and Hotch were leaning on the railing near their respective offices, watching the events unfold with smiles on their faces.

Hotch smiles? Huh. Weird.

I quickly tried to make my way around them, hoping none of them would notice me.

“Okay, I know how we can settle this. Y/n!” Shit. No such luck. I turned to look at Emily Prentiss, with her long dark hair and angular face. Why is everybody here so fucking pretty?

I cleared my throat, trying to compose my face. “Yes?”

“Answer something for us.” Everyone seemed very eager for me to be a part of this now, which I didn’t think was a good sign.

“I’ll do my best.”

She smiled at me like she was sensing her victory. "If Morgan asked you on a date, what would you say?"

Oh, they couldn’t have picked a worse person to play this game.

I chuckled awkwardly, trying to appear calm. “Um…I’d probably say no.” Morgan took a dramatically loud breath before slapping his hand to his chest. “No offense,” I quickly added.

Morgan wasn’t giving up his dramatics that easily. “Damn, girl! You’re gonna cut me down just like that?”

“I’m sorry,” I said with an awkward laugh. “You’re just not my type.”

Garcia’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Excuse me? He’s not your type? Tall, dark, and extremely well-muscled isn’t your type?” She scoffed like I was insane; I mean, maybe I was. Jury’s out. “What about that is unappealing to you?”

I couldn’t think of a believable lie, so I went with the truth. “The tall and extremely well-muscled part.” I shifted from foot to foot anxiously.

Emily blinked. “O-okay. Fair enough,” she laughed, looking at me like she’d never seen me before.

I was preparing to turn and make a very quick escape, but JJ had other plans. "Woah, woah, woah," the blonde hopped off the desk, walking a bit closer to me. "If Morgan isn't your type…who is?"

Fuck me running. “Um…” I trailed off. “I don’t think I really have a type, to be honest.”

"Do you like men," Morgan chimed in. "No judgment, little mama."

Not for the first time, I wished I was a lesbian. “I am sadly mostly heterosexual.” I was convinced no one could be completely heterosexual, it just didn’t seem natural.

Emily chuckled at that. “Okay then,” her hand moved up to adjust her dark bangs, something she did when she was thinking. “What if Hotch asked you out?”

“Okay, okay, don’t drag me into this,” the Unit Chef boomed out, much to Rossi’s amusement.

“…Um.” Why couldn’t I just die? “Sorry, boss, but no.”

Morgan crossed his arms over his chest. “Is Hotch also too tall and well-muscled.”

“Probably,” I answered without much thought. “I can’t comment on the state of his muscles. But he’s very…big. And he intimidates me.” I didn’t let my eyes stray to my boss; I simply couldn’t.

"Ah-ha. There it is!" Morgan slapped his hands together like he had solved some big puzzle. "You don't like men that intimidate you. So, if pretty boy over here asked you out, you'd say yes."

I didn't know a person's ears could blush until that moment when my eyes drifted over to Dr. Spencer Reid. The tips of his ears were bright pink and he was looking anywhere but at me.

I answered honestly again, I figured they’d know if I lied. Fucking profilers. “Yeah, I would say yes. But only if I didn’t know him.” Spencer’s eyes finally shifted over towards me. “You’re easily one of the most brilliant people in the world. You’d be bored to tears on a date with me,” I said, my gaze meeting his wide eyes.

The boy genius’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side, his lips moving like he muttered something under his breath.

Is it 5 yet?

JJ wasn’t totally prepared to let this go, because she asked, “Okay, so a yes to Spence, a no to Hotch and Morgan.” She tapped her chin with her index finger. “What about Will? You’ve met my husband, right?”

I had indeed met her husband with his Princess and The Frog accent. I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I met him the other day when he brought your son by. And…I don’t know, maybe him. He doesn’t give off an air of intimidation.” Which was the nicest way I could say ‘your husband doesn’t scare the shit out of me.’

I glanced down at my watch, seeing it was finally 4:55 pm. “Sorry guys, I need to get these files out before I go home.” With an overly bright smile, I darted away as fast as my uncomfortable shoes would let me.

My final stop was Hotch’s office, and I was so relieved that he wasn’t in it for once. I placed the file on his desk, looking at the pictures of a little boy, his son, I assumed, on his desk.

“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

I'm not sure what I was more embarrassed by, the tiny yelp that escaped my lips or how I smacked my hand over my chest in such a dramatic fashion that I could have given Derek Morgan a run for his money. "Jesus fucking Christ, Hotch! You scared the shit out of me!"

His lips twitched in poorly concealed amusement, either at my reaction or my swearing at him. “Sorry, y/n. I didn’t know I needed to knock before I entered my office. I’ll try to do better next time.”

Oh, this guy has jokes now too.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his dry humor. “I’m sorry. I startle easily. I didn’t mean to swear at you.”

“Y/n, I’ve been with the bureau for almost 20 years. Trust me, I’ve heard worse.”

I bet he has.

“Well,” I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Alright then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

“Of course,” he stepped out of the doorway so I could exit. “Y/n?” He said it like it was an afterthought. “Do you really find me intimidating?”

My eyes were wide as I looked all the way up at him. Really, what was the point in being that tall? "Oh, absolutely, sir." Then I hurried out the door, not wanting to see his reaction or lack thereof.

After stopping by my office, I was waiting for the elevator when I felt someone behind me; turning I saw the pretty boy himself standing awkwardly off to my side. I offered him a small smile before shifting my attention back to the bank of elevators in front of me.

The middle one opened first, Spencer waved me in first before he entered and hit the button for the ground floor.

He was clearly working up his nerves to say something, you didn’t have to be a profiler to see that. “Hey, um, y/n?” I turned my head in his direction, waiting for him to continue. “What you said back there…that you’d go on a date with me if I asked, did you mean that?”

There was that blush again, he really was adorable. “Of course, I meant it, Spencer.” He didn’t look convinced. “I mean, why would I lie? I turned Morgan down right away. And Hotch, who is my boss.”

Spencer let out a small laugh at that, unable to argue against my point. “I guess that’s true.” The elevator doors opened, he waved me out first, again, before exiting himself. “Do you really think that I’d be bored on a date with you?”

"I mean, you have 3 Ph.D.'s and a super high IQ." I waved my free hand around, gesturing to myself like it would help me prove my point. "And look at me. I'm smart, but I'm not that smart. I couldn't put you through a date like that."

He didn’t seem to appreciate my self-deprecating humor. I headed for the doors without giving him a chance to respond. “Have a good night, Dr. Reid!” I offered a small wave before I all but sprinted out the doors towards the parking garage.

Why? Just why?

“We have to catch him before this turns into a spree,” Hotch’s voice was grave, his face the same stern mask it always was. “Wheels up in 30.”

Taking that as a dismissal, the team rose from the table, hurrying towards their respective desks to get their go-bags. That was the part of this job that took the longest to get used to. I never traveled much in public relations; now I'm on a plane several times a week. That in itself wouldn't be so bad…if I didn't still get terrible motion sickness. I don’t know why I hadn’t gotten used to it yet, but I had to keep some non-drowsy motion sickness pills in my go-bag at all times. I tried to take them before I boarded the jet; it was probably silly, but I didn’t really want the team to know. They were all superheroes in my eyes; superheroes don’t get motion sickness.

I was the last one to board the jet today. I was usually one of the first onboard, but I got held up on my way here speaking to someone from my old office. When I came through the plane's doors there rest of the team was spread out. Dr. Reid was laying on the couch, book propped open in his lap. Emily and JJ were on one side of the table with Morgan and Rossi on the other. The only seats available were towards the back of the plane; I could have sat by myself…or I could sit in the seat across from Hotch.

I always get anxiety about things other people find silly. I’m a grown woman, I should be more confident; I’m a fucking FBI agent for god’s sake. Yet here I was, nervously trying to decide where to sit. It would be weird to not sit near him, I reasoned. Offering Hotch a tight smile before I stored my go-bag, I sat down across the aisle from him.

I fastened my seatbelt over my lap, taking deep breaths through my nose. I had taken my medicine, but take off always got me a little bit, no matter what. I never took a window seat either, sometimes I’d look out and see how fast the world was passing by underneath us and…I shuddered just thinking about it.

"Hey," the voice beside me called, his voice was so quiet I don't think any of the others could hear it. I opened my eyes and turned to face him. His dark eyes looked oddly soft like he was concerned about me. "Are you alright?"

I offered him a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay, Hotch.”

"Did you take your medicine?" At my puzzled expression, he clarified. "For motion sickness."

What in the- “How did you know I get motion sickness?”

The corners of his mouth quirked up. “I’m a profiler, y/n, and I’ve been one for a long time.”

A little chuckle left my lips at that, right as the plane started moving forward, gaining speed for takeoff. I closed my eyes, telling myself that it was the impending take off that was causing my stomach to flutter, not the fact that my boss, who I thought was always indifferent to me, noticed me more than I thought he did.

Cases with kids were the hardest, there was no question about it. For me, the second hardest cases were women who were assaulted. It filled my gut with such a heavy, boiling rage whenever I thought about it. These women were just living their lives, unaware of the danger that was hunting them. Some fucking monster decided that being a man in our society didn’t offer him enough power; he had to hurt women, try to take their power so that he could feel more powerful.

I had heard stories about Elle Greenaway, the agent that resigned under suspicion that she shot a rapist in cold blood. I never commented on it, but I can’t say as I blame her. That attitude is probably why I don’t comment on it, I thought dryly.

The unsub the team was hunting in Northern Texas was a serial rapist and murderer. He had claimed 3 victims in the past 2 weeks; the locals were concerned that his pattern and level of violence were escalating too rapidly. The BAU agreed.

They started piecing this monster together through the clues he left behind. A white male, mid 30's, has a high-power job, won't be able to have stable relationships with women. They were tracking his comfort zone, interviewing families, and canvassing for information.

My job was to warn the women of this small town that there was a monster lurking in the shadows.

The team was sitting around in a small room in the center of the police station that was crammed with evidence boards. Emily was leaned back in her chair, JJ's head resting on her shoulder. Dr. Reid was facing the map of the county like if he stared at it long enough and answer would just pop into his head. Morgan's head was in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Rossi and Hotch were talking in the corner, glancing around the room every so often.

Eventually, our leader cleared his throat. "Okay, lets head back to the hotel." At the groans of a few team members, he pressed on. "I know, I want to find this guy too. But we all need rest. We'll come back tomorrow with fresh eyes."

With that, we all headed to the black SUVs parked outside, ready to head to whatever hotel the bureau put us in for the night. The drive was quick, we all stood in the lobby while Hotch spoke to whoever was at the front desk. The conversation seemed to take longer than I needed to.

He walked back over, looking mildly uncomfortable. “There aren’t enough open rooms,” he said at last. “We’ll have to double up.” He held out his hand which contained 3 key cards.

…Wait a minute. “There are 7 of us.”

Hotch nodded. “Therein lies the problem. One room will have to have 3 people.”

I turned towards Emily and JJ, assuming I’d just room with them when Rossi interrupted. “No offense, guys. But…I’m old,” he laughed, his whole face lighting up. “I need my beauty sleep. I’m not sharing a room. I’ll go get my own.”

"They don't have any rooms, Dave."

Rossi looked at Hotch with a patronizing little smile that would have been extremely offensive coming from anyone else. “They don’t have any rooms for you," he clarified. "Not only am I old, but I'm also rich."

Sure enough, he walked over to the desk and spoke to the clerk for less than a minute before he was handed a keycard.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Morgan said with a laugh.

Rossi turned to us then, his eyes filled with poorly hidden mirth. “Sogni d’oro!” And with that, he walked towards the elevators.

“Huh?” JJ asked, her voice scratchy.

“Sweet dreams,” Reid and Prentiss supplied at the same time.

“Right.” Morgan shook his head. “Come on pretty Ricky.”

It hit me right then. Oh hell.

Hotch seemed to realize it at the same time Prentiss did. “Y/n, you room with JJ, I’ll stay with Hotch.”

Somehow this was more embarrassing than the conversation in the bullpen. “No,” I said quickly. “No, you guys go. I’ll room with Hotch.” I put a smile on my face, hoping I was convincing.

“Y/l/n, you just said that I intimidated you.”

Again, why couldn’t the earth just swallow me up? My laugh was forced, but hopefully, they hadn't heard my real laugh enough to know the difference. "Intimidated to go on a date with, Hotch. This isn't like that." Right? “C’mon! I’m sleepy.”

With that display of false bravado, I grabbed a key and made my way towards the elevators. I felt his presence behind me as we walked down the hall towards our rooms. I tried to control my heartbeat, calm my breathing the closer we got to the room. This is ridiculous, y/n. I had shared a room with Morgan before, no problem. I was comfortable around the team, I really was. Not for the first time, I wish I had the sense to not open my big mouth.

I reached for the door right when Hotch cleared his throat; I busied myself with getting into the room, ignoring him. Was it cowardly? Yes. Did I care? Not at that moment.

Until I walked into the room…and saw that there was one bed. Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me. “What is this, a rom-com?” I apparently didn’t mumble that part as quietly as I thought I had given the soft laugh I heard come from the man behind me.

“Y/n,” he said, his hand coming to my shoulder. “I didn’t realize there would only be one bed. Come on, let’s go down to Prentiss and JJ’s room.”

I let out a groan. “Hoooootch,” I whined. “All of this is just making me more embarrassed. This wouldn’t even be an issue if I hadn’t been a dumbass and opened my big mouth. This isn’t a big deal but going to talk to them will make it a big deal.”

He didn't look convinced, but I was so tired. I reached out and grabbed his arm before I could think better of it. "Aaron," my voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it was like he'd been struck by lightning. His eyes snapped up to mine, his lips parted slightly. It was then I realized I'd never called him by his first name before. "I trust you with my life. You'd intimidate me if I didn't know you. But I do know you, Aaron." My gaze never wavered from his.

“Okay.”

I laid in bed for 30 minutes pretending to be asleep. I listened to his breathing even out and I kept my back to him the entire time. I had tried to keep my bedtime routine brief, taking a quick shower and changing into my sleep shorts and a baggy shirt I’d had since college. My hair was pulled back so I wouldn’t get it wet in the shower.

The weirdest thing was seeing Hotch in normal clothes. In all the months I’d worked with him, I had never seen him not in a suit. He had a pair of flannel pajama pants on, a gray t-shirt stretched over his broad chest. He has really nice arms, I thought.

When I was sure he was asleep, I rolled over onto my back. My eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, allowing me to just stare at the ceiling.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

I let out a squeak while my whole body jerked. "Goddamnit, Hotch!” That asshole had the nerve to chuckle. “Stop scaring me!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding even slightly sorry.

“I thought you were asleep.”

He rolled onto his back; I felt his eyes on my face. “I know,” was all he said.

I sighed, wondering how I had gotten myself into such a situation. “You really don’t intimidate me.” He made a noise which caused me to amend my statement. “Alright, alright. You do intimidate me. You’re just so…stern. And you’re so tall. What is the purpose of being that tall? It’s excessive. And I feel like your eyes can see through every single thing about me. I didn’t know you had muscles until today, but I always assumed you did. They’re very nice muscles-“ I cut myself off. Fuck.

That was the first time I ever heard Aaron Hotchner laugh. Not chuckle, not snicker quietly. He actually laughed. His laugh was a higher pitch than his speaking voice; it boomed out of him and transformed the whole mood in the room. That laugh warmed a part of my heart that I wasn’t comfortable thinking about. A huge grin broke out on my face. I made him laugh, and I was oddly proud of it.

