#forty quinn imagine

[snowvies]

Mr. Badgley

Penn Badgley x Fem!Reader

summary: you can't stop thinking about your married piano teacher, Mr. Badgley. and one day he slides under the instrument to show you how much he's been thinking about you too.

wc: 1k

cw: age gap (reader 19, Penn late thirties), cheating, piano teacher x student, pussy eating, fingering, female masturbation

Sundays are your favorite days, especially ones like this when the clouds hang low with a murky swirl in the sky. You're nineteen, and college is kicking your ass but you promised yourself you wouldn't think about the papers due when you're here, at Mr. Badgley's house.

You found his ad on craigslist, piano lessons..fifty bucks an hour you would've scrolled past it until you saw him, and his family. You felt safer in a random man's house when his wife and newborn baby were in the same room with you. So you started going there, ever since your freshman year.

Your raggedy car rolllsss to stop and you get out to see the lonely house, picked apart to be perfect, not a single thing out of place... except yourself.

His wife answers the door a few minutes after knocking, the cold biting your bare legs as you run in for warmth, completely missing her scowl at your lack of kicking the mat with your dirty boots.

Mr. Badgley offers you a warm smile, hair combed perfectly, sweater ironed and pants straight like every weekend. His eyes always look a little empty when you come. His wife jingles her keys around her finger as she readjusts the baby on her hip

"I'm going out, be done when I'm home" the same line. Every week. You smile her way but she doesn't pay mind to it, leaving you and her husband to play. you turn to Mr. Badgley but he's already walking to the connecting living room of the tiny house, sitting on the worn bench as he slides the fallboard up.

You sit next to him as he wears an excited smile, when he's like this, playing with you, it doesn't seem orchestrated by his wife. Every move he makes is analyzed by her, except this. The only reason he's allowed to do this is because they needed the extra money.

"Let's start where we left off last week, yes?" he asked and you nodded, you inhaled the mixture of musk and old books that surrounded the pianist as he began the background cords. his eyes are on you, they shine as his spine relaxes into the music and you begin your part. fingers dancing over keys as you try to remember the pattern

Your eyes squeezed shut once you messed the keys up. He smiles softly and lets a laugh out of his nose at your reaction

"Like this," his larger palm rests on top of yours as he guides your fingers, you nod and try again.

Soon enough an hour passes and you both rise from the bench and you dig into your purse for the fifty bucks you crumpled into it this morning, but, warm hands slide on top of your shoulder and the older man shakes his head.

"No need" he grins and tries to send you off but you insist, grabbing the money but he pushes you out the door.

"I will not have you pay for something that I enjoy just as much, Y/n, have a lovely week" The door softly shuts and you're left stunned.

.

You roll around your dorm bed, restless as the man's words keep ringing in your head. Why didn't he let you pay?

Maybe you're being dramatic. But it isn't like the Badgleys are set either.

You shut your eyes in a huff, suffocating yourself in the pillow under you as you replay the keys in an attempt to lull you asleep

But it isn't just the keys you're thinking about...

It's how his hand guided yours, it's how he looked at you when it was your part to play, it's his scent, it's his being. It's driving you mad.

You arch your back slowly, fingers sliding down your body until you get to your aching core. slick-filled fingers rubbing yourself at the thought of your teacher's hands touching you, grabbing you, loving you.

You moan into the pillow, legs shaking as you cream around your fingers, the thought of him drives you wild.

So just how will you act the next time you see him?

.

Before you know it, it's Sunday and you're back at the Badgleys, with his wife announcing her departure and the formal greetings of you and your teacher, you're back at that bench, side by side.

He starts the cords, and you follow trying to calm your shaking legs as you think about what fueled you that night. You couldn't even look him in the eyes this session.

His hand softly squeezes your bare thigh and you look back at the man.

"You're completely off" he informs you and you don't think your face could get redder.

"I-I'm so sorry...let's try again" you panic but his thumb rubs loving circles on your flesh.

"You usually think the world ends when you mess up, but you kept playing this time, you're mind is somewhere else Ms. Y/n."

"Sorry Mr. Badgley" you murmur

"Talk to me, get it off your chest so we can get back to playing" he smiles and you nod slowly

"...Why didn't you let me pay last time?" you ask, he stops for a moment as the hand on your thigh now rests on his face as he thinks for a moment.

"I just feel like, something so pleasurable shouldn't be bought," he says above a whisper and you feel your entire face glow, and he must have noticed with how he laughs.

"Not those pleasures, Ms. Y/n" he smiles and you don't think you've ever been so embarrassed. But when his laughter stops, his eyes swirl softly into something darker, in that moment you feel exposed to every thought as he eyes you.

He stands, hands finding your shoulders

"Keep playing"

You take a shaky breath as your thighs begin to shake once more, fingers finding the keys as you start the song

"Good," he whispers, his scents overwhelming you now as you feel almost dizzy while playing, you barely notice how he slips under the piano.

"Mr. Badgley, what are you doing?" you gasp as his dark brown eyes gaze up at you

"Keep.playing" he says sternly, and with a swallow, you keep going

He kisses your knees and you feel yourself sticking to your panties as he spreads them apart.

He has a wife. He has a kid. What are you doing?

"You're doing great" he huffs, kissing your thighs, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as his fingers dance up to your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, your wetness sticking to the fabric before they are lost in his pockets

Your bare pussy is in front of your teacher's face as he rubs up and down your thighs taking a shaky breath in

You slam the keys as his tongue licks up your pussy, he moans into you before forcing you to scoot closer into his face, his hands wrapping around your ass as he slurps and moans at your cunt.

"Mr.- fuck" you cry, hands climbing to try and stop your moans as your hips buck up to hump his face

"You taste so so good" he groans, making out with your pussy as he sucks at your clit just to tongue fuck your hole

Hot tears flow down your face as he stares up at you, watching you come undone for him.

You shake around him, orgasm approaching closer with every lick, he sucks on your slit before adding a long finger to your hole. You throw your head back as he fingers you, flicking his tongue relentlessly as his finger curls inside you.

You feel him whine and moan against your pussy, and when you look down you see him gripping and grabbing at his hard-on as he eats you out. You cry as that sends you over and you cum around his finger

You're panting as he curls his fingers a few more times before shoving it into his mouth and licking you clean, you're shaking and wide-eyed as hair sticks to your face and he crawls out from under the piano

Right, weren't you two supposed to be playing right now? Isn't his wife about to be home and he's sucking his fingers because they still taste like you?

He helps you off the bench and you stare into the stained cushion but he turns your chin to him before kissing you deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue before breaking it off with a simple

"My wife is on her way...see you in our next session Ms. Y/n"

And you can't wait for next Sunday.

an: lmk how obvious it is idk anything about pianos. This is based on a dream I had last night 😵‍💫🖤 I hope you liked it <333

[theharddeck]

do you wanna make somethin' of it (Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!reader)

pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: turns out, our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn's favorite cowboy.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: audio porn, a truly unhinged amount of dirty talk, overuse of pet names, bob's raging size kink, overstimulation via vibrators (and otherwise), unprotected PiV sex, an unrealistic number of orgasms, some dumbification, as can be expected.

A/N: this is way late bc i had to make sure the people who reblogged the moodboard were legal, thanks everyone for the patience and support! esp thank you @hangmanssunnies for being so encouraging, @sometimesanalice for being a gem and betaing thank you @laracrofted for coming up with bob's (ahem) inspirational reveal, and thank you everyone else for letting me be feral. there were a couple people who reblogged the moodboard but I couldn't tag them, so for the record, if you ask to be tagged, pls do make sure you're taggable AND ALSO THAT YOU HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO I AM NOT KIDDING. the title is from Jo Dee Messina's 90s country bop, "Do You Wanna Make Something Of It" -- okay enjoy!

You paused, halfway into your flight suit, looking down at your phone. 

It was probably a bad idea to open an audio erotica app forty minutes before you had to be in the debriefing room with the rest of the aviators in your unit. 

But. 

You were ovulating, your vibrator was charged, and you’d just gotten a notification that BullRiderRhett had posted a new audio.

Before you knew it, you were grabbing your headphones and folding your flight suit by the door, leaving your tank top and sports bra on, but shimmying out of your panties. You set an alarm on your phone, connected your headphones and opened the app. 