“Thanks, y/n,” his voice was still filled with amusement. “I hadn’t known you were curious about the state of my muscles. You should have just said something.”

My head snapped to the side so my eyes could meet his. He was teasing me. SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU unit Chief, was teasing me. I lifted my hand to his arm, giving him a shove. His bicep feels like granite. “Shut up.”

That asshat just kept laughing at me.

“Anyway, you do intimidate me,” my voice was soft again. “But I’m not afraid of you.”

Aaron regarded me thoughtfully. “So, it’s not that you’re not attracted to intimidating men,” he surmised. “You’re afraid of men.”

“Not all men,” I countered. “I’m afraid of men like you. Not you, but ones like you. You overwhelm me.”

He was quiet for a few moments. “Y/n…did someone hurt you?”

It was a natural question, a normal thought process; I should have expected the question. I felt tears prick the corner of my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered, feeling safe in the darkness of the room, safe but still so alone. “But not in the way you think.” I filled my lungs with a deep breath, hoping I would find some courage. It wasn’t until I felt his hand brush over mine, his calloused fingers brushing over the back of my hand, that I finally found it. I flipped my palm up and laced my fingers through his. He gave me a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve had the same best friend all my life,” I began. “She’s marvelous. We’ve always been together; her mom said we were like peanut butter and jelly. I love her like she’s a part of me, Aaron.” I knew he would understand; I just knew it. “We were in college when it happened. We went to this frat party because I had a crush on some guy.” My voice was filled with venom and bitterness. “He was overwhelming, so tall, and so handsome. There was a darkness in him, but I was too young to see it. She did; my best friend could see he was a monster. I didn’t listen.” My breath was shuddering through me. “I didn’t listen to her, Hotch.”

He didn't say anything. He just shifted in the bed and pulled me to him, nestling me into his side, wrapping his arms around me while I laid my head on his chest. "I was so mad at her. So mad." The shame from all those years ago was still so fresh. "She took my drink and threw it on the floor. I told her she was embarrassing me… So, I went outside to get some air."

His arm tightened around me, his free hand coming up to stroke my hair. “You don’t have to-“

“I do,” I said, refusing to let another sob escape. “I came back inside and couldn’t find either of them. I thought maybe she was going to hook up with some guy…but she isn’t like that. She’s never been like that.” My stomach rolled at the thought; sometimes when I closed my eyes I could still smell the beer in the air, I could still feel the wood of the banister under my fingers. “I found them in a room upstairs. He had her pinned on the bed, he was-he-he was trying to take her pants off.” I didn’t deserve the comfort Aaron offered me in that moment, but I clung to him, grateful for it. “I screamed, and I guess I scared him. She kneed him and was able to push him off. We ran all the way home.”

“You saved her, y/n,” Aaron’s voice was so sure, so reassuring, no matter how hard I shook my head ‘no’. “You did. You could have just left; you were mad at her, but you still went back for her.”

I wiped my eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”

His lips pressed softly against my forehead, his hand stroking up and down my back. “That’s because it is.”

Things felt different in the harsh light of the police station than they had last night. Aaron was already in the shower when I woke up this morning. I fell asleep in his arms after I told him one of my darkest secrets. He didn't judge me; he didn't tell me I was a terrible person. He just held me; he offered me comfort and made me feel deserving of that comfort.

I dressed quickly and headed downstairs before he got out of the bathroom. My feelings were already swirling around in my head. It wasn’t that I wanted to be away from him, not at all. I just didn’t think it would help my feelings settle down to be confronted by a wet, hot, well-muscled Aaron Hotchner. It was an act of self-preservation if you think about it, I reasoned.

The next time I saw him was when the team was piling back into the SUVs to head to the police station. He offered me a small smile, and I think his eyes may have twinkled a little bit when I smiled back at him a little too brightly.

Profilers.

The team was as refreshed as they could be. Dr. Reid was looking at access and service roads on the map, trying to determine the route the unsub took to dispose of his victims. JJ and Morgan were out canvassing the women's neighborhoods. Rossi was with Prentiss in the sheriff's office speaking with the family of the most recent victim, Bethany Mooreland.

This was the hardest part of my job. I wasn’t a profiler. I felt like I had nothing to offer. I was fielding calls from the media, trying to organize a targeted strategy. The team thought that if the unsub saw that he was being mocked in the press, or his masculinity was called into question in any way, that he would act out more viciously. While acting out might cause him to make a mistake, we couldn’t risk another woman’s life.

The conference room doors burst open, Hotch storming inside with Morgan and JJ hot on his heels. “There’s been another attack.”

I felt my stomach drop. “Fuck.”

“Y/n, she’s alive.”

“…What?!”

The dark-haired man that held me in his arms last night only nodded. “She’s at the hospital. I want you to come with JJ and me to interview her.”

…Me?

Summer Webb was 25 years old; she was a customer service rep at a call center just outside of town. She lived alone, had a cat named Pringles, and was close with her family.

I held her hand while JJ and Hotch put her through a cognitive interview. I rubbed her back while she recounted how the unsub only left her because he thought she was dead. Tears ran down my cheeks when she described what he did to her.

Steel and ice ran through my veins when I looked her in the eyes and promised that we would get this monster.

I’d kill him myself if I had to.

Once her mother arrived at the hospital, we left, promising to call with any updates; uniformed officers were stationed outside her hospital door. Hotch spoke to Garcia, then to Rossi, then to Reid, then Garcia again on our ride back. JJ read over Summer’s statement, occasionally jotting down notes.

I was quiet.

Almost. Almost there. I walked into the station without really seeing it. I navigated my way down the hall on instinct. I pushed the door to the bathroom open, looked around to confirm I was alone…then I broke. I placed my hands on the countertop that housed 3 separate sinks, my tears ran down my cheeks and splashed on the fake granite.

I don’t know how long I had been there when I thought I heard a knock on the door. That didn’t make any sense, the door didn’t have a lock; there were multiple stalls in this bathroom.

But I had heard a knock. The door swung open and someone walked inside. I heard him whisper my name, the tone of his voice was so soft, so fucking sad, that it only made me cry harder. Aaron put his hands on my shoulders, turning me around to face him, then letting me collapse against him.

He murmured words I couldn’t understand against the top of my head, he wrapped his arms tight around me; I was sure I would have fallen completely apart if he wasn’t holding me together.

“You must think I’m so weak,” I muttered when my tears had finally slowed.

He stiffened, though his hands never stopped moving, stroking my hair and my back. "Just the opposite, y/n." I pulled back to meet his eyes; I saw nothing but honesty swirling in those dark brown pools. His eyes appeared so dark from far away, almost black. From this close, I could see the subtle shift between various shades of brown. They weren't cold like I had always suspected; Aaron Hotchner's eyes were warm and understanding. They were the eyes of a man who had seen far too much evil for one lifetime but refused to yield his fight for even a second.

I could fall in love with those eyes.

“You’re the furthest thing from weak I’ve ever seen,” he continued. “Your heart is so big that it aches for a woman you don’t even know. It’s alright to cry right now, it’s alright to let yourself fall down for a moment. But I know you, y/n,” he was repeating my words from last night back to me. “You’re going to pull yourself back together. And then you’re going to help us find that son of a bitch before he hurts anyone else.”

Maybe I could fall in love with more than just his eyes.

There are certain moments in my life that I will look back on and remember with perfect clarity. That night when I almost lost my best friend, the day I graduated from the academy, the first night I spent in Aaron Hotchner’s arms were just a few.

I would also remember when the call came in from Garcia; how Morgan and Reid ran into the room. How Hotch’s eyes shot to mine when we found out the monster’s name. I didn’t have to ask; he nodded at me, those warm brown eyes were hidden now, hardened by pure ice-cold rage.

I strapped on my vest and road in the back seat in the SUV Morgan drove.

Summer’s monster was named Jeremy Carpenter. Her monster was a white man with brown hair, brown eyes, with a scar on the back of his right hand.

None of us were sure how he knew we were coming, but he had already barricaded himself inside his house. We heard a scream when the first gunshot was fired. I wanted more than anything to bring Summer's monster in alive; I wanted to offer her the chance to face him if she wanted to.

Aaron didn’t ask if I wanted to go to the hospital once everything was over; he really did know me. He took me to see her, he kept his hand on my back while I told Summer and her mother what happened. What I will remember most of all is how her mother hugged me when I told her the monster was gone, that he would never harm anyone ever again. I hit him in his leg; he was in pain before our unit chief put a bullet between his eyes.

We had come to the hospital alone; the rest of the team went back to the station to finish up paperwork. I held his hand on the way back to the hotel; I held his hand while we walked to our room.

I offered him a small smile before I made my way into the bathroom, determined to wash the events of the day off of my skin.

He was gone when I came back out.

It goes without saying that I had doubted most men in my life, especially since that night all those years ago.

I never once doubted Aaron Hotchner.

I was sitting on the bed when he came back, staring at the TV without seeing.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I thought you’d still be in the shower.” He set two bags down on the only table in our room. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast. I thought-“

“Hotch,” he looked at me then, his eyes locking onto mine. “Thank you.” I didn’t need to specify for what. He knows.

He pulled our food out while I made my way to the table. I couldn’t hold in my chuckle. “You know I get motion sickness; you know my favorite foods…just how closely do you pay attention to me, Agent Hotchner?”

He didn’t look the least bit embarrassed. “More closely than I should.”

We sat together and ate in comfortable silence. The next time he spoke was to answer a phone call from Jack. I tried to hide my smile while I listened to his conversation. Unlike the rest of his team, I hadn’t gotten to see Aaron Hotchner, the father. What is it about men being good father’s that is so attractive, I mused. Is it biological? I made a note to ask Dr. Reid.

After we ate, he went to shower while I stretched out on our bed, scrolling through my phone. When Hotch emerged from the bathroom he was in another pair of flannel pants paired with a black t-shirt. I pursed my lips in both amusement and disappointment.

“What?” His eyebrow was raised quizzically. Why are his eyebrows hot?

I giggled. "Nothing." At his incredulous look, I amended, "it's nothing interesting."

He sat down beside me on the right side of the bed, his back resting against the headboard. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Hooootch,” I whined, covering my face with my hands. “I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of you enough for one lifetime.”

His hand came up to grab mine, pulling them down from my face. Any attempts I made to wiggle away from him were in vain. Apparently, those muscles aren’t all show and no go. My body had shifted down the bed during my halfhearted struggles, meaning Aaron was now propped up on his elbow, his body angled over mine. “Embarrassed? I don’t remember any embarrassing times,” he pretended to give this some thought. “Unless you’re referring to last night when you mentioned how much you think about my muscles?”

I tried to jerk my arms out of his hands, but he held fast, laughing openly while my face turned red. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you not talking about that?” He pushed my arms back onto the bed, rising to his knees, positioning his body over me, his face hovering over mine. “Then it must have been when you lied to the whole team a few days ago.”

I squeaked in outrage. “I didn’t lie about anything!”

He was so beautiful when that scowl left his face. “Yes, you did!” he insisted. “You said you wouldn’t say ‘yes’ if I asked you out. And, based on the evidence, I have to say I don’t believe that to be true.”

“Oh, I forgot I was dealing with a former prosecutor.” He nodded gravely, earning another giggle from me. “Okay, counselor. What’s the evidence?”

“The most glaring piece of evidence is you won’t tell me what you were thinking when you were looking at me when I came out of the shower.”

I let out a whine, accepting my fate. He’s literally on top of you, dumbass. Something tells me he’s gonna be receptive. “Okay, okay. I may have…hurried out of the room this morning while you were in the shower.”

Hotch quirked an eyebrow. “I know. Go on.”

“Asshole,” I muttered, delighted when he laughed. Hearing his laugh was one thing, but seeing it too? My insides were basically liquid. “I may have ran as an act of self-preservation. I was…worried that you’d come out of the bathroom in a towel. And you’d be wet, and hot, and I would…make an idiot out of myself, much like I am now.”

Aaron was delighted by how bright red my face turned; he made no attempt to hide his amusement. “So, just now, you were disappointed that I came out fully clothed?”

“Hotch,” I moaned out in embarrassment. He wasn’t making this easy on me.

My eyes were shut tight, my head turned away from him like this would somehow prevent him from seeing me. His left hand lifted from my wrist, his fingers coming to rest on my chin, turning my face towards him. "If you're going to moan my name while we're in bed, y/n, I'd prefer if you called me Aaron." My eyes snapped open. His eyes were still warm, teasing, but there was a certain heat in them I hadn’t seen before that made my lower belly flutter. He leaned closer to my face. “It would be hard for me to focus at work if you every time you said ‘Hotch’ I thought about you like this.”

I waited for a few moments for him to act before I realized Aaron couldn’t cross the line first. He wouldn’t be mean if I rejected him; that wasn’t the type of man he was. But the choice was mine; it had always been mine.

I lifted my free hand up to cup the side of his face, urging him closer to me. The first brush of my lips over his was so soft I wasn't sure it was even happening. It was so hesitant but so pure that it made me ache. Aaron pulled back to look at me; he was breathing hard like he had been running instead of just kissing me.

“Y/n…”

“Don’t profile me, Aaron.” I lifted my head, my teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “I want this. I want you.”

His posture shifted, he released my left arm to brace himself above me with his arms caging me in; he moved his legs, wedging one of his thighs in between mine. “I’m not profiling you. I can see how much you want this.” No need to sound so arrogant. “But I need to be sure…I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.”

My hands moved up to touch him, one hand feeling the soft hair at the nape of his neck that was still a little damp from the shower; my other hand gripped his bicep. “Then touch me, Aaron. Please.”

I wasn’t ready for the full force of Aaron Hotchner. He was the most intense man I had ever known, and that intensity didn’t stop in the bedroom. Aaron didn’t kiss me, he tried to consume me. His mouth moved over mine with a carnal hunger that made me throb, shifting against his firm thigh that was rested against me. I was desperate for any friction. I felt his hand move down from where it was cupping my face to rest on my collarbone, his thumb tracing over the base of my throat.

His lips moved off of mine to blaze a path down my jaw, his teeth nipping at the skin there before he moved back to my lips. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He pushed his thigh against the seam of my body, causing a whimper to escape from my throat. I didn’t even mind the smirk that covered his mouth. “We’ll get there. Just let me make you feel good.”

I opened my mouth to him; his tongue swirled around mine while the hand that wasn’t bracing him up moved to my hip. His fingers ran over the skin of my stomach that was exposed from my shirt riding up. I placed my hand over his, guiding it further up my stomach; how was I supposed to take my mouth away from his to tell him what I wanted?

Of course, Aaron knew what I needed; I was beginning to learn that he always did. His fingers trailed up my body until he got to the underside of my breast; the callouses that roughened his fingertips were heaven on my overly sensitive skin. My mouth broke away from his in a guttural cry when those fingers finally found my nipple. Aaron moved his kisses down to the side of my throat. I felt his breath against my throat when he murmured, “you’re so sexy, y/n.”

Raising up on his knees, he started tugging my shirt up; I lifted my upper body so I could slide my shirt off quickly. I heard Aaron groan when my chest was revealed to him, but I was on a mission of my own. Once I had his shirt pulled up over his abdomen, Aaron reached behind his back and pulled his shirt off at the neck.

My nails raked down the skin that covered his chest, reveling in the groan that left his mouth. He leaned over me again, his lips wasting no time before they covered my nipple. My hands tried to grip the short hair at the back of his head.

“Aaron,” I gasped out. “I need…more. Please.”

He started kissing his way to my other breast. “What do you need, sweetheart? Do you want to grind against my thigh? Do you need to use me to get off?” His tongue flicked over my nipple. “Or do you want me to use my hand? Is that what you need, Angel?” My heart stuttered at the sweet nickname just as much as it did at his filthy words. “Do you need me to put my fingers in your pussy?”