Quickie During the Rodeo

After my ride, I don’t have much time before they call up the winners…but you look so damn good in that sundress. We have to be quick, though. [M4F] [Short Audio] [Established Relationship] [In Public] [Strong Language] [Moaning] [SFX]

Yeah, you thought to yourself, that’d do. 

You slid into bed, pulling a muting blanket over the lower half of your body as you settled into your bed and clicked play. 

Immediately, the sounds of a rodeo pushed through your headphones. 

You heard the shuffle of hundreds of feet, a rowdy crowd cheering, and distant country music over a speaker. You could almost imagine the dusty air, the smell of fresh hay and sweat, and the clamor of barrel racing in another arena. 

There was a steady clanking of spurs as a pair of boots walked towards you. 

“There y’are,” a low voice said, the perfect combination of fond and gravelly. You heard a shuffle of fabric, and a soft inhale, like the cowboy was wrapping you in his arms. Your eyes fell closed so you could immerse yourself in the fantasy. 

“How’s my girl doin’?” he asked, his voice muffled like he had buried his head in your shoulder.

You never responded verbally to these things; it broke the illusion to speak to an empty room, but you liked that Rhett paused, as if waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, well, I always ride better when I know you’re in the stands, cheerin’ for me,” he said. He had such a fantastic voice, low and soft, with this drawl that was so unpretentious and alluring. His canvas jacket rustled like he was hugging you tighter. 

“Just let me hold you for a sec, yeah?” he asked, as the ambient sounds of the rodeo seeped back in. You found yourself just listening for the sound of Rhett’s breathing over it, a slow and steady rhythm that was deeply centering. 

You heard when his breath caught, followed by a shuffling sound and a choked gasp from the cowboy.  

“Whoa, whoa,” Rhett’s voice was warm with surprise and delight. “Cut that out, darlin’, we can’t, they’re gonna call me back–”

His voice broke off on a low moan that had you biting your lip. 

Why did guys in real life never moan? 

It was such a pretty sound, deep and masculine, and full of desire. It was one of your favorite things about Rhett. Your hand slipped under the blanket, rubbing over your pussy gently, getting yourself used to the pressure. 

“Darlin’,” Rhett’s voice had gotten deeper, like a warning. “Ya can’t tease me like that, ‘s not kind.”

Your hips shifted at that voice, and Rhett laughed, low. 

“Y’just can’t help yourself, can you, sweet girl?”

It was your favorite pet name he used, just the way he said it. You were obsessed with the gravel in his voice, the melodic twang coupled with a gentleness that belied all his ruggedness. It was like he was being quiet to make sure no one overheard him, like his words were for your ears only. 

His spurs clinked as the noise of the rodeo faded, as though he was leading you somewhere away from prying eyes. A second later, there was a gentle, wet sound, like he was kissing you. 

How would he taste, you wondered. Would his lips be soft? Or would they be chapped? Would he be ravenous, turned on from the adrenaline of the ride, or would he be slow, savoring your taste? 

You turned on your vibrator, on a low and warming setting. You traced it lightly over your pussy,  acclimatizing, as Rhett’s voice and the soft vibrations sent a heat under your skin. 

Rhett’s breathing was heavy, like being near you made him breathless.

“Shameless,” Rhett chided, amused and fond. “I know I can’t stop you, but I’m not about to let anyone see ya like this. You’re mine.” 

Your hips canted up into the vibrator, spurred on by the idea of being his. 

“Oh, you like that, huh, sweet girl?” Rhett practically purred, his voice like a caress, “You like being mine?”

Rhett’s words washing over you, and vibrator’s motions met less resistance as you felt yourself growing wet.

“What if I…” he asked, and you heard fabric shuffling, like he was reaching down and under your dress. “Fuck, darlin’, are you wet for me already?” 

You pressed your lips together to trap in a whimper. 

You knew it was formulaic, but that didn’t make you less turned on. In this fantasy, you were Rhett’s girlfriend, you were already wet for him, you were needy enough to risk being caught to have his dick inside of you. 

“Ya sure about this?” Rhett asked, and you could hear the intensity in his voice. Like he needed you too, just as desperately. “Yeah? Yeah, me too…fuck—yeah, feel me through my jeans. Feel how hard I am for you.”

You turned the vibrator up, imagining the rough texture of denim against your pussy. How hard Rhett would be, how good it would feel to rock up against the dirty fabric. Probably not the most hygienic, but he’d be so hot, even through his jeans, impossibly tempting.

“Go on, take me out,” Rhett directed, his voice a low whisper. 

He moaned in your ear as a belt buckle came undone, and your head fell back as you circled the vibrator over your clit. God, he sounded so good, he sounded unraveled. You imagined the weight of him in your hand, and you shifted your hips, wishing you could feel the heat of him. 

“Shit, okay. We hafta be quick,” Rhett panted. “I know, I know, turn around for me, darlin’. Brace yourself against the wall here…Christ, you look so good like this…ya ready for me?” 

You couldn’t help yourself; you slid a hand down your body, changing the angle of the vibrator so you could run a finger through your folds. 

Rhett held his breath, like it was too good, too much, and you waited.

Then came his strangled, relieved exhale, and you pushed a finger into yourself as you imagined him sliding into you. 

“That’s right, sweet girl,” Rhett praised, his voice breathless, awed. “Let me into that tight pussy, nice and easy...”

Your mouth fell open as you imagined him filling you. 

Would he be thick? Long? Maybe a slight curve to his cock? Cut or uncut? You licked your lips, your mind spinning with possibilities, your fingers a paltry imitation of the thing you wanted so badly. 

“Ah, that’s it, that’s it,” Rhett murmured, and you couldn’t help but add another finger. “Such a good girl, for me, aren’t ya?”

You wanted to be his good girl. 

Rhett was breathing hard, and the rhythm of it was perfect. You circled around your clit with the vibrator, and you were panting now too, your hips canting up as you fucked yourself on your fingers. You could imagine him driving into you, his hips thrusting his cock into you. It would be thick, you decided, broad and heavy. 

“Ah, you’re taking me so well,” Rhett grunted. “You were made to take this fat cock, weren’t you?” 

His breaths were coming faster, and you could hear him slamming his hips into yours. You could imagine his balls swinging, could imagine him driving into you to reach that spot your fingers just couldn’t brush against. 

“This pussy feels so good, darlin’,” Rhett whispered, “the way you’re clenchin’ around me…”

Your thighs fell farther apart as you tried to time your fingers’ thrusts to his cadence. He was grunting after each thrust, this beautiful soft sound of exertion and pleasure.

A faint cheer rose above the sounds of your panting; another event had concluded. 

“Shit, we hafta hurry, they’re gonna–” Rhett broke off, his hips snapping faster. “C’mere, let me play with that clit, let me feel you–fuck yeah, clench around me, just like that.” 

You turned the vibrator up, your fingers faltering inside of you at the increased vibration and his words. Rhett’s grunts were getting higher pitched, a delicate thread of need seeping into them and you were going to lose your mind; it was perfect. 

“Ah, such a good girl,” Rhett groaned. “God, I don’t deserve you, ya feel so good…are you close, darlin? Tell me you’re close, I need to feel you cumming on my cock, will ya do that for me?”

You were bucking into your hand, chasing a release that had come on so fast, so strong and you were so damn close, you just needed–

“There ya go,” Rhett breathed, his voice tight. “You feel–oh, sweet girl, don’t stop clenching me like that. Oh, you’re gonna make me cum with that tight pussy, fuck, are you gonna come with me, darlin’? Please come with me, please…”

You pumped your fingers in time with his pleas, Rhett’s voice growing hoarse as his hips sped up. You were so close, he sounded so good, you were almost there. 

“Feels so good…Ah, I’m coming, I’m there– ah, shit,” Rhett moaned, his voice choking, and you orgasmed along with him, collapsing back into the pillow. 

Your legs shook and you jerked the vibrator away from your sensitive clit, stroking gently over your pussy with your other hand and easing yourself down.Your body felt like it was humming and you turned the vibrator off, sated and pleasure drunk.  

Something about Rhett always had you timing it perfectly, feeling so in sync and so primed, and when he came, it was like your permission to. 

Rhett was groaning softly in your ear. 

“So beautiful, darlin’,” he whispered. “God, I’m so lucky, look at you…so damn beautiful…”

The audio would fade out in another few minutes and you fumbled for your phone to turn it off, and turn off the just-in-case alarm that you’d set. 