My thighs were shifting restlessly. “Yes, yes, please Aaron.”

When his mouth closed around my nipple, I felt his left-hand slide down into my shorts, then into my panties. He shifted his wrist, allowing his hand to cup me. He groaned against my skin. "I haven't even put a finger inside of you and I can already feel how wet you are. Your little cunt is just dripping for me.”

I didn’t have a chance to respond before he parted my lips, his finger ghosting over my clit, causing my back to arch off the bed. He smirked but didn’t tease me further; he slid his fingers down to my opening before pushing his middle and ring finger inside of me, using the heel of his hand to grind against my clit. I moved my hand to my mouth, having to bite on my skin to silence the scream that his actions brought forward.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He leaned back, never pausing the movement of his fingers. “Are you trying to be quiet? Do you not want everyone in this hotel to know how wet you are? How desperate you are to have my fingers inside of you?” All I could do was nod. “It’s all right, baby. Once we get home, I’ll hear you scream for me. But for now; be a good girl and try to be quiet. I’m the only one that gets to hear what you sound like when you cum for me.”

I was grinding against him, working my hips desperately, matching his rhythm. I was so close. “Aaron, NO!” was all I could say when he removed his fingers from inside me. The man just smiled at me, looking me straight in my eyes when he put his fingers in his mouth, licking me off of them.

He grabbed my shorts and panties at my hips, roughly jerking them off my body. “When we get home,” he said as he slowly started to push his own pajama pants down. “The first thing I’m going to do is lay on my back and make you put this pussy on my mouth. You taste so good, angel.” His cock sprang free; he was so much thicker than I expected. I was transfixed, just watching his fist pump up and down his hard length. “Will you do that for me? Will you ride my face?”

“Yes,” I was so desperate I would agree to anything in that moment. “I’ll do anything. Just please fuck me, Aaron.”

He used the fingers of his free hand to part my pussy lips again, rubbing over my clit. “I don’t have a condom, sweetheart, but-“

“I’m on the pill,” I reach out to grip his shoulders, pulling him on top of me. “I trust you. I trust you with everything. I need you inside me, Aaron.”

He shoved my thighs open, running the head of his cock up and down my pussy, coating himself in my arousal. He looked up at me again, giving me another moment to back out, before he slowly started to push inside of me. He stroked in and out of me, going a little bit deeper each time until he bottomed out. Aaron’s head fell to the dip of my shoulder. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking tight.” He started moving then. Slowly pulling out before he shoved himself back inside me. My hands were on his back, my nails digging into his skin. I wrapped my legs around his back, trying to draw him deeper inside me.

“You feel so good,” I whisper, biting his shoulder to keep my moans quiet.

Aaron raised up on straight arms, changing the tempo of his thrusts. “You’re not doing a very good job of being quiet, baby.” I whimpered; I couldn’t help it. “I think we might have to do something about that. He quickly pulled out of me; I didn’t have time to complain before he flipped me over, gripping my hips and lifting me up on to my knees. His hand palmed my ass cheek while he leaned over me, his breath hot on my ear. “This is how you need to be fucked.”

Raising up, he lined himself up and slammed inside of me. I bit my lip so hard that I could taste blood; Aaron tangled his hands in the back of my hair, pulling my head up while he set a brutal pace. "Quiet, baby. You don't want everyone to know what a dirty girl you are. Screaming for my cock, so wet that you're dripping down your thighs." His pace didn't slow down; I felt my orgasm rising up inside me. "Touch your clit for me, sweet girl. I want to feel you cum on my cock."

My fingers began circling my clit in a frenzy, causing my pussy to flutter around him. “That’s a good girl. Such a good girl for me. Can you be quiet when you cum? Or do I need to shove your face down in the mattress while I fuck you?” He gave a dark chuckle at my needy whine. “That’s what I thought.”

In the way that he knew everything, Aaron knew when my orgasm was peaking. He pushed my head down, never too hard, but hard enough. I bit the comforter in an attempt to silence my scream. I felt myself clamp down around his thick cock. My orgasm broke inside me so quickly. I screamed his name while I came; the comforter silenced some of it, but he heard it. That scream along with my pussy cumming on him was ultimately his undoing. He gave a few final thrusts before he went all the way, holding himself inside me as deep as he could, filling me with his cum.

I collapsed after that. I had never felt anything like this before. Aaron was there, knowing what I needed even when I didn’t. He held me for a moment until I caught my breath. Then he went into the bathroom, coming back with a damp washcloth to clean me up. He was so tender with my sensitive flesh; he didn’t say anything, he just focused on his task.

Once he was satisfied, he laid down beside me, drawing me into his side just as he’d done the night before. I couldn’t help the dry chuckle that left my exhausted body. Aaron made a ‘hmm’ noise. “I was just thinking about last night,” I said quietly, my voice raw from the screaming I had just done. “You held me like this last night. It was just 24 hours ago, but the whole world feels different.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat that I took as an agreement. After a beat, he said, "well, maybe you won't run out on me in the morning this time."

I looked into his eyes, raising up to press a kiss against his stubbly jaw. “I’ll never run again.”

And I meant it. I could face any monster, as long as Aaron Hotchner was beside me.

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reidgraygubler · 3 years

Text

bowling shoes (franklin/reader)

Title: Bowling Shoes

Request: yes! It was requested by the wonderful @sunlight-moonrise

Couple: franklin (mgg’s role in beginner’s luck)/fem!reader

Category: smut

Content Warning: SEXUAL CONTENT (degradation, praise kink, semi-public sex, orgasm denial, little bit of cockwarming ;), spanking, heavy petting, slight humiliation (i think), spitting, hair pulling, groping, creampie/unprotected sex, fingering, penetrative sex), dom!franklin, kissing/making-out, swearing, implied age gap (but they never specify Franklin’s age. So idk) (if i missed anything that needs to be tagged, PLEASE let me know!!)

Word Count: 4,224

Summary: Reader is new in town and works at her grandfather’s bowling alley, where some people spend late nights practicing for the town-wide bowling competition.

A/N: The third day of my seven days of seven fics! This particular one shot has been sitting in my wip list since September 2020. And I just finally decided to write it. This was written with matthew gray gubler’s character from the short film Beginner’s Luck. If you haven’t seen it yet I highly recommend watching it bc it’s amazing and I love Franklin. I hope you’re all enjoying the 7 days 7 fics! I really cranked it out on all of these oneshots! Here is the masterlist for that! And here’s my main masterlist! Thank you all for the love and support!

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Little Falls… I never understood this town's love for bowling… and I probably never will… It’s probably a good thing that I moved from Little Falls before I got old enough to actually learn how to bowl, mostly because if I did, and I didn’t bowl, I’d probably be chased out of town with a crowd of pitchforks and torches.

So, it’s probably an even better thing that I just work at the town’s precious bowling alley. But, to be fair… This alley has been in the family since it opened.

Long story short, I hate bowling. I just needed extra cash, and my grandfather just so happens to pay me extra. Not because I’m fami-No that’s exactly why...

“You are busting my balls here!” A man shouted from the lanes. I furrowed my eyebrows and looked in that direction, looking for the owner of the shouts. I gently placed the pair of shoes down on the counter before walking around to the lanes. “You can’t be serious!” A guy wearing a yellow bowling shirt was shouting down the lane he was standing on.

“Is… Is everything okay?” I leaned against the half-wall beside me. I propped my arms on top of the wall as I looked at him. I looked across the tables behind the lanes and noted there was only one other person, who was watching the man with such intent I was sure they’d kill him. “It’s just you playing,” I half-laughed at the guy. He spun around on his toes and pointed a finger at me. I tried to not take it as accusatory, but everything in my body was telling me he meant it as such.

“I would have gotten that pin down if it wasn’t for you,” he half-shouted at me. I lifted my hands as some form of surrender as I stepped down to the lanes. The guy in the yellow bowling shirt looked at me and cocked his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just came down here to see if everything was alright… And if it was, I was just going back to work… Cleaning smelly rental, bowling shoes,” I gestured back towards the counter where a pile of rental shoes was sitting, waiting to be cleaned. “I just heard all the shouting down here and wanted to make sure someone wasn’t fighting with the balls,” I shrugged as I looked up at him. My joke about the balls was only mildly humorous if you knew that there were only 3 people in total in the alley. Myself, the angry stranger, and his unusual friend.

Glasses that kinda reminded me a little of Jeffery Dahmer sat on the tip of his nose, and just under his nose was a porn-stache. And the way he styled his hair just looked like a mop sitting on his head. But there was something, I don't know, attractive (I guess it was attractive) about this man. A certain handsomeness that I couldn’t exactly describe.

“No, no, no one was fighting with the balls,” he spoke as he stepped closer to me. He looked down at me with a smile before resting both his hands on my shoulder. I sighed deeply as I stared up at him. “Now, go, run along… You said you have rental shoes to clean,” he smiled as he turned me around to face the 3 steps behind us.

“Hold on,” I stepped away from him and turned back to face him. I had to crane my neck up to meet his stare, him being nearly a foot taller than me. “I can easily kick you out of here,” I scoffed as I looked at his shirt, finally noticing the patch sewn into the pocket of his shirt. The name Franklin was stitched into the patch with black thread in a fancy script. “Franklin,” I looked up at him and smiled. The cocky and smug expression on his face faltered for a moment as he looked at me.

“Oh, aren’t you’re so cute,” he brought his hands to rest on my cheeks before squeezing them together, pushing my lips out. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?” he asked as he cocked his head to look down at me. I couldn’t exactly answer with my words, so I just nodded lightly. My eyes never left his face, and his never left mine.

“There’s just one thing you’re missing then. I own this place. This bowling alley... Is mine,” he kept his voice low as he spoke and the smugness returning, “Do you understand, Sunshine,” he asked, the condescension in his tone really coming out with the pet name he used. I tried to laugh and shake my head before I pulled away from his grasp. I stumbled back, nearly falling over the steps behind me.

“Since when are you my grandpa?” I asked, cocking my head to my shoulder. I could feel a teasing smile grow on my lips as I looked at him. His face shifted from being very smug to being shocked. “Yeah, bet you didn’t see that one coming… Did ya, Franklin,” I smiled at him.

Franklin stepped back away from me but kept his stare on my face. “You’re not Hank’s grandkid. I would know when his grandkid would be here,” he pointed at me as he backed away from me. I snickered and shrugged.

“Well, you’d be wrong,” I smiled as I folded my arms over my chest. Franklin looked over his shoulder at his companion, seeking some sort of backup. But it was clear that she had no intentions in answering, she was far too busy just admiring him. How did he not see this as uncomfortable and wrong?

“Aw, now you’re intimidated by the bowling alley girl? I don’t even bowl,” I scoffed before pulling my eyes off him, “I just work here,” I laughed. Franklin looked genuinely offended by my statement. Again, I don’t understand this town’s love for bowling.

“I’m sorry… What did you just say?” he looked at me and furrowed his eyebrows. Oh, I really did offend him… Do I feel sorry? Not really...

“Oh, yeah, you heard that right. It’s stupid. And, frankly, Franklin, I don’t understand how a town so quaint is so obsessed with throwing a ball at some plastic things,” I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. He stepped closer to me, and for the briefest of moments, I wasn’t sure what he was going to do. And suddenly a tension was in the air between us. It was suffocating. “Did I make you mad? Did I piss poor Fwankwin off,” I furrowed my eyebrows and pouted, "Did I huwt your feewings," my head falling back as I broke into a fit of laughter.

“Be quiet,” Franklin scoffed as he stared at me. I felt my smile become a little smug as I looked up at him.

“Oh? Really? Why don’t you make me?” I shrugged and stepped closer to him. We were so close, breathing each other’s air. One step from either of us and our chests would be pressed together. Our toes, however, were touching. His rented bowling shoes barely standing on my canvas shoes.

That was when the air tensed even more. But, the level of tension shifted from an awkwardness… to a certain awkward-sexual tension. I personally loved it because he’s a dick. Men like him need to be messed with. Plus, I’m bored...

“Is that what you want me to do?” his voice was lower than before. My smile fell away and I swallowed roughly. I could feel my heart in my throat, cutting off any words I wanted to say. “Oh, I see how it is. All that snark and attitude is fake. Because the second someone… An older man, maybe, says something… It goes away,” he smirked as he slowly brought a hand to my face. I went to move my face away from his touch, but failed when he forced me to look at him.

“You’re a brat,” he whispered as he kept his eyes on me. A shiver went down my spine and I had to press my legs together, slightly shifting my feet. I stared at him with wide eyes, feeling my breathing pick up slightly.

And the moment was ruined before I even got the chance to say something. It seemed as if we both had forgotten something. Rather, someone.

“We should get going, Franklin,” a voice asked from behind him.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he closed his eyes and pulled his hand from my face. It was obvious we both forgot that someone else was here. We were both so involved with each other that we just forgot about his companion. After a brief moment of awkward silence, he opened his eyes and looked at me, sighing deeply before speaking.

"I'm gonna be here late. You should just go home," Franklin spoke to his companion but kept his eyes strictly on me. His friend looked up at him like he was some sort of celebrity. I wasn’t exactly sure why she was staring at him like that. He wasn’t a god or anything. Unless he was, then I’d be screwed.

"It's okay. I can wait,” she smiled as she longingly looked at him. I looked back at Franklin before nodding to his friend. I’m starting to think she wasn’t even a friend of his… just a creepy and overly-devoted fan. I don’t think Franklin even noticed her obsession. “I’ll always wait for you, Franklin,” she murmured. I shifted on my foot before I stepped back.

“Bomber,” he spoke, turning to look at her. He looked down at her, his eyes telling her to leave. I only know that because Bomber (I suppose that’s her name) gathered her things and quickly left the alley. “Sorry, now where were we, Sunshine?”

“Your friend seems nice,” I muttered, looking away from him for a brief moment. Franklin scoffed out a laugh before shaking his head.

“She’s not a friend, just a teammate,” his voice was low as he brought a hand back to my face. Part of me was expecting him to be gentle, and I’m not really sure why I thought that. So when he jerked my head back up to look at him, I was left in shock. “But, that wasn’t where we left off. Bomber’s gone now,” he dropped his head down and looked at me through his eyelashes.

“Which means we’re alone now,” I whispered as I kept my eyes on him. He smiled and nodded lightly before bringing my face closer to his.

“Now you’re getting it,” he returned the whisper before harshly pressing his lips to mine. I couldn’t help but moan as he pulled me closer to his body. It was so hard to keep my focus on the world around us. My knees carefully buckled beneath me. If it weren’t for Franklin, I probably would have fallen to the ground. He stood his ground firm, like he was a brick wall in the wind, keeping me upright as I almost fell to the ground.

He moved his face away from mine, but we were still close enough to feel each other’s breath. Franklin moved his free hand to my hip before carefully pushing it past the waistband of my pants. My body shifted slightly, trying to get more of his touch against me.

“The… The door,” I whispered, my eyes going to the door. Although, I truthfully didn’t care too much about the door and it being unlocked. The bowling alley closes in 5 minutes anyways.

“Who cares about the fucking door,” he muttered. I instantly looked back at him, feeling a whimper work its way out of my mouth. Franklin smiled as he moved his hand against the flimsy cotton blocking his hand from where I wanted it most.

“Please,” I whispered, moving my hips against his hand. I hated the way he smiled. Mostly because it only further turned me on.