There was a bittersweet moment with audio erotica that didn’t exist in traditional porn– aftercare. Instead of just ending a scene, most creators seemed to enjoy winding down with their listeners, saying soft things, silly things, fond things. It straddled the line between soothing and demoralizing, and you couldn’t say you loved the contrast between the care in Rhett’s voice and the emptiness around you. 

An emptiness that was interrupted by a loud pounding on your door. 

“Hey, I can see your light under the door,” Bradley called from the hallway, “you better not still be asleep! If we’re late to Mav’s briefing you know he’s gonna have us doing laps around the tarmac.”

You stuck your tongue out at the ceiling on principle, grateful for the quiet of your vibrator and the distance between the door and your bed.

“Calm your tits, Rooster,” you yelled back, “I’m practically ready.”

“Damn better be,” you heard Bradley say, loud enough to be heard, soft enough to know he wasn’t actually pressed.

You gave yourself another ten seconds to revel in that perfect orgasm, and then swung your legs over the side of the bed. You cleaned yourself off quickly, dressed even quicker, and were out the door in no time. 

Some might even say, with a pep in your step. 

“Told you,” you muttered as you walked by Bradley’s row in the debriefing room, on time, and he huffed. 

You settled into your normal seat, waving good morning to Callie and lifting your chin at Mickey, who grinned back at you. Bob was in the seat next to yours, as you’d all agreed early on that WSOs had to stick together, and you bumped his shoulder with yours as you sat. 

The sweet man smiled, a hidden thing, and looked away quickly. 

Sometimes, you felt like you knew there was more to him than he let on. 

You’d seen him in action, seen him make split-second decisions that kept him and Phoenix in the air. You’d seen him crank out 200 pushups with Jake and Javy like it was nothing. But at the same time, he never seemed to hold your eye for longer than strictly necessary, seeming more comfortable to address the floor (unless someone pushed too hard, and he’d snap something so sassy it’d make you bite the inside of your mouth to keep from laughing). 

When you’d first met him, you’d thought he was cute, in an Old Hollywood leading man kind of way, soft muscles and deep eyes.

You’d wondered if maybe you made him nervous. You’d thought maybe there was interest in those ocean blue eyes, but time went on, and he remained sweet and polite and kind. He was the same to you as he was with everyone else, and you were led to the reality that he was just an incredibly decent person. 

Crushes came and went like water, especially in a group as gorgeous as the one you flew with, so you let him have his secrets. 

The lights clicked off as Maverick strode to the front of the room, already talking and clicking his way through some kind of demonstration. 

The hours in the room flew by.

By the time he finished, your head was spinning with a blur of parameters and calculations and mission expectations. You knew pilots felt the same way about your job as you did about theirs, but you were always grateful that at the end of briefings you only had to worry about systems and odds, not about flying a plane. As you were dismissed, everyone crowded to the center aisle, trying to get out and to the hangar as quickly as possible. Someone sneezed, or someone pushed someone; Harvard dropped his coffee.

It wasn’t full, and you were all in flight suits anyways, but you still startled when it fell, splashing over the row you were sitting in. Black coffee flew over seats and notebooks (thankfully no phones), and someone laughed as Harvard’s attempts to catch it just served to further empty the cup. Bob took the worst of it, on the end of your row.

"Ah, shit," Bob muttered, and you froze. 

It wasn't that Harvard's spilled coffee had ruined Bob's notes, and yours too. 

It wasn't that everyone in the briefing room was looking back at your row in surprise. 

It wasn't even that Bob had sworn, even though you'd never heard anything harsher than "gosh" from the WSO's lips. 

It was that that cuss, in that voice, in that same mumbled tone, had pushed you to orgasm four hours ago. 

“Alright, it’s just coffee,” Maverick called over the clamor. “We’re burning daylight, people, come on.” 

Harvard was apologizing profusely, someone was passing paper towels out, but you felt completely out of your body, in shock. 

Bob was BullRiderRhett.

The WSO who asked for ginger ale when everyone else did shots at the Hard Deck, who cleaned his glasses when he got nervous, who stayed up all night to help Payback’s kid put together a Lego Statue of Liberty last time he was in town …was the guy who had talked you through the last few months of orgasms. 

(Yes, you had an annual subscription).

(Yes, you deserved it). 

When you let yourself back into your room at the end of the night, it still felt surreal. 

In retrospect, you should’ve been a million times more dialed in– you’d had a $73 million machine under your hands, and the only thing on your mind all day had been this revelation.

How had you never noticed before?? 

Now that you were thinking of it, Bob did have that slight accent when he was tired, or when he was mad enough at something stupid Jake said…but what were you even supposed to do with this knowledge?

You moved through your skincare much the same way you’d moved through most of the day – on autopilot. 

A knock on your door startled you. 

“Now’s not the time, Bradshaw,” you called, automatically. 

“Uh,” called a too-familiar voice, “not Bradshaw.”

You winced at your reflection in the mirror, trying desperately to decide if you recognized Bob’s voice from countless drills or from your Favorites list. You crossed your arms across your chest, your sweatshirt dragging against the hem of your pajama shorts as you slouched over to the door. 

“Robert,” you announced, as you opened it, mentally smacking your palm against your forehead. You had literally never called him Robert; what was wrong with you??

Could’ve been worse, you mused. 

You could’ve said ‘Rhett’.

“Hey,” he said, and if he was thrown by the use of his full name, he didn’t show it. 

He looked the same. 

The same, but in the way that had made you catch your breath when you first met him, when you were relieved that he was so unassuming and kind, because if he’d been any kind of authoritative, it would’ve debilitated you. 

Tonight, he’d clearly showered after drills. 

His hair was freshly combed and still damp, darker than normal. A tendril fell in front of his glasses, leaving a small line of fog against the outer corner of one of the lenses. He was in a plain white tshirt and light sweatpants, and you made yourself stop from looking further because you were not about to objectify your friend just because you now knew that he could dirty talk with the best of them. 

And now you were thinking about that.

“Are you mad at me?” Bob asked, and it snapped you out of your spiral. 

He was frowning at the sill, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his chest tight. There was a purse in between his eyebrows, and you really could not understand him, because how could a man who was objectively gorgeous, subjectively sweet, be this adorable? He looked up and the moment your eyes met, you looked away. 

“No,” you said quickly, clearing your throat. “Of course not. Obviously.”

“I mean, not obviously,” Bob said, rubbing a sneaker against the carpet in the hallway. “You practically sprinted out of the briefing this morning, refused to speak to me over comms during drills, and you won’t look at me for more than two seconds, and that’s normally someone else’s line to me.”

It was a weak joke, but it was funny, and you could hear in his voice that he was trying to set you at ease, and that really only made you feel worse. 

So you stepped aside and held open the door, not really trusting yourself to say anything else. Bob looked nervous, and you wanted to tell him it was you, not him, but instead you waited in silence as he stepped into the room. 

You only had the light over the sink on, and the room was in soft shadows, but you thought it might be more weird if you turned on a light, like you were calling attention to it. You shut the door and Navy rooms didn’t really come with guest furniture, so you gestured to the foot of your bed, while you paced. 

“This is going to be awkward,” you warned him, glancing in his direction, and wishing you hadn’t. 

He was sitting on the foot of your bed, as directed, legs spread slightly and his elbows resting on his knees. You could see the muscles of his shoulders through the tshirt, and his eyes seemed especially bright, in the dim light from the room. 

“Okay,” Bob said easily, and you appreciated that he wasn’t rushing you. Maybe he was starting to understand that this was something you were working through, rather than something he had done.

You switched directions, walking the length of the room, and then the length again. 

You had to say it.

You’d just have to say it, and that would explain it, and then it would be out, and then you could figure out how to move forward. Bob was a problem solver, like you, and you were both smart enough to figure this out. You were also both adults. You could just say it. 

You stopped in front of him, and Bob sat up a little straighter, like he wanted to be sure he was being respectful to the weight of whatever you were saying. God, he was such a good person, why did you have to be such a creep. 

“Iknowaboutbullriderrhett,” you said in a rush, clasping your hands in front of you. The words seemed to echo around the room and you stared at Bob, waiting for him to react. 

He didn’t, not really.

He nodded, slowly, and you watched him process the day through the lens of your revelation. 

“So, you’re disappointed it’s me,” he said, like he was clarifying, and you shook your head.

“What?” you asked, confused, and Bob shrugged.

“Like if you were expecting a ranch hand from Wyoming, I get it, it’s weird that it’s just me.”

You blinked. “That…that’s beside the point; I feel guilty, like this is a weird invasion of privacy, and isn’t that what you should be asking, anyways, is if I’m going to tell anybody? I won’t, but–”

Bob shook his head, his expression still pretty guarded. “Whose opinion do you think matters to me more than yours?”

And how the hell were you supposed to respond to that?

“What?” you managed again. 

Bob looked at you.

It was maybe the longest uninterrupted eye contact you’d ever had, and you weren’t sure if it was because he initiated it, or if something was different. But it made you curious, it made you stop rambling, it made you be still, and let Bob look, because you liked how he was looking at you. 

He smiled, that familiar, bashful, expression, and it calmed you slightly. 

It wasn’t like there was a demon possessing your friend, it wasn’t a dark secret, it was just a part of him that he didn’t bring out at work. His smile reminded you that you knew him, that you trusted him. 

Then his head fell to the side, his eyebrows lowering behind his glasses, his expression turning inquisitive as he said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

It was still Bob. 

But his voice was lower, his voice was softer and you knew that voice, but seeing it fall from petal pink lips was a revelation and you shivered. You pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt down over your palms, hoping you could disguise it, but Bob saw it anyway. 

Of course he did. 

He could calculate projectile trajectories while at supersonic speed; of course he could see when his voice made you shiver. The expression on his face turned smug, and that was new, that was nothing you’d seen before and you were pretty much infatuated with it immediately. 

Objectively, Bob was the best. 

You knew it, everyone knew it. This was maybe the first time you’d seen him look like he knew it, and something like pride blossomed in your chest at the thought that it was because of you. 

“I’m not disappointed,” you said honestly, and Bob smiled fully.

That was how he should always be, you decided, proud of himself, pleased by you. 

He pushed himself off the bed. 

He walked towards you slowly, slow enough that you could tell he was giving you time to back away, or tell him to stop, but you sure as shit weren’t going to do either. 

Instead, your head tilted back as he came to stop in front of you.

“We have two options,” he said, almost conversationally, like you weren’t this close to melting into a puddle at seeing this side of him. “One: I go back to my room; we’ve learned something new today, but we go on like normal. Or–”

“Or,” you chose, not waiting to hear what the second option was. “Whatever ‘or’ is, that’s the one I want.”

It truly didn’t matter; if the choice was him walking out the door or not, you wanted whatever made him stay. 

He huffed an exhale of a laugh, a soft sound that you’d heard a dozen times but it still made your breath catch. You’d grinned fondly when you heard it over comms, after Callie calmly roasted Jake, you’d shivered when you heard it in your headphones, but now that Bob was physically in front of you, you thought this was the best iteration of it. 

“What do you like?” he asked softly, and it felt like a loaded question. 

Like maybe he was asking which audios, or maybe the themes, or if him, in front of you, was enough. The room felt suspended, like someone had paused the film of your life and you could see everything outside of yourself. The heat in Bob’s eyes, the way his fingers, held loose at his side, twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach for you. The way your own breath caught, like you were careful not to break a spell, like you wanted it to never break. 

You kissed him. 

You probably could’ve been more graceful about it, but he was standing just there, and you needed to know, needed to feel him against you. You reached for his arms, your hands grasping above his elbows to pull him down and press yourself closer. 

He was so soft. 

The moment your lips brushed over him, you felt him bending, moving. His glasses bumped into your nose as he adjusted and then his hands were on your waist, spreading over your back and how had you never noticed how big his hands were? They felt huge, and his chest was strong and warm as he pulled you into him. 

You could smell his shampoo, something earthy and sweet, and it was intoxicating how pure it was. He didn’t feel pure. He felt hot, kissing you back with an urgency that stole your breath away. Bob kissed you with certainty, with earnestness, and you were obsessed.

You pulled back, staying in the cradle of his arms, needing to be this close when you answered the question he’d asked. Long lashes fluttered against the tops of his cheeks as you broke the kiss, and Bob pulled in a long breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes, the blue of them was so bright, cutting. You didn’t know how he held it all, his sharpness and softness, gentleness and intention. 

“Can I show you?” you asked. 

He blinked, the motion slow, as he looked between your eyes, trying to focus with you so close. You saw the corner of his mouth turn up in that bashful smile, and his arms around you tightened slightly.

“Show me,” he said, your question but now a command, and your mouth went dry. 

His voice sent a flush of heat over your skin, and whatever he wanted, you’d say yes, for this man who was your friend and your fantasy, and asking you so nicely. 

It amazed you how you didn’t feel nervous. 

This was arguably the most intimate situation you’d found yourself in in a hot minute, but instead of nerves or anxiety, you could only think of how much you wanted Bob to see how much he affected you. From that first moment you’d met him, to the crush you’d packed away, to the voice that haunted your dreams, you wanted him. And you wanted to see how that would affect him. 

You walked over to the sink, grabbing the vibrator from where you’d left it after you cleaned it this morning. Bob walked back over to the bed, taking up his original post at the foot of it, but his eyes never left you. He toed off his sneakers, and you slipped out of your pajama shorts, leaning over to arranging pillows against the headboard. 

You climbed into the bed and rested your back against the pillows, nudging Bob’s thigh with your toes before you bent your knees. He turned himself to face you, his long legs unfolding outside of yours. It was like he was being careful not to touch you, and you liked that this was how it was going to start– just his voice and your pleasure. You hoped once he saw what a tight string was tied between the two, maybe he’d get a little more involved. A part of you wished that you’d deepened the kiss earlier, but it was just as well to have the anticipation of it.  

It was ridiculous that you were already turned on. 

You’d had eight hours to come to terms with the fact that Bob was Rhett, but as he sat across from you, it was like his gaze was scorching you. His bright eyes ran over you hungrily, and you rolled your neck, enjoying being the object of his gaze. 

You’d been bold when you suggested it, but now the silence of the room seemed to stretch. You wondered if you should ask Bob to talk, or if that would be weird. Bob looked at you, his damp hair falling in front of his glasses again, and he brushed it aside absently. 

“Is this where you lay, when you listen to me?” he asked, his eyes tracing over the simple bed, the regulation bedding, the pillows you’d brought in to spruce it up. His voice was low, curious, and now that you were listening for it, you could hear the traces of a drawl, hanging on the edges of it.

You nodded, unable to look away from him, and his nose flared slightly at the confirmation.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, and it washed over you. It was such a simple compliment, but the truth of how he said it, like every fiber of his being meant it, warmed you. 

“God, thinking about you…” he trailed off, “just lying here, looking like this…getting off to my voice…do you touch yourself first? Pet that pussy before you use your toy?”

Your mouth actually fell open hearing Bob Floyd say ‘pussy’ so casually. 

And he said it sitting in your bed, his eyes on you, his voice dropping into a deep drawl and yeah, you were going to do whatever he asked. 

You shifted slightly, a hand falling between your thighs to press over your clothed cunt. You cupped yourself, loving the way Bob’s eyes followed your hand with rapt attention. The kiss, his words, his eyes…you weren’t wet yet, but you could feel your body warming, turning towards Bob. 

“Love that you take your time with your pussy, warm her up, slow. ‘s not a thing you have to rush, not when the building feels so good. And I bet you feel so good, don’t you, so soft and warm…”

It didn’t feel slow, not with how hot Bob’s voice was. How good it felt to have him in the room with you, not just an empty echoing in your ears but physically here. You continued to tease yourself over your panties and you felt when they grew damp, when your arousal slowed your fingers, made the fabric slick.

“Fuck,” Bob breathed, and you whimpered. 

The sound was involuntary, a reaction to seeing sweet, wholesome, Bob swearing over the sight of you. It made you feel regal, and if you had to guess, pulling sounds out of you made him feel the same. At the sound of your whimper, Bob’s eyes dropped to your mouth, and you watched the tip of his tongue push through his lips, as he wet them. 

“Ah, you sound so good, too, I can’t believe–” he broke off, laughing quietly. “Can’t believe I’m jealous of my own damn self. How many times have I made you cum, and I’ve never gotten to see it?”

It was your turn to laugh, not quite willing to reveal how much you listened to BullRiderRhett. 

“That many, huh?” Bob’s voice was smug, and it was such a good sound on him. You ground your wrist over your clit, pressing into the hard bone, craving the friction.

“Take your panties off,” he said, “touch yourself, not the vibrator yet.”