“Ohh, you’re such a needy slut. So wet and I’ve barely done anything,” he whispered as he squeezed my cheeks again. “You’ll get what you want, in due time,” he smiled. He pushed my underwear to the side and carefully moved his fingers between my folds. I couldn’t help myself as I ground down on his hand.

“Franklin,” I whimpered, my eyebrows furrowing slightly. He smirked, watching as I struggled for a moment. His finger slowly moving around the sensitive bud at the apex of my legs. My hands quickly held his arms, I was worried I’d fall if I didn’t hold onto him. My legs and knees became more and more wobbly as time passed.

“Don’t cum till I tell you you can, Pretty Girl,” he whispered and pouted, “how about you open that pretty little mouth of yours, Sunshine,” he whispered, moving one of his hands to rest on my chin. I widened my eyes and took a deep breath.

I kept my eyes on him, a shaky breath leaving me, as I slowly opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out. Franklin smiled slightly before holding my cheeks and spitting right onto my tongue. He nudged my mouth shut, forcing me to hold his spit in my mouth for a moment. I had to force myself not to gag as I held his spit before swallowing it.

“What a good little whore,” Franklin cooed, cocking his head to his shoulder. I took a shaky breath as his movements in my pants picked up pace. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he looked at me. I wanted to have a snarky reply, I really did. But I swear to god, my mouth and body betrayed me because an honest to god moan came from me.

“Oh, you certainly did enjoy that,” he laughed as his movements in between my legs quickened. I looked up at him with wide eyes as a familiar tension grew in my abdomen.

But instead of saying anything else, he just put his mouth over mine, swallowing whatever sounds emitted from my mouth. He smiled, clearly enjoying my mild suffering.

My body struggled to move, almost missing the sign of Franklin moving. On wobbly legs, my feet carried me backwards, and with Franklin's guidance, up the steps. My arms were wrapped around his neck to keep close to him.

I was so close, I could feel the tension about to snap within me. The noises that were coming from me were becoming more desperate the closer I got to the snap. Franklin didn't seem bothered by my sounds at all. In fact, he was amused.

He was so amused, that when he pulled his hands from my pants and pushed me over the counter, he laughed when I cried out. I wasn't sure the sound was from annoyance from him stopping, or from shock from being pushed down over the counter. His hand was firmly placed on my back, keeping me in place.

“What was that for!?” I shouted, trying to stand back up, only to be forced back down by Franklin, “You better do something better than leaving me high and dry! I swear to God!” I shouted as I wiggled my butt into his crotch. A certain hardness pressed into my butt and leg, causing me (and Franklin) to hold back a groan. Franklin’s hand was still around my waist, planted firmly on my hip to hold me against him. “Please, just fuck me already! Fuck!” I shifted my feet a bit and tightly pressed my thighs.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Franklin laughed as he shoved his knee between my legs, blocking his foot between mine to keep my legs apart more, “If you’re going to finish, you’re gonna finish on my cock. You got that, Sunshine?” he groaned as he pressed his front into my butt more. I bit my lips together, nodded and whined, hoping that was a good enough answer. “Uh huh, use your words, Sunshine. Do you understand that?” he asked as he leaned closer to my ear.

“Yes! Yes, I understand! Please,” I whimpered as his grip loosened on my hip and moved to the button of my jeans. I let out a deep relieved sigh as my jeans fell to the ground around my ankles. Although my moment of relief and excitement was cut short by a loud crack in the air, and a sudden pain on my bottom.

“Fuck!” I gasped once I finally regained the ability to talk and breathe. My chest began heaving as my body started to get more worked up. The sudden smack on my ass went straight to my core, causing me to involuntarily moan. Franklin laughed lightly, and I could just see him shaking his head in amusement.

“What do you want, Sunshine?” Franklin asked, his voice low, lower than before. I swallowed roughly before lifting my head slightly.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, trying hard to look over my shoulder at him. His glasses were slipping down his nose, and his hair was covering his eyes. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth and swept across his lower lip.

“Wrong,” he muttered before striking my butt again. A pleased shriek fell from my lips as I dropped my head down to the counter. “What do you want,”

“Franklin, please,” my words were soft as my breathing got rougher, “Fuck me, please, do… Do whatever you-you want… To me,” my statement was punctuated by another strike on my ass. A mix of a cry and a moan escaped my lips as he gently rubbed the sore spot on my bottom. But it was only a moment before he smacked my other butt cheek.

“Do it again! Please,” I pulled my lower lip between my teeth. I waited for his hand to make contact with my bare bottom again, but instead, I got nothing. I sucked in a deep breath before letting out a soft whimper, “Please,” I begged as I swayed my hips slightly from side to side. I hoped my begging would have given me what I wanted. But at this point, I’m not sure what I wanted more, to be fucked by him, or to be spanked by him over, and over again.

After he spanked my butt for the 6th time, Franklin’s hand grazed over each cheek before lightly dragging his fingers over my core.

“You’re so wet, Sunshine,” he whispered as he moved his fingers over my cunt. Any response I thought I had gone out the window when he pushed two fingers into my entrance. So, I guess my response came in as a moan. “Fuck,” he groaned with pleasure.

I was in trouble. He knew that too. The way he was playing with me, toying with me to get even the slightest reaction. Trying to get me as close as possible, without actually getting me over the edge. But whenever he curled his fingers just right, or just slightly touched my clit.

“I-I’m so close,” I cried, my body moving closer to him. Franklin laughed again as he pulled his hand away from my body. This was the first time tonight that he wasn’t touching me. His hands were away from me, and as I tried to move closer to him I found nothing.

“Stay still, I want to remember this moment,” Franklin muttered as he rested a hand on my lower back, “Are you ready, Sunshine,” he asked, his tone seemed gentle. I swallowed roughly and nodded.

“Mmm-hmm, yes,” I nodded, feeling my hair move around before finally falling around my face. My body shivered as the sound of his zipper went down. And my body jerked once his hands were on my hips.

I folded my arms on the counter. But what I should have done was brace myself against it in a better way. My body’s excitement was getting the better of me, and I could feel myself stray from the counter, and slowly towards his body.

“Stay still,” he muttered as he pushed me closer to the counter. My lungs ceased to function as I felt him rub the head of his cock against my slit. I choked back a moan and pressed my lips together. And then he slowly began pushing into my entrance.

“Oh god,” I cried, pressing my face into my arms.

“Name’s Franklin, but God works just fine,” he laughed behind me as he slowed his entrance. I gasped as he stopped, before slamming fully into me in one go. I couldn’t stop the shout that came from the pit of my stomach.

Once we were both used to each other, he started moving, his hips quickly finding a rhythm we were both pleased with. The silent room was quickly occupied by the grunts or moans from its only two occupants, and the sound of skin hitting skin.

I slowly lifted my head, looking out at the bowling alley. Is it bad that I didn’t think that this was weird or bad? That I was being fucked over the counter by a guy I just met? What would my grandfather think if he ever knew about this? Good thing he was never going to find out.

Franklin wrapped my hair around his hand before pulling me back up so my back was flush against his chest. His movements stilled, his hips pressed against mine as he stayed totally in me. My body froze like ice as I tried to take a deep breath. My senses were suddenly overwhelmed, and I honestly loved it.

“Fuck,” I cried, pushing my hips against him to get some sort of relief. But I only groaned as he wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me still as well. “Please,”

“So greedy, so filthy,” Franklin groaned as he buried himself deeper into me. I whimpered as I bit my lips. The bitter, metallic taste of blood found its way to my tastebuds. “How does that feel? Does it feel good,” his voice was so low, nearly a growl in my ear. I sucked in a deep breath of air, slowly turning my face to look at him. “Just holding my cock in you?” he asked before pressing his lips harshly to the side of my face.

“I… I do…” I spoke quickly and in a harsh whisper. My muscles clenched around him, wanting something to give me help for my finish. While Franklin kept his lips pressed to the side of my face, while his hands were otherwise preoccupied. One hand was holding one of my breasts, gently kneading at it. While the other was between my legs, slowly moving around my sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, please move,” I whimpered, pressing my shoulder into his shoulder a bit more. Franklin removed his hand from my chest before gently pushing me back over the counter. I let out a pleased moan once he started moving his hips again. It only took a matter of moments before the tension in me snapped, sending me over the edge. My vision turned white, and my hands balled into fists, my nails would cause indentations in my palms once my hands relaxed.

And, after a few more faulty thrusts into me, Franklin finished close behind me. His body hunched over mine, his hands holding himself up on the counter beside me. Neither of us wanted to move, still trying to calm down from what just happened. But also, the mess to follow once he finally stepped away from me.

“I didn’t know I needed that,” I truthfully stated. Franklin laughed before standing upright. I’d be lying if I said I wanted him to step away from me. So when he eventually did, I held back the whimper.

“Paper towels?” he asked as he fixed himself back into his pants. I swallowed roughly as I blindly pointed towards where I was cleaning the rental bowling shoes. He stepped away from me, going to grab the things he sought after.

The mixture of the two of us slowly leaked down my inner thigh, and I just knew that mess would not be fun to clean, now or later. When Franklin returned and wiped a damp paper towel up my thigh, I jumped.

“Did you enjoy that?” I asked as he helped me stand up straight. My legs and knees were so shaky, I almost fell. He wrapped his arms around me to keep me upright. I only struggled a little bit to pull my jeans and underwear back up, but I was very relieved when they were back around my waist.

“I had a great time,” he laughed. I swallowed roughly before stepping back away from him. I hoisted myself up so I was sitting on the counter, only to let out a sharp cry and jump off the counter. How the fuck did I forget about the pain on my ass?

“Did it feel like winning?” I asked, feeling a smile grow on my lips. Franklin looked up at me with a sly smile, cocking his head to his shoulder.

“I always win in this bowling alley, Sunshine,” he muttered as he stared at me. I blinked slowly. “Except for that one time. But every time after… Always a win,”

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imagining-in-the-margins · 3 years

Text

Petty Pair (Raymond/F!Reader)

Summary: Reader wants to fuck Raymond to spite his father. Raymond thinks that’s really hot, actually.

A/N: This idea came into my head and literally never left. It lives rent free in my head, and I hope you feel it now, too. Couple: Raymond/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, mild exhibitionism, getting caught Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

——————

There was a grand total of one functioning bar in this town at this hour of night. This drastic and unforgivable shortage of places for me to buy alcohol was also the only reason I found myself frequenting said bar.

After about an hour of swatting off a group of men that were objectively disgusting, I resigned myself to fate and the realization that the night would turn out no better than it would have if I hadn’t tried to get drunk on cheap liquor. I was ready to pack up, close out, and fuck off back home when it happened.

A familiar face walked through the door. Familiar, I suppose, was a stretch. I’d only seen his face in one picture – a picture I’m pretty sure was meant to be thrown away. It stuck out to me because it was the first indication that I got that Donald Wadsworth had a son. And a cute son, much less.

My brain scanned through buried memories to try and find the one where his recently divorced mother had told me his name. I knew the memory existed somewhere, surrounded under a mountain of bullshit, but it was so hard to focus when I was watching the poor kid shuffle over to the bar and plop himself down against the counter.

It had taken me that long to realize that he was wearing pajamas. Cute.

His fashion choices and bedhead paired nicely with the pout he wore when he shyly scanned the room. Altogether, everything about him assured me that he literally couldn’t have been less intimidating if he tried. That theory was further solidified by the way he shrunk against the counter when he saw me approach. By the time I sat down next to him, he’d all but disappeared under his jacket.

“Hey, you’re... Raymond, right?” The name came to me at the same time his eyes locked with mine. The dark hazel color shone almost gold in the orange hue of the bar.

“You’re Donald’s son?” I asked as warmly as possible while using his father’s name. Which is to say, not warm at all.

“Unfortunately,” Raymond droned with a similar disdain.

“I’ll say,” I chuckled as I leaned forward to match his slouch over the bar. “I work with your dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That alone seemed to cause a shift in his entire demeanor. It didn’t surprise me. Most of the women in this town were brainwashed into thinking that if a guy didn’t outright assault you at first glance, he was probably a solid dude.

And Donald Wadsworth was not a solid dude.

“He’s like, a giant fucking asshole,” I said.

Raymond’s eyes lit up.

“Right?!” he shouted back, practically falling from his seat in his enthusiasm as he continued to yell, “I know!”

There was no keeping it together with this caricature of a man, but I didn’t really want to, either. In the few seconds I’d interacted with him, everything about him changed from defensive to relaxed. Like all he needed was someone to tell him that it wasn’t all in his head.

Unfortunately, I was going to need to ask something of him. But I figured he wouldn’t mind what I was going to request.

“But hey, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I have a favor to ask you.” I kept my tone even and nonchalant, trying to avoid coming off as parental.

He eyed me as warily as I expected, tugging his drink a little bit closer as he started to shrink in on himself again.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he mumbled, “there’s not really anything I can do to hurt him that I haven’t already tried.”

There was no need for self-degradation. Raymond might have thought he tried everything, but from his body language around a woman, it was safe to assume he’d never tried my plan.

“Wanna bet?”

Raymond sighed in surrender before he shrugged, “Sure. What’s the favor?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

It wasn’t my intention to wait until the drink was in his mouth before I spoke, but it was how it ended up happening. And almost instantaneously, he spat the drink out over the bar before calmly squeaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to have sex with you,” I repeated like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then I sought confirmation that was only a little important in the grand scheme of things. “You’re staying at his place, right?”

“Just for tonight, yeah—" he started, but all I heard was the ding of a checkmark on my mental list that meant we were cleared for the next step.

“Great. We should do it there, then. Tonight.”

Raymond’s tongue stuck out from between his teeth, the visual of restraint matching his narrowed, shifty eyes and fidgety legs.

“I feel like I’m missing something...” he muttered.

I heard him, but I didn’t really care. The clock was running, and I was ready to get something good out of this night. Possibly even two good things, if he ended up being as helpful as his cute, submissive demeanor implied.

“I’ll drive. You want to go now?”

“I— I mean, sure, yeah,” he stumbled over the words and his own feet as he left the bar. “We can… go have sex.”

I laughed at how cool he tried to sound because he definitely failed. I reached past him to drop cash on the bar and grabbed his hand on the way back. The amount of warmth stormed it in was shocking, considering all the blood seemed to be in his face, ears, and the tent in his pants. But the comfort of his fingers interlocking with mine on instinct did more for me than he knew.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Raymond was silent on the way out and into the car, which was about what I expected from him. Every glance his way would show the gears slowly turning in his head, like he was still trying to grasp whether my proposition was serious. Like I was trying to murder him or something.

When the car started, so did some sliver of confidence in him, although he still cleared his throat before he asked, “Do you need directions, or…?”

“No, I’ve been to his place before.”

That caution and suspicion returned and multiplied, and before I even pulled out of the parking lot he had shrugged down in the seat and buried his face in his hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck my dad,” he whined in the most dramatic manner possible.

I couldn’t blame him for the theatrics, although the implication was not at all appreciated.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I spat, my face curling into a pure expression of disgust. At least we both felt similarly on that note.

“Thank god.” The relief flowed through him, allowing him to sit back up to his previously half-straight position. I decided that it was probably best to cut him some slack for assuming I would ever fuck that devil of a man, because I got the sinking suspicion that he might have known a couple girls his age that had done exactly that.

That thought led me back to the very reason I was there at all, and a chill ran down my spine as I muttered without thinking, “Wasn’t for a lack of his trying, though.”

The whole tone in the car shifted in seconds. One glance over at Raymond confirmed the repressed rage and sadness rolling off of him in waves that were more accurately described as a tsunami.