You followed his instruction, pulling up your legs to peel off your panties and resettling. You extended a leg down the bed, pressing inside of Bob’s long leg, as you trailed your hand between your thighs. At the first brush of skin against your sensitive folds, your head tipped back against the headboard. 

It was just your hand, but with Bob here, it felt like it was almost his. It was his bidding at least, and you explored yourself leisurely, dragging your fingers through your wetness.

“Yeah, that’s right, bet you feel so good,” Bob said, his voice so low. “Feel yourself, sweet girl, tell me how it feels.”

You gasped, your hips rising in a pavlovian response to the endearment. It was somehow even more overwhelming when it was Bob who spoke it over you, here, in the flesh. When he could see that your skin prickled, that your breath caught, in response to him. 

“Say it again,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand, and when you looked back at him, the expression on his face was one of adoration and hunger, awe and need. 

“Sweet girl?” he asked gently, but his eyes were so dark. “You like being that for me, don’t you? My sweet, sweet girl.”

You nodded weakly, your fingers suddenly not enough. You rubbed over your clit, trying to stop the truth from spilling out of you as heat fanned out through your body from your touch. 

“Yours,” you corrected weakly, and you scrambled for the vibrator and switched it on, using the intense humming of the toy as an excuse to hide from Bob’s reaction to your admission. 

You felt one of his hands wrap around your ankle, and his long thumb stroked from your heel up to the joint. It was the perfect touch, and just grounding enough to keep you from being overwhelmed by the vibrations. 

“You sound so pretty,” Bob murmured, “those little whimpers you make, fuck.”

Were you whimpering?

You felt like you noticed everything a bit too late, too loud. You realized you were pulling the vibrator over your cunt in a mimicry of the strumming motion Bob’s thumb was tracing on your ankle, and your hips canted up. Pleasure swirled in you, hot and tingling, but you felt something missing. 

“Bob,” you panted, god, how were you already panting, “I need–”

You turned the toy higher and broke off, writhing. 

“Darlin’, love you saying my name like this,” Bob drawled, and it was a proper drawl now, and how he said darlin’ made you feel like you might combust. “Can’t believe I get to see you like this, you look so good…knowing this isn’t your first time working yourself to my voice, makes me so damn jealous.”

You whined, pressing the vibrator more firmly against your skin, your hips starting to grind into it. 

“Tell me,” you asked, your voice reedy, and Bob huffed a laugh, like you didn’t even have to ask. He ran a hand over his thigh, coming to rest at the seat of his sweatpants and you bit your lip as he adjusted himself through the thin fabric. 

“So damn jealous,” he repeated, “thinking how many orgasms I’ve missed. How many times you came when I asked, how those thighs would tremble as you fucked yourself thinking of taking me…fuck, honey, you’ve heard me cum, and I’ve never–”

A moan pushed its way past your lips, as you realized that the groans and grunts and needy noises that you got off to weren’t incorporeal: they belonged to Bob. 

You looked down at the foot of the bed where Bob was watching you greedily. His eyes roamed over your spread legs, the twitches in your thighs, the slackness in your jaw, and you looked at him too. His pale skin was flushed, color in pink splotches high on his cheeks, and his lips were parted. His chest rose and fell as he drew in deep breaths, and when he shifted slightly, you moaned again. 

“Can you touch yourself?” you asked, almost shy, wanting to see him. You felt good, so insanely good, but the thing you’d always loved about the Rhett audios was how much pleasure it sounded like he was getting too. There was something so hot about knowing you were the root of someone else’s desire and pleasure, and you wanted so badly to be that for Bob. 

“You’re gonna have to wait just a little longer, sweet girl,” Bob said, but he ran a hand over the thigh of his sweatpants, adjusting himself again, and your hips bucked up of their own volition. You guessed he was wearing underwear under his sweatpants because you couldn’t see an outline, but the idea of his dick hanging that far down his thigh had your mouth watering. 

“Wanna see you,” you protested, hearing a sound like a pout in your voice and Bob’s hand on your ankle tightened. He looked at you hard, and you knew he was gambling, trying to decide if he wanted to play a card.

“I know, sweet girl,” he said, licking his lips, “but you have to earn my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back and your core clenched at those words. How many times had you heard Rhett tease you with that? But it was different now, because Bob was here. Because he was real, and his cock was real, and however many times you’d wondered about Rhett, your curiosity could be sated in Bob. 

When you lifted your head to look back at Bob, he was slackjawed, watching you writhe. You were practically humping the toy, chasing an orgasm that suddenly felt so much closer. The vibrator felt stronger than normal, or maybe you were more sensitive, but you felt your climax building, and your thighs started shaking. 

“I wanna see you,” you repeated, and it sounded pathetic, but it was true, you did. In a moment, this had switched from getting off in front of your friend to needing your friend’s dick, and you didn’t know how Bob knew it but he did. 

He readjusted his grip on your ankle and before you could react he pulled. 

You slid down the bed, your thighs parting around where he now kneeled; he braced himself over you, and you whined, needing his touch. He kissed you, his mouth wide and plundering, slanting his lips over yours. You moaned into his kiss, so different from the soft gentleness of your first embrace. This was Bob kissing you, and his tongue delved into your mouth and you opened for him. 

“I’m too greedy for that, sweet girl,” he whispered, his lips against yours. “I know if I get between these thighs I’m going to lose myself, and I want to see how much you want it. I wanna be here, fully here, the first time I get to see you cum.” 

He reached down, and you felt his hand trace over yours. You’d nearly dropped the vibrator when he pulled you down the bed, but now Bob tightened your grip, and guided it back to your cunt. You keened as the vibrator pushed between your folds, and Bob followed your lead, wanting to see how you fucked yourself for him. 

It was better with him. 

His strong hand bracketing yours, his other at the back of your neck, holding you steady. His hand was on yours but he brought his face close to yours again, and you drank in the reality that he was here, this close, holding you. His breath was hot against your skin, and his glasses were fogging up from how hard you were breathing. 

“So are you gonna let me see it, darlin’?” he asked against your skin, and that voice, coupled with his touch, nearly had you there. “You gonna come for me, let me see what it looks like when my sweet girl gets off with just my voice and the toy we’re using on her? You’re almost there, honey, I can see it, come for me come on now–”

He sounded so good. 

His voice was perfect and soothing and it felt like a dream but it wasn’t, it was real. He was holding you, feeling you, breathing the same air and working you. You’d never been so aware of your body and how it was tuned towards someone else. You cried out his name as you came, your back arching and your free hand fisting in Bob’s tshirt, reminding yourself he was there, he was there, he was there. 

You felt like you were floating. 

Pleasure coursed through your body and you could feel it pulsing in your fingertips, beating in your heart. You became slowly aware of the room around you. The air felt cold against your sweat-dampened skin, the hum of the refrigerator was the only noise other than your hard breathing. Bob was still over you, and he’d pulled the vibrator away from you, switching it off without really looking, running a soothing hand over your hip. The hand at the back of your neck was firm, holding you tightly so you could feel him. 

“How’re ya doing, sweet girl?” he asked softly, and you felt him press a kiss to your cheek. “Did that feel good?“

You hummed in agreement, words still beyond you. His voice was so gentle, but had a raspy edge, like he was thinking over the last several minutes, holding them in his mind.

“You did such a good job for me,” he murmured, and you turned into his touch.

He was like sunshine, wasn’t he? 

Just warm, and good, and you wanted to bask in him and his light like a dryad. His eyes darted away once he realized you were looking at him, and it made your heart skip a beat, that he could somehow be shy after coaxing you through one of the hottest orgasms of your life. 

You were trying to think of how to say “your turn” in a way that wasn’t corny or cringey, but what you came up with was, “Can we keep going?”

Bob’s eyes snapped back to yours, and the world seemed to pause for a moment, hovering. Waiting, hoping, and Bob’s chin dipped, just slightly, and all was right. 

“Baby,” he said, in the low, perfect, voice, “I’d like nothing more.”

When he kissed you, you were both smiling, somewhat giddy, and any nerves that had gathered during that pause dissipated, as you kissed his smile-thinned lips. 

You shifted slightly, pushing yourself back up the bed and pulling Bob with you. 

He moved easily, his long body spanning over yours, pressing you back into the mattress with the most delicious pressure. His hands were wandering, then, delicate fingers tracing over your sweatshirt, and when he lingered at the hem of it, you pushed him off. You didn’t want to be patient, didn’t want his chivalry, and so you pulled your sweatshirt over your head before you had time to second guess yourself. 