It was just unsettling enough that I snapped my eyes back to the road, giving a nervous chuckle to tell him that it wasn’t that serious. I didn’t need him to defend my honor, or anything. It did enough to quell most of the rage, but that self-pitying sadness was still there when he let out a shy, quiet plea.

“I don’t want to pry but… Will you tell me what this is about?”

“You really want to know?”

It was one thing to know the vague generalities of how much his father sucked, but another thing entirely to paint him a vivid depiction of what he was willing to do.

“Yeah,” he said with fiddling hands, “I think.”

I think he was trying to do me a favor. I think listening to my story was meant to be a sign to me that there were people who would care — people who would believe me. He clearly didn’t actually want to hear the story, but I appreciated his willingness to experience some discomfort to make up just a small part of his father’s misdeeds.

“So, I’m new at the school, right? It’s awkward. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone,” I started, trying to look over at Raymond whenever I could to show him that I was doing alright. The poor thing looked like he needed the reassurance more than I did.

“Your dad very quickly tried to take me under his wing, despite my very obvious discomfort.”

“Sounds like him,” he interrupted with a pissed-off murmur.

“Yeah. I just kind of accepted his help because I was too scared to say no, but then one day he…” My voice trailed off, the words getting clogged in my throat and muddled on my tongue. It wasn’t that bad of a story; it should have been easier to explain. But something about Raymond being there, him listening to me so intently and with such a strong desire to make it better, that made it hard to speak. Eventually, I managed to start again. “He cornered me in the damn teacher’s lounge and—“

“Please don’t give me a reason to kill him. I’ve been toeing that line my whole life, and I will definitely do it.”

That time when Raymond cut me off, it was very clear to me that he was not kidding. He enunciated the words so clearly, venom dripping from his tongue and his chest heaving with a determination coming through clear, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He was a sweet kid.

“He didn’t try to touch me or anything. It wasn’t like that,” I said with an awkward smile, reaching over to pat his thigh. The action alone seemed to calm him, almost like a dog that was being told to stand down.

He was a really cute kid.

But I had to finish this stupid story. I had to give him all the information so that he would know exactly why I’d invited myself into his bed. Sex is sort of a big deal, you know? I mean, not always, but the other party in spite sex should probably know who exactly the target is.

“He just made it very clear that he felt I owed him something, and I kindly told him to fuck off,” I concluded just as we pulled up the dirt drive. The bumps in the road seemed to shake some other memories in Raymond, and he just shook his head to rid himself of those, along with the story he’d just heard.

He looked over at me with a new understanding and something else.

“So that’s what this is about?”

“Yep,” I said with a pop of my lips to match the sound of my car door opening. He clambered out of the car much less gracefully, which was funny considering he’d had significantly less to drink.

But I figured I would have the decency not to laugh, instead just joining him on the passenger side of the car to finish our conversation before we went inside. I wanted to give him the chance to change his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Although I was the one who would have to deal with the brunt of the downfall, Donald wasn’t my family. Like, I wouldn’t be at his holiday dinners. Then again, I’m not sure Raymond would be, either.

When I looked up from the thought, Raymond was staring at me. It wasn’t like before, though. There was nothing suspicious or any sign of concern in his eyes. No, they were filled with a very different feeling.

“You want to fuck me just to spite my dad?” he asked with a deadly seriousness.

I thought about it for exactly one second before I shrugged at the extremely accurate summary.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“God,” Raymond practically groaned, throwing himself on me and pinning me against the car with his hips before he growled, “that’s so fucking hot.”

Those same lips that produced the words quickly covered mine with the same force he’d used to pin me against the metal. I didn’t fight him at first because, well, I didn’t want to. It was the first clear sign he’d given that he really wanted to do this, and who was I to argue with how he expressed his consent?

Also, he was like, a really, really good kisser. The desperation he felt came through in his tongue as it tangled with mine, drawing a quiet, muffled moan from me that alerted me to how quickly this would escalate if I didn’t shove the boy off me.

Which, I did.

“Raymond— inside,” I ordered with the little breath I had left.

He was confused for a second, almost like he’d blacked out in the meantime. But then his tongue swept over his lips, his hands digging through his pockets for his keys before he hastily answered, “Right. Let’s go.”

It made sense to be quiet then, as the two of us tip-toed through the much too large house. Our occasional giggles were louder than our feet, and the whole experience was seriously reminiscent of sneaking into your boyfriend’s house as a teenager. And when we walked through his bedroom door, the sight stirred up even older memories. From the UFO poster and alien sheets to the boxes filled with dinosaur toys and action figures, I felt like I’d walked straight through a time machine into Raymond’s childhood.

“Sorry about… all of this,” he said with an overly apologetic tone, like this scene didn’t perfectly suit what I was planning. Like it wouldn’t be salt in the wound for Donald to see me fucking his son in the most juvenile room I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Ugh, it’s perfect. You are literally a man-child.”

I didn’t mean it as an insult, but his nervous shifting told me he took it that way. But when I kicked off my shoes and started to disrobe my outer layers, it was becoming obvious to him again just how serious I was about this whole thing.

“Sorry, but—“

“Stop saying sorry, Raymond.”

“Sorry,” he squeaked back, doing the exact thing I’d just told him not to do. I shot him a warning glance and watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in return. Then, still worrying the hem of his pajama shirt between his fingers, he looked away as he asked, “Are you sure you actually want to have sex with me?”

I was a little too busy at first to answer him. I was already rustling through the bedside table to find a condom that I was absolutely positive would be there. When I finally found it, I turned my attention back to the blushing boy.

“Why are you asking? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes!” he answered with a clear excitement, only to lose it immediately. “But I would have wanted to have sex with you even if my dad wasn’t a pervert.”

“Awww, thanks,” I cooed with feigned sincerity. Raymond was still just pouting, though. I was learning more each second just how starved of affirmation this boy had been. But it wasn’t like I could just start praising him; the poor thing would have whiplash if I wasn’t careful. There was no worse mood-killer than crying, either, so I settled for a joke.

“I’d probably have sex with you, too.”

“Probably?” he responded with a smile and a seat next to me.

“It’s pretty likely, depending on how much we talked first,” I explained as I helped him out of his coat. I even managed to start undoing his pajama top buttons before he realized it was happening.

He didn’t stop me when he did.

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or not,” he said, instead.

With a coquettish grin, I leaned in to whisper against his lips, “And you never will.”

There was absolutely no resistance from Raymond when I grabbed hold of his collar, tugging him on top of me as I laid down on the tiny twin bed. Despite all of his insecurity, he didn’t hesitate to kiss me again, either. This time it was somehow even more heated, like he was trying to pour all of his heart into it.

I almost warned him that he had better cool it if he didn’t want to risk getting me hooked, but I was too late. He was already busy undoing the buttons on my own top and gently kneading my chest through the fabric of my bra, and I was quickly losing track of which of us was more into what was happening.

It didn’t really matter, but just in case he was still worried that I might not want to be there, I snuck my hand down and under the waistband of his pajamas.

“Fuck!” he cursed in a hushed whisper, his body buckling forward far enough that he almost dropped all his weight on me. It was so damn cute that I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be too loud or we’ll never get to the fun part,” I warned, my voice barely a whisper in his ear.

His very eloquent response was a breathless, “Shit.” I couldn’t blame him, though. It was honestly more than I expected him to be able to enunciate when I grabbed hold of his dick and began making soft strokes.

It was obvious that he was trying very hard to stay quiet, but the whimpers and whines were falling from his mouth so quickly that I was forced to kiss him just to muffle the noise. Thankfully, Raymond took the hint that he needed to be quiet and decided to redirect the attention from himself back to me. He accomplished that task by pulling away from me just far enough that he could grab hold of my pants and underwear and roughly pull them down my thighs. The speed and force lit a fire deep in my gut, my whole body breaking out in goosebumps as I allowed myself to enjoy just how badly he wanted me. I’m sure the spite thing had a lot to do with it, too, but it had been a long time since a man was so clearly into me. It was an unavoidable conclusion in every touch from him.

A much-too-loud moan caught in my throat when he returned, slipping his fingers into my heat as he laid another feverish kiss against my lips. But it broke almost immediately with his own choked moan, followed by a low, breathy observation.

“You weren’t kidding about wanting this.”

“Nope,” I replied quickly, trying to control the noises coming out of my mouth by replacing them with words. It only sort of worked when I keened, “Fuck, you’re better at this than I thought.”

Raymond didn’t even stop, continuing to curl his fingers inside of me with each thrust. He did smile, though. A cheeky, borderline annoying smile that told me he knew what a bastard he was being.

“Again, I can’t tell if that is a compliment,” he said with an overwhelming amount of sarcasm as he watched me squirm under him.

I chose to ignore the taunt, opting to grab the condom from the bedside table and throw it directly at his face instead. “Put the fucking condom on, Raymond.”

There was less commentary from the peanut gallery from that point on. I did enjoy the show, though. As I removed my bra, I watched with rapt fascination as he stripped himself of his clothes. My desire grew at an exponential rate at the sight of him slipping the condom on. I’d gotten some idea of the size of him with my hand, but to see something so lewd in such an innocent room and on his shy little figure was something else.

Raymond shrunk a little under my gaze, only regaining his confidence when he saw the way my teeth dragged over my bottom lip. I ran my hands over my body that was still on display for him, thoroughly enjoying the way I could make his eyes go wherever I wanted with such a simple motion.

“Fuck me, Raymond.”

I heard his breath catch and watched the shiver flow through him at the order. Sure enough, he started to follow my instructions and lined himself up at my entrance with adorably shaky hands. But then, right before I got what I came for, he paused.

“Are you su—“

I was tired of waiting. Hooking my leg around his waist, I forced Raymond to thrust forward. My assistance didn’t take any of the pleasure out of it when he was finally, fully inside of me. I couldn’t stop the way my back arched, pressing my chest against his with a wanton cry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled into my hair, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he adjusted to the new set of sensations.

I only gave him a few seconds to get used to it, fully ready to get the release that already felt so close.

“Fuck me,” I whined, already starting to roll my hips against the boy blubbering curses into my skin.

“O-Okay,” he muttered in the most adorable fashion.

That shyness was contrasted strongly by what followed. For all his whimpers and trembling, Raymond didn’t seem to mind the way the bed would creak under us. In fact, it seemed that he was playing his own game, trying to elicit as many noises from me as he could get from the bed.

On instinct, my hands rose to try to still the headboard. But to my surprise, they never made it. The man above me had grabbed hold of one wrist, pinning it against the pillow to stop me. That simple, thoughtful act was enough to almost send me over the edge right then, but I held on for what I knew would come.

My moans were another story. They seemed so inevitable, with Raymond slamming into me with a progressively rougher force until I rode that line between pain and pleasure. I could see it on his face, too, that we were barreling full speed to the inevitable.

So, it was as good a time as any for me to set the next step in motion. With full volume and a pitch nearly an octave higher than usual, I screamed, “Yes, Raymond!”

That cheeky little bastard laughed. That noise was such music to my ears, that I couldn’t just stop there.

“God, yes! Fuck me harder!” I cried dramatically while drawing out the words. In a way, I was over exaggerating for effect, but I was also actually having a great time. In fact, it was the best sex I’d had in a long time.

Raymond, catching on to the plan that I’d never explicitly explained, joined in with his own chant of my name, mixed with deep moans rumbling in his chest. I ran my nails down his back, seeking to elicit the higher pitched sounds I knew he was capable of when I realized just how much fun I was having with him.

It was also, of course, super fucking hot. But how often do you get to have this much fun with a random one night stand you found at the bar? Not often enough, I decided.

“Please, Raymond! Harder!” I begged, both in accordance with my previous moans and also because it was what I needed.

I couldn’t decide on a word to describe that wild look on his face, but Raymond had no problem following through with my request. Releasing my wrist, he sat up on his knees, grabbing hold of my hips and lifting them so that he could come down between them at a new angle.

That angle, it seemed, left him bottoming out inside of me with each brutal thrust. My legs were actually shaking around him, my back barely touching the bed as I threw my head back on that damn alien pillowcase.

The clacking of the headboard against the plaster shook the hung UFO picture, which ended up clattering behind it with about as much grace and subtlety as Raymond and I shared in that moment.

But that crashing also masked the sound of the door slamming open, just as I’d been waiting for. And for a long moment, neither of us even looked over to the light filtering in from the hallway. Instead, we locked eyes with each other as the two of us simultaneously reached our peak.

I was so, so glad that I didn’t look away. I kept my eyes firmly on Raymond as he threw his head back, forcing himself as deep in me as he could and holding me against him as I nursed him through his orgasm with my own. His mouth, though dropped open, was curved in a satisfied smile, one last moan tearing through the two of us before he promptly collapsed on top of me.

Then, it finally came. Donald’s voice bellowing, “What the fuck is going on in here?!”

—

As Raymond and I sat in my car that night, there was a much more relaxed atmosphere. Whether the catharsis was from the sex or the big fuck you to his father, the two of us were just basking in the afterglow of the overall experience.

Of course, he was also laughing at the fact I was currently wrapped up in his alien bedsheet.

“We could’ve gotten your clothes, you know.”

“There was no way in hell I was going to drop this sheet in front of that man,” I said through my laughter, my mind replaying the chaos of the last few minutes over again in my head.

“Probably a good call,” Raymond answered.

But then another thought occurred to me, which caused my face to contort into a disgusted grimace.

“You’d better go get my underwear and bra later, though. He cannot keep those.”

“Will do. Promise,” he said with a little nod that ended with him staring at me with an absolutely smitten look plastered on his face.

“You can keep them, though,” I offered, reaching over and pretending like I could actually fix the birds nest on his head.

“Thanks. I’m flattered,” he said while chasing after my hand that eventually settled on his cheek. His face was still flushed, his eyes still only half opened as he nearly fell asleep against my palm. I wondered if it was from the orgasm, or if it was just the first time in a while he’d felt safe enough to do it. He must’ve seen the worry in my eyes, because he interrupted the thought with another question.

“Did you accomplish your goal?”

I thought about it for a second, dragging my fingers down his face before I pulled back with a sigh. “I feel satisfied,” I decided. “What about you?”

Raymond also took the chance to think about it before he nodded with more enthusiasm than before.

“I feel pretty good,” he said proudly.

“That’s all? Just pretty good?” I replied with an annoyed click of my tongue. I mean, I was wrapped in his bedsheets after just helping him achieve one of the most satisfying catharses of his life, and all he had to say was ‘pretty good?’

But then I saw it, that little sparkle in his eyes that showed me he just wanted to rile me up before he gave his real answer.

“It was fucking glorious.”

It wasn’t even the words that filled my heart with pride, but the way his whole expression softened as he said it. He obviously meant it with every fiber of his being, and I couldn’t help but fall in love a little bit at the sight.

“Sorry I got you kicked out,” I said to distract myself from that dangerous line of thought.

“Not the first time. Hopefully the last,” he nonchalantly shrugged as I turned the key in the ignition. We hadn’t actually planned on what to do from this point, but I certainly had some ideas.

“You can stay at my place,” I slurred through my exhaustion, “I have a guest bedroom if you feel weird staying in mine.”

But Raymond didn’t answer. He just laughed, shaking his head and rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

“What?” I asked, a little worried I’d made a mistake.

“Nothing,” he reassured with that stupid fucking grin that was soon aimed straight at me, “it’s just… You’re asking me if I want to sleep with you. Again.”

“Yeah, what about it?” I laughed, turning to pull out of the driveway. The bumps didn’t bother Raymond that time.

“I’d love to,” he said as we turned onto the main road, his hand finding mine on the gear shift.