The way Bob looked at you, you wished you’d done it sooner. 

His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip as he stared at your chest and you pushed yourself off the bed by your shoulders, so you could reach behind you and undo your bra. The moment the garment fell off, Bob’s hands were on you, his wide palms cupping your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, humming in the back of your throat as his fingers explored you. You felt the bed shift as he moved, and you gasped when a warm breath ghosted over your bared skin. 

Bob kissed down from your sternum, wet kisses over you, and by the time he reached your nipples, he was practically lapping at your skin. You whimpered as his mouth closed over your nipples, his tongue swirling over you as his hand teased your other breast. When he hummed, you felt it all over, the soft vibration over your skin. 

“Bob,” you gasped, and he moaned. 

“Ya sound so pretty,” he whispered into your skin, “somehow better than I imagined.” 

Your breath caught as his mouth moved to the valley between your breasts, and he laved the same attention to the other. He couldn’t have meant that how it sounded. As incomprehensible that this was happening, it was wilder still to think that he had imagined this, as you had. 

“You thought of me?” you asked, your own voice sounding nearly breathless. 

“Honey,” teeth grazed over your nipple, and Bob chuckled, that beautiful low laugh. “Who do you think I’m talkin’ to when I make those audios?”

His lips closed over you again, but the swirling of his tongue wasn’t enough to distract from the words he’d just uttered. 

He wasn’t done, either. 

“Y’know how many nights I’d wondered about the taste of your skin,” he murmured into it, “or what your tits would feel like in my hands? What sounds you’d make when I kissed you, how soft you’d be, everywhere? If you’d cry, or moan, or laugh when you came, or how you’d say my name…” 

Your hand wound back into his hair and you pulled him back up to your mouth. This kiss was desperate, so much unsaid between the both of you. So much longing, so much wondering and now it was here. You couldn’t explore each other fast enough, and you were clawing at his clothing, trying to feel as much of his skin as possible. Bob was just as eager as you were, pulling off of you to shuck off his tshirt and sweatpants, and you reached for his glasses. 

He blinked at you slowly as you pulled them off of him.

This sweet man. 

He was so focused on you, his eyes so intent even as he struggled to focus, and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. You leaned over to place them carefully on your nightstand, and when you came back to the bed, Bob’s arms settled around you in the most comforting embrace. 

You loved the feeling of his skin. 

He was so soft, pale skin covering deceptively strong muscles, and you were obsessed with the dichotomy. Your hands greedily traversed over his broad shoulders, thick biceps, taut stomach, and when you got to the hem of his boxers, you felt his breath catch as he shifted over you. 

Fuck. 

You’d thought it might’ve been a trick of the light, or a trick of sweatpants, some kind of trick, but under your hand, Bob felt hung. Your fingers rubbed over the bulge in his boxers, and Bob’s head dropped to your shoulders. 

“We don’t have to–” he started, and broke off when your touch reached the end of him. You were just tracing the shape of him, but your breath caught when you felt his fat head, the cleft at his tip, even through the thin fabric. 

“We do,” you said, swallowing quickly, not even trying to hide the way your thoughts were racing, “I really hope you have a condom, Floyd, because we really, really have to.”

He huffed, and then he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pushing himself off you and reaching down to feel around the ground for his sweatpants. You loved that he had a condom on him – not because it meant that he was expecting this, but because it just confirmed for you that Bob was the type to look at birth control as shared responsibility, not just a matter of whether a gal took the pill or felt like risking going without. He fumbled for a moment, and you couldn’t help yourself. 

While he was distracted (admittedly, this was probably a task you could have thought of while he still had his glasses on) you leaned over and traced your tongue over his collarbone. He smelled so good, and you could just taste the salt of his sweat. Bob’s breath grew ragged, and you loved the sound of it, kissing up his neck and finding that tempting spot where you could feel his pulse. You loved how frantic it was, loved the steadiness of him. 

He found the condom.

You shifted back to your elbow, watching with blatant interest as he shoved his boxers down his thighs, tore the wrapper open and rolled the condom onto his dick. 

Holy. Shit. 

He looked like a work of art. 

A beautiful flush had worked its way across his chest and throat, the tendons on his arms and hands stood out in stark contrast, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his cock. He really was that big. 

“What is it?” he asked quietly, and your eyes darted back up to his face to find his brows furrowing slightly, since he couldn’t read your silence or your expression.

You pushed yourself up to kneeling on the edge of the bed, Bob still standing beside it, and reached for him. He stepped into your embrace easily, mollified by the shared warmth between your bodies, as you reassured him with soft kisses wherever you could reach.

“I thought it was a line,” you admitted, somewhat embarrassed at how wantonly you’d just been staring at him. “Just a cliche ‘oh, you want to choke on this big dick’, but…but you’re actually, you know…”

Bob smiled, somehow bashful, as you pitched your voice lower in an approximation of Rhett’s drawl. 

“Is that an offer?” he asked, and oh you liked this side of him– teasing, relaxed, a little cocky. 

And the thought of choking on him…it was a really great fantasy. He’d hurt your jaw something fierce, but you wanted to see if you could draw those breathy whimpers out of him. Figure out what your tongue could do to him, see how much he could take, push him a little further, and make him cum down your throat. 

“Honestly,” you said, and yeah, your throat was dry just from the thought of it, “I really want to try that, sometime.”

At your tone or your words, you couldn’t be sure, Bob’s hips pushed forward slightly. With the height difference of you kneeling and him standing, his cock brushed against your ribs. You were both suddenly so aware of him, his thick cock resting between you, and Bob’s hips pushed forward again. 

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, and his hips slid back, slowly. His hands were on your waist, holding you still as he ground against you. Your mouth fell open at the heavy motion, the promise of it, and the duration of it. 

“You’re so big,” you whispered, another truth that should’ve sounded like a cliche, but instead was just a fact. 

“You’ll fit me,” Bob said, with such confidence and certainty that suddenly you didn’t care if it was in your mouth or between your legs, you needed him in you. 

“Please,” you asked, and Bob groaned, actually groaned, like you asking was the best thing he’d ever heard. His hands were so tight on your waist, like he needed that control and you knew how you wanted him. 

You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips, and then turned back to the bed, your hand sliding up towards the headboard, your ass lifting like an invitation. Bob wasted no time, climbing back over the bed and shifting you so you were lengthwise on the bed again, and then draping his long body over yours. Your head rolled between your shoulders; he felt so good. Warm and strong, and all around you, and then you felt his big hand between your thighs. He opened your thighs gently, and then a thick finger traced between them. 

“So wet,” he murmured, so close to your ear, and you shivered. “You’re gonna feel so good around me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, words failing you in your anticipation. But Bob wasn’t in a rush. His calloused finger teased through your folds, smearing the remnants of your orgasm up over your clit, playing with your cunt, until you were shaking. 

You whimpered, your arms trembling as you braced yourself on the bed. You pushed your hips back into his touch, and you felt Bob’s breath shutter from his chest pressed to your back, but he didn’t move any faster. 

“Don’t rush me, honey,” Bob said, his voice low, and you tried to hold still, you did, but his teasing was too much. 

He alternated between spreading your folds, circling your clit, dipping his finger into you just enough to tease you, then pulling back entirely. You felt like you were aching, desperate for him, needing him. Bob spread you open with one hand, and you felt his thick head at your entrance, seeking. You saw the hand that wasn’t playing with your clit drop down to the bed beside yours as he braced himself, and you pushed your hips back, weakly. 

“Ask me nicely, sweet girl,” he said, his voice so low, and you swear you nearly came on the spot. 

“Please,” you managed, your voice sounding entirely too weak, “please, please, I need to feel you–”

You broke off when he pushed into you. 

A steady, overwhelming pressure as that beautiful, enormous cock pushed into you. Your back arched and you gripped the sheets as he stretched you out, the gentle, even pressure nearly blinding. He was so thick, you felt like you could feel his heartbeat, like you’d been lit on fire, and the only thing you knew you needed was more, more. 

Your head dropped to the sheets, even as your hips worked weakly back into his, welcoming him despite the burn. 

Bob’s hand covered yours, his thick fingers tangling with yours on the bedsheets, and you felt cherished, you felt wrecked, you felt perfect. 

Fuck, he felt so good. 