“Great.” Allowing the relief to flow through his hand and into me, I realized that the reason I’d had so much fun with this random one night stand was because a large part of me knew it was never going to be just that.

“You know, my bed’s not a twin, and it doesn’t creak, so…” I trailed off, hoping that he would be clever enough to put it together.

“So what?”

He was not. But that was okay, because I realized that was exactly what I loved about him.

“Never mind,” I sighed, “I’ll show you in the morning.”

——————————————————

(Tell me what you thought of this piece here!)

#raymond wadsworth #suburban gothic #suburban gothic fanfic #mgg fanfiction #mgg fanfic #matthew gray gubler fanfic #raymond wadsworth fanfic #raymond wadsworth fanfiction

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stanfordsweater · 3 years

Text

@aftershocked

moving this here because you’ve brought up a TON of points i’d love to dig into and the tumblr reply system is garbage--

(under the cut: much talk of possessive sam vs. possessive dean, benefits of a long-running series, ooc actions vs. consistent characterization)

“they change a lot over 15 seasons but it's consistent enough” i feel like differences and inconsistencies in episodes/writing/seasons are one of the reasons (besides personal preference) that ppl get twisted around when it comes to possessive sam and possessive dean, like it’s easy to focus on one or two things w/o taking larger patterns or predominant characteristics into account.

also it’s easy to focus on like, smth happening a few times that is in contradiction to something that happened many other times, & not want to Deal with the complexities & contradictions—but the complexities are the best part! i’ve seen you talk about it before too, the benefits of a longrunning series where we get to really watch the characters grow from young men to essentially middle-aged,

you get to actually have characters w the kind of multifaceted personalities you’d expect of, like, normal people (just way more fucked up and traumatized). so yeah, dean isn’t always straightforward in the way he’s content with keeping sam with him, and can dip into weird behavior (ESPECIALLY in the sort of parental “i make the decisions around here” sense)—

but his general preference, his base character, does not lean towards possessiveness at all. versus sam, who SEEMS like he’d be more grounded and chill, but is actually the crazy jealous guy. that kind of irony, those kind of subversions, are what make them enjoyable as characters and contribute to why possessive sam is so much fun to explore,

bc you Wouldn’t think he’d be the one who’s jealous enough that even when dean gives sam so much of himself already, sam still wants more. you’d look at him and expect him to be the brother capable of letting go, of being halfway normal, instead of like, sam’s built so much on seeking dean’s approval and lived his life at the center of dean’s universe,

so he’ll reject anything that threatens to change that dynamic. like the contradictions are weird and spicy and i like them a lot and god i love sam’s reactions to benny so much. i’d feel bad bc i really like benny & he deserved better, but it’s too much fun to see how much sam of all people unreasonably, irrationally, illogically hates the guy,

just because he represents someone dean might, might, might possibly actually like more than sam (even though we, the viewers, know that’s impossible). beautiful

yes, you’ve hit on so many great points here! firstly, the inconsistencies in characterization: i think it’s very easy to see why people get annoyed by the writing, and i do think it’s occasionally justified; however, i’ve always found it a lot more rewarding to think about it as the same kind of inconsistencies that real people have! sam and dean might make “ooc” decisions and it’s okay because real people do that too, out of anger, resentment, sadness, trauma... it makes sense, to me, that they aren’t the same people they were fifteen years ago. getting stuck in one ‘mode’ of characterization is damaging to an overall reading of the show, but at the same time it’s okay to latch onto one era if that’s what you enjoy. it only bothers me when people take characterization from one era (for example, dean’s ptsd, anger, and jealousy over amelia) and apply it to every version of that character.

dean’s parental sense of possession over sam is one thing i do agree with wrt the possessive dean takes, and i think they’re more memorable for a lot of people because they’re not what you usually see from a family show-- it’s weird for dean to feel that way, and i don’t know if i’ve ever seen that intersection of parental ownership and romantic partner jealousy. it’s important that this comes out when dean is under pressure, not all the time-- AND it’s essential that sam does not cave to this. it gets iffy during dabb era, but i still don’t see sam immediately caving to dean’s demands. a good example is the scene where dean holds a gun to sam in season 15, which i see fairly often as an example of dean demanding obedience from sam... but sam doesn’t cave! and sam doesn’t even flinch, because he’s used to having guns pointed at him, and he knows that no version of dean could ever kill him. dean knows this too, and dean is the one who caves, as per usual. this is only not the case a few times in canon, like season 4, parts of season 7, and season 9, all for different reasons i won’t get into now. it’s remarkable when dean doesn’t go along with what sam asks, which is why it sticks in people’s memories, imo. dean is very loud with what he wants and what he thinks is best, but if sam disagrees he will argue dean around to his point, or he’ll go behind dean’s back to do it anyway (case in point, season 11 with the cage.)

anyway-- “the complexities are the best part!” and “you get to actually have characters w the kind of multifaceted personalities you’d expect of, like, normal people (just way more fucked up and traumatized). so yeah, dean isn’t always straightforward...” TOTALLY AGREE. i love the times when the brothers are making decisions that fandom disagrees with, because it’s interesting. the show is here to provide a compelling story. i’m not going to lie and say i always agree with that story or those choices, but it’s fun for me to try to get into why a character would make that decision, not just rail against it. i like the dudes we have in canon! they’re fun!

this is why possessive sam slaps for me. what you said here-- “sam, who SEEMS like he’d be more grounded and chill, but is actually the crazy jealous guy. that kind of irony, those kind of subversions, are what make them enjoyable as characters and contribute to why possessive sam is so much fun to explore” yes yes yes. 100%. and we see these subversions right from season one! it’s not new that dean isn’t actually the uber-confident womanizing asshole, but if you aren’t paying attention it can sneak up on you, i guess? and sam, who comes across as the level-headed one in common archetypes, the soft-spoken college boy, crashes the impala into a building. in the first episode. and in route 666, he follows a crazy instinct that is proven correct and saves their lives (because he’s intelligent!) but toys with the chance that it could have failed and killed dean (because he’s reckless!)

the fact that we have all these examples of the ways the brothers fail to fulfill the tropes they would in a less-interesting tv show means that possessive sam makes so much sense. sam is built up as the independent brother, the one who left home, the rebellious one, but he loves his family and he needs dean. he needs him. “sam’s built so much on seeking dean’s approval and lived his life at the center of dean’s universe...” i love the way you put this. sam has had dean’s attention and protection for most of his life, and hell if he’s giving it up now for some two-bit vampire, lol. sam is independent, but like with everything else, dean is the exception. sam’s desperation for dean’s approval and attention is absolutely hilarious in the benny situation, because, like you’ve said before, benny is the least-threatening dude ever. he’s so nice. and the fact that sam won’t rest until he dies is-- well, i’m being a little uncharitable, i don’t think sam wanted benny to die, but he sure didn’t shed any tears over it.

the contradictions are delicious. i do think some of it is that dean gets his friendships fulfilled outside of sam, so sam is in a category all his own, while sam doesn’t have as many relationships as dean does so dean is fills all of his categories. but then again, that isn’t always true. it shifts over the seasons and even through episodes. broad trends!

#aftershocked #meta #i guess!#this was very fun thanks for rambling with me #feel free to reply/reblog if you have any thoughts #codependency #sam and dean

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shoichee · 3 years

Note

hello! may i ask some tips about the instragram acccunts the GoM + kagami could have? like of sort of post, amount of followers, stuff like that THANK U and have a great day !!

THIS IS ACTUALLY HILARIOUS SINCE I BREATHE OFF OF INSTAGRAM LFMAO

[Headcanons]

Kuroko Tetsuya

HELP WHAT IF HE HAS NO PRESENCE ON SOCIAL MEDIA TOO—

professional lurker

never comments on anything unless it’s to congratulate under a friend’s post or something like that

probably started using it because Ogiwara moved from letters and texts to just... instagram (technology advancements, jazz hands)

his account is on private, and he only lets people he knows follow him

all of his posts are pictures to commemorate something or just really wholesome group pictures

DEFINITELY has that picture of the GoMs at his birthday OVA

DEFINITELY also posted the big birthday picture taken at the end of the party

and also had typed very sappy BIG paragraph captions for both of these posts, talking about the journey and him being grateful… y’know, him being him

HIS ENTIRE COMMENT SECTIONS ARE JUST EVERYONE SOBBING AND KEYBOARD SPAMMING??? ONLY LIKE MIDORIMA AND AKASHI POST COHERENT RESPONSES UNDERNEATH

@kiseryouta: kuROKOCCHIIIII!!NEJWIEISK

@momoiowo: TETSUU (ʃƪ˘･ᴗ･˘) YOURE SO SWEET REEEE

@a_daikiii: i stg quit being so corny no one died yet🙄 and @momoiowo relax smh

@shin_chan77: I suppose I can express some form of gratitude for being in my life despite you being a blood type A. (insert a giant paragraph after this)

@4k4shi: This was very touching to read, Kuroko. I’m very glad that our… (insert him going down memory lane)

Murasakibara has no comment LMAO

his entire Seirin team are his hype men under his posts

his profile picture is literally the gray default blank head because he didn’t even set up a profile picture for himself

he has like 20 followers max or something?

8 posts? like, he only posts on special occasions or big events

his occasional stories are always comprised of Nigou and blurry Kagami pictures/videos running away from Nigou UH OH (courtesy of @dust-of-fandoms)

@tetsuya11 for his user handle

@dust-of-fandoms JUST MADE AN INSTAGRAM FOR HIM HERE!!

Kise Ryota

uses his instagram account as a portfolio for his modeling career

majority of his posts are actually pictures he managed to snag from his frequent model shoots

it looks SO professional… but then you look at his IGTVs and his reel videos

his reels are either short clips of mini vlog series he does whenever he visits the GoMs or when he’s recording his Kaijō teammates doing tricks and dunks

his IGTVs are either skincare tutorials, fashion advice… or just… unexplainable, out-of-context shitposts of Kise running away from what fans assumed “a green-haired man” or some “captain”

follower account?? 124k

who wouldn’t resist a hot model?

DEFINITELY HAS A TIKTOK I CAN FEEL IT

@kiseryouta with an official verification next to it

people either love him or hate him

posts a casual selfie from time to time, and people praise him for “being real” LMAODOA AND HE’S JUST STARING AT HIS PHONE LIKE “??? IMIG BUT I JUST FELT CUTE TODAY”

his captions feel fake LMAO like: “Wow! today’s so pretty today!” as he puts a selfie post OR “What’s your favorite game?✨” under a professionally-shot model picture that does not correlate with the caption???

has posted shitposts on his stories and his fans are utterly confused… only the GoMs get it LMAO

Midorima Shintarou

ONLY reason why he has social media is because Takao convinced him that he could let everyone know the daily lucky items for each signs for every post he makes

so for the first 2 months of having instagram he just casually posts a “daily horoscope” report(?) for the day

his content attracted in all the astrology fans and people who are devoted to tarots

and he’s CONFUSED.

… Takao may or may not have played a hand in messing with the algorithms to expose his account to bigger audiences

once Midorima finds out he’s MAD LMAO *insert Takao pain noises*

either goes down two paths: just casually continuing to post the daily Oha Asa predictions without interacting with anyone OR deleting his account and making a new PRIVATE one just for communication/lurking purposes

so he can honestly have 10k followers if he chooses to be a horoscope account or like 3 followers on his private, take it or leave it

maybe he has two accounts if he feels that having instagram has its merits

definitely has a shit ton of random stuff/posts in his saved collections

boomer energy, like… what’s a “reels” feature?? people talk to their phone camera and record that?? he’s squinting really hard and scratching his head

either has 356 horoscope posts on his “main” or like 19 posts on his private

has a rubber duck as a profile picture for BOTH ACCOUNTS HELP HIM

@oha_asa_ for his horoscope account or @shin_chan77 as his personal because he doesn’t know how to change his username (thanks, Takao LMAO)

Aomine Daiki

he doesn’t give a shit about instagram LOL

it’s MOMOI who handles his account because he doesn’t wanna bother with it LMAOO

she would tease him and try to “encourage” him to stop lazing around by taking pictures of him whenever he’s snoozing and posting it

but he’s so damn good-looking that his sleeping pictures got some traction with new fans

Aomine is still sleeping

his account also has pictures of him eating at Maji burger or at a café, and of course Momoi is the one snapping these photos of him

he started caring about it a little more once Momoi told him that he can post videos of himself doing trickshots and one-on-ones to potentially find worthy rivals over the internet and meet up

so now his account (videos, reels, IGTVs) are all riddled with basketball/small parkour footage shot by yours truly, Momoi

so his fanbase is split between thirsty people and people who genuinely admire him for his skills… but I mean there’s also people in both categories, anywho

he’d totally follow his favorite Japanese idols on IG if they had one

also would follow any NBA-related accounts/players he admires

has like 2.7k followers (but growing really fast) with like 176 posts of videos and random pictures of him

his profile picture is literally a picture of him sleeping by Momoi

@a_daikiii

Momoi Satsuki

LOTS OF REALLY cute, playful selfies, and a lot of them are used with cute filters from the Snow app

sometimes would post herself doing a really cute Tiktok dance while in her school uniform

she doesn’t post too much; she’s actually more into posting IG stories and making highlights out of them and then making highlight covers have a coordinating theme together

very aesthetic theme on her feed overall hehe

definitely uses her account to comment on other GoMs posts, often commenting something snarky on Aomine’s and Kise’s

actually has 1-2 IGTVs on the Vorpal Sword’s big game against the Jabberwocks

doesn’t have much of full-body shots/outfit pictures other than mirror selfies because Aomine refuses to take good pictures of her

only when she sees Kise or Kuroko is when she can ask either to be a photographer

she’s definitely gotten a few small collab offers from small businesses, but she usually ignores them because it’s not exactly her thing

her profile picture is just a selfie with a sketch-line cat ear filter

uses a bunch of emoticons on her bio, captions, comments, everything

⌒(ㅇㅅㅇ❀)⌒ or ☆⌒(＞。≪) or .₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇. you get the picture

967 followers… that looks way too specific, but it’s somewhere around there; a lot of them came from Aomine’s account after they saw who’s been taking his pictures, and they wanna learn more about her??

around 40 posts?

@momoiowo

Murasakibara Atsushi

Himuro showed him how to use the app, but Murasakibara doesn’t find ANY USE FOR THIS LMAOO

he’d probably only get on it to look at food on the explore page and drool about the cuisines

keeps tabs on local places/restaurants/shops on instagram; those are probably the only accounts he’d follow tbh

it’s probably like ONE post and it’s an old picture of a dango on a plate he ate like 2 years ago

I have this image in my head that he has a really cute bento art as his profile picture?? can you imagine a Rilakkuma-shaped rice as his PROFILE PICTURE?

his bio is definitely: “hungry”

and that’s it

27 followers, and it’s literally just his Yōsen teammates, the GoMs and probably some other classmates of his

his captions are literally empty or 1-2 words

@oomaib0

Akashi Seijuro

only uses instagram because it’ll be beneficial for his company and to expand social networks, plus getting those sweet business deals and engagement

he doesn’t mind seeing really wholesome videos on the explore page though

when he wants to relax, a cat video melts his stress away

laughs to himself while he reads all the shenanigans underneath the GoMs’ posts

DEFINITELY loses a few brain cells seeing trolls and idiots on the internet… especially on controversial or political ones LMAO

he at first had to REFRAIN himself and take deep breaths before he just scrolls on, but he eventually got used to them and can now easily ignore them as easy as he breathes air

he actually enjoys shitposts and meme videos?? like he may not completely understand the meme trends sometimes, but he’ll still find it amusing enough for a chuckle

he ends up being the one who uses instagram the most? like Kise posts a shit ton, yeah, but Kise doesn’t really sit down and just scroll endlessly; Kise releases out content, while Akashi consumes the content

he reasons with himself that it’s to study his current demographics for the company, and while that may be true, Akashi just enjoys social media, plain and simple LOL

he does get to study the behaviors of all the generations using the platform, young folks and old folks alike, and it does get him excited in using his analytical skills to try to figure out people BEHIND a screen rather than those in front of him

it makes a really good challenge for him when he wants a good mental exercise

he has a post or two about his horses, his manor, and a video or two on him playing his violin?? but most are business-related, them being advertisements or business contracts/offers… things like that

his highlights are all about Q&As regarding the company, his background, his skillsets, etc. like an actual resumé

actually links current world issue cards/petitions on top of his company website; he’s quite an advocate

he actually doesn’t post about basketball because that’s something very close to his heart since it reminds him of his late mother… having that mixed in with his company-related posts feels wrong to him

27k followers, most of them are business-related accounts AND some are some followers his father bought for him without Akashi’s input to inflate engagement, etc.

@4k4shi… oh he thinks he’s SO CLEVER FOR MAKING THIS USERNAME LOL with the 4 being his jersey number and the 4s looking like As… AKASHI PLEASE—

his profile pic is like a professionally taken picture, nothing less for our king

his grammar and syntax are impeccable on social media; after all, he’s still being judged for how he carries himself even on the media

Kagami Taiga

mukbang guy… DEFINITELY

hot guy eating nine plates of steaks

IGTVs are filled with mukbang videos because Kuroko said he could make a living off of his appetite

HE COULD MAKE MONEY OFF OF JUST EATING? SIGN HIM UP.

on his posts, he posts dishes he makes for the day/is proud of and talks about the dish and ingredients briefly in the caption

that, or he has pictures of his new basketball shoes LMAO

or all of his basketball merch

HE’S DEFINITELY POSTED PICTURES OF LANDMARKS AND OTHER ICONIC PLACES HE’S TRAVELED TO (*cough* in America)

has a generic Jordan brand logo against a dark background as a profile picture

doesn’t have his face anywhere unless it’s in a mukbang video

279 followers or something

why do I have a feeling that he’ll accidentally blow up when Alex takes his phone to do a quick selfie on it?—

@taiga10

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joezworld · 3 years

Note

📁

Specifically, any headcanons of the Sodor Engines interacting with the internet, or the internet in general?

For some reason, I’d imagine that podcasts and the like are popular among vehicles in general.

That is a question that I've been working on for some time - because I'm workshopping my own Tornado headcanon (and boy oh boy does she use the internet a lot) - but I have some ideas for the Sodor engines as well:

Henry is probably the most "plugged in" engine on the island, weirdly enough. One of his drivers gave him an iPod back in the early 2000s, and kindly preloaded it with a bunch of torrented music.

BTW, that works because all the engines are now equipped with automatic train warning systems, and the little on-board computer has a USB port - as a nice side effect it allows music players to work with the engines in the same way as bone-conducting headphones do. The computer also acts as some kind of computer interface, which I am not going to explain how that works because Jesus Christ I don’t know how it does either.

Henry has managed to upgrade his iPod a few times since thanks to hand-me-down units from NWR staff, so he eventually got his buffers on a wifi-enabled iPod Touch and now downloads new music from the station wifi. He does listen to podcasts, but as every other engine will tell you, you could show Henry ten thousand new and exciting songs from the best artists in the world, and his top ten played songs are still going to be Genesis, Phil Collins, and Yes. Bear considers it a win that he managed to convince Henry to regularly listen to Rush after a mere twenty years of convincing.

Mavis and Daisy listen to a very interesting program called The News, because as stated elsewhere, they invest a shitload of money and need to be on top of things. Thomas and Percy wish that Daisy would use headphones or something similar to that, instead of listening to Bloomberg TV at loud volumes in the middle of the night. Toby frankly doesn’t mind, as it’s very nice to be kept up-to-date on the outside world.

In a move that surprises no-one, Bill and Ben have a podcast where they talk about whatever they think about at that moment - usually horse-racing, investing, and clay mining. As such, they have a wide audience, almost none of whom know that they’re that Bill and Ben, as their podcast is audio-only.

In an also unsurprising move, Edward and BoCo have been made very much aware that Bill and Ben have a podcast, but are still unsure as to what the hell a podcast is, despite being frequent guests on it.

Of the main line diesels, only Bear has shown any real interest in the internet, and was immediately put in charge of the Amazon Alexa when a unit was installed in the diesel shed. He also has an iPod that he got for Christmas a few years back. (The NWR has a very good personal electronics recycling program called give it to Henry, he’ll make use it.)

Bear does listen to podcasts as well as music, but his choices are so insufferably boring that even Henry refuses to listen to them. (I don’t really listen to podcasts - despite making one - so insert the most boring podcast you can think of here.)

As for other internet uses...

Gordon is very up-to-date on the newest social media trends - somehow - but only really cares when he is involved. He won’t admit it, but he’s been trying to figure out how to work a camera/selfie stick for some time so he can start up his own Instagram account. So far he has been unsuccessful, but one day he will manage it.

James has had an ongoing feud with his own Wikipedia page for about a decade now. The article sourced most of its information about his construction off of some out-of-print book about the L&Y. The book in question is accurate about James’ class, but not James himself - as he was a prototype engine. There’s no other primary sources available, so the very dedicated Wikipedia mod who created the page won’t change it - no matter how much James complains that he was there! He knows what happened!

Every now and again a TTTE fan blog/tumblr will make a post about hypothetical “ships” of the Sodor engines. Most of the time it’s shipping the core characters like Gordon and Henry, much to Gordon’s bafflement and Henry’s amusement!

Only one blog (a ttte fan tumblr by the curious name of @mean-scarlet-deceiver ) has gotten it right. Henry actually reached out to congratulate this blogger, but was unfortunately mistaken for a very dedicated roleplay account.

James is very annoyed by these blogs, as they have never once correctly guessed who he is “shipped” with! He has tried several times to be seen in public with Delta, but these events have never gone as planned - the “best” instance is when Edward rolled by at exactly the wrong moment, leading to months of speculation that JamesxEdward was the ship to look out for!

Thomas, being a generally oblivious sort of engine, was totally unaware of the online fan community around the TV show until he started getting actively harassed by vloggers and Instagrammers in the early 2010s. He’s fine with it now, but it was a deeply unusual experience for most of 2012.

Toby has developed an unexpectedly popular following on social media following his collab with Stormzy. His official twitter is huge now, with over a million followers, even if he has no idea what to do with it. He posts rarely, but usually manages to make an incredible post when he does.

No-one is sure who told Oliver what a “fan-production” is, but if you manage to get ahold of him for any period of time and ask him nicely, he will lend his voice to your TTTE fan-project, so long as it isn’t about [INSERT TERRIBLE SOCIAL/POLITICAL VIEW(S) HERE]. This means that he has 100% voiced dramatic readings of NSFW Fanfics before, which is always an absolute riot to spring on people unannounced.

There is a series of slice-of-life TTTE fanfics on Ao3 that have been written with such accuracy and innate railway knowledge that people are sure it was written by a Sodor engine, but nobody knows which one.

The Culdee Fell Railway has very active Instagram, Twitter and YouTube accounts, with all of the engines and coaches showing up regularly. It’s about the closest any of the railways on Sodor have come to what those outside the UK would call “normal locomotive social media”.

The Skarloey Railway has social media accounts too, but they don’t really feature the engines in any meaningful way, instead being used as a normal service announcements page.

The SR is a real working railway that doesn’t rely on tourism money as much as the others do, so they get a bit of a pass here.

The Arlesdale Railway has Twitter and YouTube, which didn’t usually get a lot of hits until 2020, when Ivan and Amanda Farrier started badgering the staff to make some videos just to alleviate some boredom. So far the most popular videos on the channel are a front-mounted camera video of the entire line slow-tv style, Bert explaining how steam engines work, and a video of Mike complaining about Justin Bieber for a solid half-hour.

That’s about it as far as Sodor goes, but before we’re done, I want to take a moment to talk about Tornado, because I have some fun ideas for her...

First of all, we need to establish that Tornado is very young. Her construction only started in late 90′s, and she was steamed to life in 2000, putting her firmly into the “Zoomer” category. Add in the fact that she was built by a bunch of old men who didn’t really know how to treat a new engine, and she was raised much more like a human than a locomotive - I’ll get to this much more in the proper Tornado Headcanon post, but what this means here is that when social media started being a thing in the mid-to-late 2000′s, the people at the A1 Trust decided that they needed a young person to run things like Twitter, Facebook, and Myspace... and, well, Tornado was the youngest person in the trust by a large margin.

I should state here that in the rest of the world, locomotives are on the internet at roughly the same level as humans are, so there’s plenty of equipment to connect a phone/computer/camera to an engine - being English, the A1 Trust didn’t know how common it was, but they managed to get it up and running just the same.

So Tornado has very quickly become attuned to the internet, just like any other teenager would. (yes, let’s let that settle into our minds for a moment - Tornado is barely old enough to drink in the US!) Quite naturally that means that she knows social media inside and out, and is actually quite a proficient social media manager for the trust, managing all of their social pages. More than one person who has complained about the trust on twitter has unknowingly been complaining to Tornado herself!

“On the internet, nobody knows that you’re a dog Engine”.

Tornado has her own personal social media accounts too, but most/all of the time she gets mistaken for a very dedicated role-player, as the general perception of British Locomotives is that they don’t tweet. This has resulted in some amazing reactions from podcast hosts (because, as you might expect, Tornado is very knowledgeable about steam traction in the 21st century, and tweets about it often, so train podcasts want to talk to her) when she gets invited onto video calls, turns on her webcam, and is met with screams from people who suddenly realize that her profile picture is accurate.

By far the best instance of this is when she was invited onto a video call with a railfan podcast. She was at the NRM at the time and managed to convince them to let her use their Skype setup. A wide-angle lens was needed because she was on the turntable in the Great Hall, so that podcast quickly got sidetracked when her webcam was turned on and revealed Tornado, with Mallard, Evening Star, City of Truro, and Green Arrow visible behind her. Whatever the original topic was quickly got thrown out in favor of a 2-hour Q&A with some of the most famous engines in the UK.

#ask response #the internet #ttte thomas #ttte toby #ttte bill and ben #ttte gordon #ttte daisy #ttte mavis #ttte henry #ttte bear #ttte oliver #tornado #nrm #trains using the internet #ttte #sodor #sodor shenangians #the formatting on this one is super fucked up and i can't figure out how to fix it - sorry

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asweetprologue · 4 years

Link

Words: 2618, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Fluff, geralt has a fixation on jaskier's hands, Pining, Confessions, it's about the hands tm

Inspired directly by this post by @valdomarx

“I didn’t even ask you to come this time, witcher. I don’t know why you’re acting so dour,” Jaskier pouted. He was standing in front of a small mirror that he’d propped up against the table, the only thing with a reflection in the small inn. His shirt was untucked over his tight pants, which were a startling peacock blue this time around. It was a fetching color, nearly matching the bard’s eyes, though Geralt would never voice such a thought aloud. He was fiddling with the ties at the front of the cream shirt, trying to decide on a complicated pattern of lacing that was well beyond Geralt’s understanding. The smell of wisteria and honeysuckle filled the room, overwhelming in its recent application. Jaskier rarely used scents beyond soaps while they were traveling, and Geralt preferred when he could more easily smell the distinct musk of the bard himself, rather than cloying perfumes.

He grunted in response to Jaskier’s comment, leaning against the bedpost. The inn was nice, actually, even though it was small. The sheets smelled fresh, the mattress was free of holes, and there was even a full bath off of the main room. Jaskier had sunk more funds into their accommodations than usual, expecting a big payout from the ball he’d been hired to perform at for the next several nights. “I’m not being ‘dour’,” Geralt said, watching Jaskier tug his shirt closed. His fingers played over the laces, easily working them into a tight series of delicate knots. Geralt wasn’t lying, truthfully. He wasn’t so much dour as… distracted. His eyes followed Jaskier’s hands as they tucked in his shirt, revealing his slim hips. The bard tugged here and there on the fabric, his fingers fluttering about as he searched for just the right amount of artful dishevelment.

Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands.

He wasn’t sure if this was a universal experience or not. Over the past few months, he’d overcome the initial shock of realizing he was interested in the bard. He’d known Jaskier for years - closer to decades - and it certainly was a notion that took some adjusting to. One day Geralt had just looked up and realized that the gangly limbed youth he’d met in Posada had turned into an extremely attractive man, a man Geralt very much wanted to put his hands on. The thought had been startling, and he’d spent full weeks telling himself that it was a fluke. And yet he was captivated by Jaskier’s broad shoulders, his strong thighs, his infuriatingly dexterous fingers. It was embarrassing really.

But, he reasoned, he was in good company; literally half the Continent wanted to fuck Jaskier. Geralt was particularly unique in that regard. It was honestly more spectacular that he was a person who wanted to sleep with Jaskier who hadn’t. It was a bitter draught to swallow, but Geralt accepted it. Few people wanted a witcher in their bed for more than an hour, and he knew that it could never be a simple one time roll in the hay between himself and Jaskier. Geralt was already spending much of his time reminding himself that he was not and could not be infatuated with Jaskier, the famous bard, womanizer and, above all, his best friend. He was at least self aware enough to know that Jaskier’s rejection would be painful, and that losing him as a companion was unacceptable.

Still, this left him with a predicament. While he assumed Jaskier had caught on to his developing feelings quickly enough, Geralt didn’t want to make the bard uncomfortable with his attentions. He tried not to let anything change between them. He didn’t reach out to pull Jaskier closer when they shared a bed at night, he didn’t give him the best cuts of meat during meals, he didn’t buy small, intricate rings or beautiful leather bound journals for him when they went to the market. He would think about it and then turn away, and keep things how they’d always been. Jaskier was bright and loud and annoying, and Geralt was quiet and snappish. If the bard had wanted anything more, he would have made it clear long before now. Geralt was doing a pretty good job of keeping things platonic, he thought. He probably would have been totally successful if Jaskier hadn’t chosen a lute, of all the cursed instruments, as his primary tool of the trade.

The issue was that Geralt had something of a preoccupation with Jaskier’s hands, which may be a common experience but might be unique to Geralt himself, much to his dismay. They were just exceedingly nice to look at. They had long and elegant fingers with wide, reassuring palms that had spent hours cleaning, patching up and comforting the witcher. They were unscared except for a thin white line under his right ring finger, where Jaskier said he’d been punctured by a nail as a child. Though that wasn’t to say that they were totally unblemished. Years of playing had worn deep calluses onto the tips of his fingers, rougher skin that made Geralt shiver when they played over his scalp as they so often did.

They were nice hands, but it wasn’t just that. They were expressive, an extension of whatever Jaskier felt at the moment. Geralt never knew what to do with his hands if he wasn’t in a fight, but Jaskier’s moved constantly. When he was angry they curled into fists and pointed fingers, elbows tights against his body as he raged at some perceived slight. When he was happy or excited, they darted about him in wide, sweeping gestures, an unspoken language that Geralt thought he might be able to read now without words. When he was tired they dragged, lingering on Geralt’s shoulders or pulling at the seams of his armor as he bullied the witcher into bed. Those moments were almost the worst, picking away at Geralt’s already frayed control, but he found it got to him the most when Jaskier was playing.