You were full to the point of overwhelmed, and you realized he’d stopped pushing, was fully seated inside you. You felt so connected, so whole, even though you were heaving like you’d run a marathon. 

Bob‘s nose traced your cheek, his soft lips kissed your jaw as his breath tickled your ear. “Does that feel good, darlin?” he asked. 

You nodded, wordless, it felt like a dream come true. You felt every inch of him in you, every inch of him over you, and it was perfect.  

“So,” Bob whispered, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, “what do you say?”

“Thank you,” you moaned, you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life. “Feels so good, fuck, thank you–”

Bob groaned, and his hips pulled back before he slammed back into you. His thrust would’ve pushed you up the bed, except for his body over yours, holding you steady.  

“Sweet girl, it’s like you don’t want this to last long,” he said, almost angry, and the sound of his voice had your eyes rolling back in your head. He sounded so good, he felt so good, he was so perfect, you were so full… “Like you’re trying to drive me mad with this tight cunt, with those sweet little whimpers, you feel so good, baby.”

You couldn’t do anything. 

You were a molten mess of heat and driving need, your body aching and craving and sated by the thick cock pressing inside of you. Bob was thrusting so deep into you, his fat cock head prodding against a spot you distantly registered wasn’t made up, but might’ve been, for how perfectly he was hitting it. You weren’t aware if you were making sounds or just lying there, all you knew was how fucking good he felt in you, how you needed him to never stop. 

“Feel so full,” you gasped, and Bob pushed into you again.  

“Damn right,” Bob muttered, his voice dark, “full of my dick, like you’re fucking meant to be. Gorgeous girl, bent over, taking my cock like you need it.”

You whimpered, clenching around him. “I do, I do,” you babbled, “need you.”

Bob moaned, and it might’ve been the prettiest sound you’d ever heard. How was he real? How could he be this good, this kind, this fucking hot??

The sounds in the room were dizzying. 

Bob’s hips slapping into your ass, the squelching sounds where you were joined, your gasps and his breathy grunts. It was perfect, and you felt the heat around you condensing in your core. 

He knew, somehow. 

The fingers that had been spreading you for his cock, moved to the top of your cunt, teasing over your clit. Your legs jerked, your mouth dropping open as Bob circled your clit, his fingers tracing over it, gently pinching it and coaxing you higher. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you panted, heat and need rising. 

“Christ, please,” Bob said, his voice so earnest, so dear, as you pushed back into him. “Let me feel it, sweet girl, let me feel this pussy I’ve been dreaming about. Want to feel you milking my cock, so damn good, you can do it, come on…” 

He pumped into you once, twice, and you shattered. Your legs gave out, shaking, and then Bob’s hands were on your waist again, holding you up. You moaned his name, trembling and lost, and he held you, ever steady. He kept working into you, his thick cock pressing into you, like he was the only thing tethering you to this pane, and you felt drunk off of him. 

“There it was, that was beautiful…fuck, you’re so hot, that feels so damn good. You sounded so gorgeous, sweet girl, you did so well…”

You moaned as his words coaxed you back. 

He was still pumping into you, that steady, punishing pace and you were so sensitive but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He felt so strong, so hot, so close to you and you needed it. Needed him. His thick arms cording around you, his strong grip digging into your hips, his fat cock stuffing you, you never wanted it to stop. 

“You’re so good,” you whispered, needing him to know. Not just how he felt, or how he sounded, but who he was. How he was, and how much he meant. 

Bob’s hips stuttered.

You were aching, you were spent, but you tightened your core and clenched around him. 

“Baby,” he groaned, “I’m close you can’t–”

You rolled your hips. 

Bob grunted, and then he was moving, faster than lightning. He swept your hands out, pushing you down by your shoulders into the mattress, his body draping over yours. You turned your head to the side, and like he knew, he was there, kissing you. 

It was sloppy, it was messy, but your lips and tongue tangled together, like you both needed the sweetness of a kiss to balance the savage way Bob’s hips were fucking into you. 

Each press of his hips ground your pussy into the mattress and the pressure was so fucking unreal. You moaned into him, and Bob seemed drunk off the sound, off of you. You were so overstimulated, so out of your body that pleasure was the only thing that made sense. Only the way his hips rubbed your clit into the mattress, only the way his cock was stroking into the deep part of you, only the way he was panting against your lips. 

“You’re everything,” Bob whispered, just a breath away. “So much better, so much – fuck, you feel too good. Will you come for me again, sweet girl? I want to feel it so bad, need another one from you, can you do that for me?”

You shook your head, wrung out, but you felt it building anyways. Fuck, how was that possible? But Bob’s thrusts, the pressure on your clit, the weight of his warm body, the need in his eyes, it was driving you higher. 

And then. 

And then he got close. 

He broke off from the kiss, his thrusts growing almost frantic. Each breath he drew ended on a gasp, a soft whine that reached deep into your gut and set off something primal. He was fucking into you but he was whimpering, and you knew he needed it, needed you, like he said. He moaned, a needy, beautiful sound, and before you could feel his orgasm, yours broke over you. 

You collapsed into the mattress, Bob covering you, and you distantly heard him getting louder as your thighs shook. He sounded so pretty, those sweet moans and the desperate gasps driving you mad. The world was just molten heat, desperate thrusts, echoes of whimpers and you faded into the vacuity of it. 

When you came back, you were on your side. 

You were drenched in sweat, you both were, and a sheet was covering you from the cool room. Bob had taken off the condom, you noticed absently, and had pulled your sheet up over both of you, tucking you into his chest. His arms were warm around you, and when you exhaled, you watched the blond hairs on his forearms blow back and forth.  

“How’re you doing?” Bob asked softly, and you could weep. It was him, so familiar, so gentle, and so much better than any recording, any fantasy, anything. Your arm swung halfheartedly in his direction. 

“You jerk,” you sighed, “you’ve ruined my subscription.” Bob chuckled, the bed shaking with his deep laugh. “Think you can content yourself with the real thing?”

You shifted, turning to face him. In the dim light of the room, he somehow still managed to look like an angel. His soft eyes were unfocused, his mussed hair was snarled from your fingers, and he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

You leaned over to kiss him, Bob’s lips already thinning on a smile. “I think I can manage,” you said.

//

tagging: @withahappyrefrain @cheekymcgrath @mxgyver @lewmagoo @sebsxphia @callsign-fangirl @callsignspark @sometimesanalice @daggerspare-standingby @rhettabbotts @teacupsandtopgun @attapullman @yuckosworld @skteaiy @yanna-banana @briseisgone @gigisimsonmars @milesmillergf @katiedid-3 @hangmandruigandmav @3tabbiesandalab @marchingicenotes7 @callsignmedusa @ryebecca @tgmavericklover @cottagecori @becks-things @sorchathered @mulletmcghee @straightforwardly @high-speed-r @rcmupout @purelyfiction @fairyheart @sunsetsimpsblog @angelbabyyy99 @cremebruleequeen @marvel-djarin @sgt-barnesveins @supernaturaldawning @echo-ethe @sunlitide @alilstressyandlotdepressy @hughesvolpe @aczhang777 @saltsicklover

chances are high i'll do a part 2/followup with both of them recording an 'overheard' audio...let me know! comments and reblogs are the surest way to make that happen 💙

[morverenmaybewrites]

Masterlist of My Works

Morveren | AO3

This is a personal blog, but I do take the occasional ask/requests. SFW asks only, please.

Genshin Impact

Stories:

✸ Someday, Somewhere (Xiao x Reader) (AO3)

You meet Adeptus Xiao under strange new skies.

✸ Speak (Xiao x Reader) (AO3)

Learning to love him is like learning a different language.

✸ Silk Flowers (Xiao x Reader) (Tumblr | AO3)

It was the silk flowers.

In summer time, they are practically given away: to seamstresses, to scribes, or perhaps, woven into the hair of a well-known customer. The token of a bargain well-struck.

Xiao claims not to be bothered by them, that adepti are above petty mortal concerns like jealousy.

Perhaps he is right, and you are reading too much into it.

But perhaps, as you are slowly learning, adepti are closer to humans than they’d like to admit.

You decide to test this theory.

"Xiao, if you hate the flowers so much," you say, smiling. "Why not take them off?"

✸ A Crown of Bone (Zhongli x Reader) (Tumblr | AO3)

Imagine being a changeling child and living your life in quiet yearning.

You had been found in the dead of winter, or so your mother tells you, a half-fey child abandoned in a snowbank.