To say that Jaskier transformed when he played was not quite accurate. It was closer to say that he became. Jaskier was always intense, bright and focused and vibrant, but when he picked up his lute and stepped onto a stage he was resplendent. When Geralt had first met him, he’d thought maybe Jaskier was a siren, or some kind of incubus, luring men in with his honeyed words and saccharine melodies. He’d quickly realized that no, Jaskier was as human as they came, but it didn’t stop others from acting like they’d been bewitched when he was around. Jaskier performing was Jaskier at both his least and most genuine, distilled into whatever the crowd needed him to be most at that moment. It was enthralling, to say the least, and Geralt wasn’t immune to the draw.

At first watching the lute had been a defense mechanism, of a sort. Watching Jaskier himself was almost too intense, and Geralt felt exposed anytime their eyes met across a crowded room. So he’d taken to watching Jaskier’s hands, flying across the strings of the lute and dancing up the neck. Initially it had been only intriguing, and he’d found himself impressed by the bard’s skill. He was faster and more precise than any other player Geralt had come across, while remaining gentle in his ministrations. Jaskier touched the strings of his lute with such tenderness, as if he were caressing a lover.

One night while watching the bard, Geralt had though, Sometimes he touches me like that. And after that he was well and truly lost.

“I’m just saying,” Jaskier said, bringing Geralt sharply back to the present, “while I would never begrudge your presence, I don’t think the response to Toss a Coin will be as enthusiastic if the titular witcher is off glowering in a corner.” He reached for his doublet, a green jacket picked out with yellow thread that looked like gold in the right light. It was beside Geralt on the bed, and he nearly flinched away from Jaskier’s grasping hands. He thanked every god above that he no longer had the ability to blush the same way a human did, knowing that he would be pink in the face after watching Jaskier lace up his shirt sleeves. The man was actively putting clothes on and Geralt was nearly sweating from it.

“I’m not going to glower in a corner,” he grumbled.

Jaskier gave him a look that displayed an insulting lack of faith in Geralt’s word. “Well,” he said, “at least you’re dressed appropriately.” He’d managed to wrestle Geralt into a black jacket and a pair of dress trousers, though Geralt had won the fight to keep his boots and his swords. It was better, Jaskier allowed, that the people be able to see the tools of the trade. The bard reached out to adjust the collar of Geralt’s shirt. The witcher forced himself to still as Jaskier’s knuckles grazed his Adam’s apple. His skin hummed where they’d made contact.

Jaskier gave him a pat on the shoulder and turned away. “Well, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” he said, giving himself one last glance in the tiny mirror. With a grin, he turned to Geralt and said, “If you’re very good I’ll buy you one of those tarts from the market for breakfast tomorrow.”

The words if you’re good rolled over Geralt in a disconcerting way, curling up at the base of his spine and settling like they intended to live there. Shit. He made a slightly strangled sound of agreement that he hoped just sounded annoyed.

As Jaskier reached for the door, Geralt noticed that the ties of Jaskier’s undershirt had gotten twisted around one of the buttons of his doublet. He must have accidentally pushed the clasp through a loop in the laces while he was doing them up. Geralt wouldn’t have noticed unless he was watching Jaskier’s hands, but it seemed like he was always watching Jaskier’s hands nowadays. Watching, anticipating, hoping for the next touch. Geralt reached out and snagged the bard’s wrist before he even really knew what he was doing.

“Um,” Jaskier said, eloquent as ever. Geralt turned his hand over - in for a penny, in for a crown - and started undoing the buttons on the doublet. Jaskier hummed in realization, seeing where the laces had twisted into a knot. Focusing on his task, Geralt bent his head slightly, pulling the thin string loose from its tangle. As he did so, pale, unmarked skin was revealed through the parted fabric, a spider web of delicate blue lines branching out before Jaskier’s warm palm. Geralt’s thumb brushed briefly over the veins, Jaskier’s skin as smooth and soft as fresh rose petals under his rough fingers. He was seized suddenly by an overpowering urge to put his mouth there, to breathe in the scent and find Jaskier hidden under all the oils and the smell of crisp linen. Without thinking too much of it, Geralt bent down and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s wrist, just below the swell of his thumb.

Jaskier gasped.

It was like taking a mouthful of Thunderbolt - the world coming sharply into focus, his mind keenly aware of his surroundings. Geralt nearly jumped back, flinching away from the sound. Fuck. Why had he done that? He’d been helping with a fucking sleeve, it hadn’t required his mouth. Jaskier was going to be pissed. He was going to demand that Geralt stay here while he went to the banquet and then he would find someone to bed for the night and he wouldn't try to find Geralt in the morning, and Geralt would have to set back out on the Path alone all because he couldn’t control himself enough to lace up one sleeve -

“Geralt?” Jaskier's voice cracked slightly. The witcher clenched his jaw, wincing.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He couldn’t meet Jaskier’s gaze. “That was… inappropriate. Have fun at the ball.”

“You’re not coming?” Jaskier asked, sounding distressed now. His scent was still free of the sour stench of fear and anger, but Geralt could hear his heart beating faster. “Geralt, look at me. Just - Are you alright?” Hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Geralt was startled enough at the contact that he raised his eyes to meet Jaskier’s.

The bard looked nervous, but there was something else in his face too. Something softer. Geralt swallowed heavily. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” he said. His face tingled with the phantom of a shameful flush.

Jaskeir smoothed his hands gently down Geralt’s arms. A comfort the witcher certainly didn’t deserve. “I don’t mind,” Jaskier said, impossibly. He bit his lip, his tongue darting out to sooth the spot. Geralt couldn’t help but follow the motion even as Jaskier gave him a wry smile. “I wish you’d do it more, if I’m being entirely honest. After all these years, I assumed you weren’t interested.” He took a breath, as if he was about to launch into a very demanding ballad, or perhaps jump from a cliff. “But I very much am. Interested.”

Geralt stared at him for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. Jaskier was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. His infuriating fingers played anxiously over Geralt’s, not quite holding on. Unsure of what else he could reasonably do, Geralt kissed him.

Jaskier’s hands flew away from his own, and Geralt had a singular crystalline moment of panic before he felt them threading through his hair. Jaskier twisted closer, throwing himself into the kiss with little of the finesse he was so renowned for. It was too hard and too fast, but Geralt drank it anyway, inviting Jaskier in with his tongue and trying to convince him to stay. His fingers tangled in the loose ties of the shirt sleeve, and he could feel Jaskier’s pulse against them. It was almost more intimate than the kiss itself. Jaskier’s heart beat quick and steady under his hand, a rapid tempo just for him.

Finally Geralt pulled away, breathing hard as he pressed his forehead to the bard’s. “This is a fucking terrible idea,” he said.

Jaskier jerked back a bit to glare at him. “How so? Counterpoint: I think it’s a singularly marvelous idea, actually.”

Geralt shifted slightly, uncomfortable. “I can’t… I don’t want to ruin this. You. What we have.”

“We could have more,” Jaskier said, uncharacteristically fragile. Geralt wanted so badly not to break him. “Anything. If you just want a fuck, that’s fine. We can do that. If you want more than that, I… That’s okay too. Or not. Whatever it is, whatever you want.” His fingers smoothed down the back of Geralt’s hair, just at the base of his skull. A caress, as soft as if he were playing his favorite instrument. Maybe he was.

“I’m going to want you,” Geralt said, like a warning. “Longer than you want me.”

Jaskier looked indignant. It was one of Geralt’s favorite expressions, when it wasn’t directed at him. Maybe even then. “I doubt that very much,” Jaskier bit out. The fingers in Geralt’s hair tightened, and the witcher let out a shaky breath. “I have loved you for almost my entire adult life. I doubt I’m going to stop anytime soon.” Jaskier still looked nervous, but there was more anticipation in it than before. Something closer to hope. “So I’ll say it again: Whatever you want. What do you want, Geralt?”

“You,” Geralt said, leaning in again. He pressed the words against Jaskier’s lips. “Always you.”

“Then you have me,” Jaskier said, and he did.

#my work #my fics #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fan fiction #fan fic #witcher fanfiction #valdomarx

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apriorisea · 4 years

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What do you think each of the boys top “love languages” are? (Acts of service, words of affirmation, etc)? You write so well, love ur blog 💛

-- Hi!! Thank you so much for your sweet words^^ That’s so nice of you. Also, wow, this is such a great question!!! I love thinking about how to categorize personalities, so I really enjoyed pondering this for a while 🤔😅Eventually I just went with what made the most sense to me, but undoubtedly these opinions could change over time. And, of course, these are just *my* thoughts, so I’d really love to hear from everyone whether they agree or disagree and why~ Thanks again and I hope you are having a great day/night 💜💕

BANGTAN LOVE LANGUAGES

Seokjin: Quality Time -I think you could make a strong argument that he is also “words of affirmation,” especially given how much he courts praise (worldwide handsome, my handsome face, yes I’m handsome, etc etc), but.....I would also say that exact reason is why it’s not his love language. I think his personality is such that if it were his true love language, he wouldn’t be so bold about asking for it or encouraging it. So....for me, the thing that really makes sense for Mr. Worldwide Handsome himself is quality time. Of the 7 of them, Jin had the most opportunity to experience a “normal life.” He was already a college student by the time he was recruited, so I have always felt that, for him, the magnitude of their fame and the ways it changed his life has been a little bittersweet. No matter how grateful he is for his life and proud of his work and happy to be what he is, I can’t help but feel that he mourns the loss of that normalcy in a deeper way than the others. Therefore, I think it truly means the most to him when he is able to spend free, unbothered, private, and significant time with people he cares about. The ability to set down the title of “BTS’ Jin” for just a moment and be relaxed in company where he feels completely comfortable and cared for and normal is a dream situation for him.

Yoongi: Physical Touch -So Yoongi is, in my opinion, the most empathetic member of the group---the one who is always silently watching, listening, observing, and then handling whatever comes up. He is painfully aware of the needs of every person around him and doesn’t hesitate to step up and fill those needs where he can, and if he can’t do it alone, he helps the person find the solution elsewhere. Because of this, I think he’s very well versed in giving love in the form of words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time, and even occasionally giving gifts. However, I think the way he craves affection is through physical touch. Words of affirmation is a close second to me, but I think, genuinely, when he is as in-tune to the emotions and needs of others sometimes he just needs someone to hold his hand. I also think that, for him, physical touch and quality time kind of come hand-in-hand (no pun intended): his idea of being loved is sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with someone who loves him for a long period of time. Someone who will cuddle him and hold his hand and hug him when he’s tired and stressed, when he can’t sleep at night, when he is too overwhelmed to even work. Being in a loving, comfortable environment to him means being in one where puppy-piles on the couch aren’t unheard of, where it’s not strange to bustle around the kitchen bumping into each other, and where a touch on the arm is as commonplace as a smile.

Hoseok: Acts of Service -J-Hope is the toughest one for me, for reasons that I can’t quite explain. I think he plays such an important role in the group that has so many nuances I can’t really pin any one love language on him---except, for some reason, the one that sticks out the most to me is acts of service. For someone who has, by his own admission, worked very hard to cultivate and embody a particular persona (one that is happy and carefree and positive), I can see him being really moved by having someone quietly do things for him that make his life easier. Making him a meal after a hard rehearsal, unpacking his things for him after a long tour, doing the dishes or taking out the trash so he doesn’t have to worry about it, etc etc. Doing the hard or tedious or daunting things for him so he has a chance to just relax, to put down the persona for just a moment and be babied a little.

Namjoon: Words of Affirmation -Words mean the most to Namjoon. He has intentionally surrounded himself with words his whole life: lyrics, languages, poetry, literature. He probably also enjoys an act of service or an odd hour or two doing something Namjoony (museums, nature, etc) with someone he loves, but I think, when it comes right down to it, Namjoon communicates most and best with words. However, while others need words to praise them or acknowledge them, sometimes I think Namjoon simply craves conversation that stimulates his incredibly high level of intelligence. Sometimes, he just needs someone with whom he can discuss his deepest thoughts, opinions, philosophies, ideas, fears---and who will then affirm everything he has said; not necessarily agree, but just affirm that his thoughts are valid and interesting and provoking, to vibe with him on a similar level. Also, I think he really appreciates being told that his music, his actions, his life has had a positive impact on others. And, of course, I think he, who was mocked early on for his appearance, really thrills at being complimented for things beyond just his intellect and talent.

Jimin: Receiving Gifts -I know, I know: the cuddle monster of BTS is surely a “physical touch” person, right?? And if not that, then certainly the highly self-critical, sensitive, classically trained performer would surely crave “words of affirmation” the most, right?? ..........I won’t actually argue much against either of those, because I think Jimin, more than the rest of them, could probably easily fall into multiple categories. Does he love cuddling/hugging/physical closeness? Absolutely. Does he adore receiving praise or affirmation? Definitely. But here’s what I think about Jimin: he is one of the most empathetic people in the group. He’s caring, he’s observant---he’s completely willing to do whatever it takes to make the people around him KNOW they are loved. He’s intuitive and highly aware of the needs of others and acts on that intuition in a pretty selfless way. Because of this, I think it means a LOT to him when someone takes the time to buy or acquire something that he either needs or wants. It’s a sign that someone else has been listening or watching him as closely as he listens to and watches others. I think he is the sort of person who appreciates gifts (especially random ones) because it shows that the other person saw something that reminded them of him, totally at random or totally unprompted. (but yes, also physical touch and words of affirmation)

Taehyung: Words of Affirmation -Honestly, he is the only one I feel most certain about. Taehyung needs to be told that he is doing well; more than that, he needs to be listened to. Some could argue that being listened to is more “quality time” (and I wouldn’t necessarily disagree) but I feel like hearing the right words and being able to comfortably say the right words to someone who is paying close attention are extremely similar. Taehyung seems to live off the praise of those who mean the most to him. Whenever he learns a new skill (painting, composing, ‘playing’ the violin) he wants to show the world: he wants to be told he has done well. He also very much dislikes being ignored or forgotten or spoken over---all very normal things to be irritated about, but they really seem to dig at him. I could get into a whole discourse about why I think this is (his position in the group, his history within the group, his particular personality etc etc), but for now I’ll just leave it with this: Taehyung is the sort of person who loves to cuddle, loves to receive thoughtful gifts, and enjoys spending time with those he loves---but what he needs most is to hear good things about himself and his accomplishments, to be reassured, to be recognized, and to be heard.

Jungkook: Quality Time -Here’s my thinking: as the baby of the group, as the precious maknae that was raised by these 6 other men, Jungkook received (and still receives and will continue to receive) all the physical touch (cuddling, hugs, hand-holding, playing with his hair, etc etc) and words of affirmation ( “golden maknae”, he’s the coolest, everything he does is great, so handsome, talented, etc etc) a person could ever possibly want. He’s literally never lacked those things; he has ALWAYS had at least 6 other people to snuggle him and praise him (nevermind the millions of ARMY that would kill to do the same 😂). At the opposite end of the same stick, since he is the youngest I don’t think receiving gifts is anything new or special to him; plus he seems very much the sort of person who RELISHES his ability to provide for himself (see: his fancy car, apartment, etc). He’s also been raised in an environment where things are done for him as a matter of course, so acts of service doesn’t seem to fit either. Therefore, I think one thing that means the most to him is quality time. Actually, quite similar to his hyung-nim and best buddy Jin, I think he also genuinely craves any opportunity to spend quiet, private, meaningful time with those he cares about (although for an opposite reason: Jin aches for a life he used to have, Jungkook yearns for a life he never had a chance to experience). This is also why I think he’s always very vocal about how much he loves and misses ARMY: the time spent at concerts/performances is quality time to him, an opportunity to spend time with some of the people he loves the most.

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