Imagine a lifetime of secrets: your first memories are of a spring that does not belong to the mortal realm. You dream of golden eyes gleaming at you from the darkness as your mother picked you up and carried you away.

Imagine keeping these things to yourself, tucked away against the curve of your ribs, right next to your slow-beating heart. Secrets that are half-yearning and half-memory: someone had left you there in that snowbank, and there are days that you think that they did not do so willingly.

And you hope that one day, they will find you again

Headcanons:

✶Imagine Zhongli as Your Reincarnated Lover (Zhongli x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Imagine Being Kaeya's Childhood Friend (Kaeya Alberich x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Diluc x Fatui Reader (Diluc Ragnvindr x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Imagine sliding your fingers underneath Dilucs glove (Diluc Ragnvindr x Reader) (Tumblr)

Batman: Arkham and DC

Stories:

✸ The Pizza Delivery Girl's Survival Guide to Gotham City (Jason Todd x Reader) (AO3)

People who lived outside of Gotham City would most often think of it in terms of its heroes and villains. About Batman and Robin, Joker and Harley Quinn.

People who actually live in Gotham City would only think of one thing: surviving.

Who cares about the people in costumes when your house has been bombed for the fifth time, or your wife has been taken hostage just because she worked in a bank?

Or, in your case, when you have to make regular deliveries to places where even Batman feared to tread?

Because let's face it. In a world full of superheroes and costumed villains, the real heroes are the ones who make sure that people get their pizzas in forty-five minutes or less.

✸ His Father's Son (Jason Todd x Reader, Dark Fantasy!AU) (AO3)

Gotham City: the world’s last and greatest bastion of magic. A city made out of spells and twisting steel.

And the only place where the dead can be brought back to life.

After Jason Todd had been forcibly resurrected by his father, he left Gotham City in search of a new life. One where he did not have to be constantly reminded that he now sits on the border between the monstrous and the miraculous. One where he could forget that no longer quite belongs in the world of the living.

But when a strange new curse surfaces, one that causes plants to take root inside of living people and leaving flowering corpses in its wake, Jason finds that he must come back and help solve the case before it devours the city whole.

✸ Rules of Vanishing (Jason Todd x Reader) (AO3)

Here are the rules to survive as a civilian in Gotham City:

The first rule is to keep your head down. Don't draw attention to yourself. Don't make eye contact. Walk briskly and with purpose. Don't wear anything flashy that can be stolen and most certainly do not walk down that dark alley.

The second rule is don't be a hero. Avoid confrontations. Walk the other way when you see a standoff. Don't try to help that man getting beat up in the alley, because odds are you'll get killed right along with him. Gotham City has Batman for a reason.

The third and most important rule is this: Don't get involved with superheroes.

Or in your case, gun-toting vigilantes.

✸ Next to Last (Jason Todd x Reader) (AO3)

After Batman’s death, Jason is left to pick up the pieces.

✸ Revenant (Creature!Jason x Reader) (Tumblr)

✸ Imagine Early Mornings with Bruce Wayne (Bruce Wayne x Reader) (Tumblr)

Headcanons:

✶ Imagine Dark Fantasy!Gotham City (Tumblr)

✶How would Jason react to having his face traced (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Domestic Headcanons (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Eurydice! Jason Todd and Orpheus! Reader (Jason Todd x Reader (Tumblr)

✶ Jason Todd's life outside of work (Gen) (Tumblr)

✶ Jason Todd's day to day life (Gen, mild Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Imagine Wayne Manor as a Haunted House (Bruce Wayne x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Sleeping Arrangements (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ What kind of praise/compliments Jason would be fine with? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ What freaks him out most in a relationship? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Jealousy and Insecurity Headcanons (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ What lesson about love are they still trying to learn? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ How has their understanding of love changed? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

✸ Stolen (Hawks | Keigo Takami x Reader) (AO3)

He is five years old when he decides to be a hero. It is not as simple learning to fly nor is it as easy as saving people.

But he does not know that yet.

Snapshots of Hawks’ life from child to hero to something else in between.

Jujutsu Kaisen

✸ Made New (Kento Nanami x Reader) (Tumblr) (AO3)

Your husband, Kento Nanami, comes back home after Shibuya. Only he isn't quite the same.

[babydollmarauders]

Jack and mom finding out they are pregnant or gender reveal?

i was so tired when i wrote this and i have not proofread it, so i hope it’s okay

*

it hadn’t even occurred to me that i could be pregnant. chalking the sickness and fatigue up to the stress of wedding planning, the cravings and tenderness in my breast being attributed with getting my period soon.

when i was complaining about everything to Jack, he only asked if i should go to an urgent care or if my period was this week. which in turn, got me thinking; i’ve been using an upcoming period as an excuse for two weeks without even realizing that i’ve yet to actually get my monthly cycle.

“Jack! you coming?” Quinn’s voice drifts up the stairs of the lake house, quickly followed by the sound of scolding from Ellen about his yelling.

“alright, i gotta go.” Jack stands from our bed, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “i love you.”

he jogs out of the room, rushing to catch up with his dad and brothers for their golf day.

quickly pulling out my phone, i tap into my period tracking app, a lump forming in my throat at the words displayed.

period 6 days late

eyeing the keys to Jack’s range rover that sit on the dresser, i sigh, standing and retrieving them. i step down the stairs a lot quieter than Jack had just moments before.

“hey hun! i’m meeting some friends at that one mom and pop’s pizza place. i can never remember the name, the one like forty-five minutes out? do you wanna come?” Ellen calls to me as i enter the living room. despite the mix of emotions battling for dominance in my body, i smile, shaking my head.

“no. i’m okay, thank you!” i tell her. “i’m actually about to drive over to the drug store real quick, do you need anything?”

“no, i’m okay! thank you, hun! you sure you don’t wanna come? i feel bad leaving you here all by yourself!” she tells me and i just shake my head again, assuring her that i’m okay by myself. Ellen shrugs and we bid each other a goodbye before i take off out the door.

the drive to CVS is quick, the trip in even quicker because i don’t think twice about which kind of test to buy, i just grab one of almost every option.

by the time i make it back to the lake house, Ellen has already left, leaving me with the house to myself.

i take a deep breath, steeling my nerves as i go grab a bottle of water. chugging the water, i eat a quick snack and pace around the empty downstairs until i feel the need to pee.

making the trek upstairs to the bathroom, i pause in the doorway.

should i be doing this without Jack?

should i be telling him before i take a test?

before i can chicken out, another wave of light nausea hits me and i decide that i can’t wait any longer. Jack is right, if these come back negative then i should probably go to urgent care, just in case something is seriously wrong. and that’s better done sooner rather than later, right?

my hands shake, making it hard to take the tests, but i get it done, setting each one on the counter. with a timer set on my phone, i sit on the cold bathroom floor, my thoughts racing at the possibility of being pregnant.

it’s not like Jack and i have never talked about having kids. we have. plenty of times. we just never imagined it this soon. we’re not even married yet, our wedding is in two weeks. Jack has talked about hoping to have kids alongside Quinn or Luke, but neither of them are even in relationships, let alone having kids soon. will he be upset about that?

or could this be an exciting thing? the idea of having a mini me or Jack running around our apartment. Jack teaching them how to skate, how to play hockey. imagining the apartment full of children’s toys and play hockey sets. dressing them in a jersey and taking them to see Jack play. a child calling me “mama”.

i’m torn out of my thoughts by the sound of my timer, quickly clicking the stop button. i stare up towards the counter, not yet ready to read the results, but somehow already knowing what they’ll say.

i stand up slowly, dragging out the process in order to provide myself with extra time. taking one last deep inhale, i count to three before looking at the tests.

positive.

two lines.

a plus sign.

pregnant.

tears well in my eyes at the results. i’m overjoyed, but i can’t help the nagging feeling in the back of my mind. my heart telling me i’m excited to have a baby, a product of Jack and i, while my brain overthinks, wondering what Jack will think, if he’ll be upset.

grabbing the tests, i go back to our bedroom, sticking them in my bedside table drawer before laying down on the bed. tears well in my eyes as my mind pings from one thought to another. happy and then scared.

i’ve probably laid there for an hour before i find myself falling asleep.

*

“hey, baby.” i’m stirred from my sleep by the sound of Jack’s voice. “you been in here the whole day?”

my eyes flutter open, coming face to face with my fianc��, who squats down beside the bed. i sleepily shake my head at his question.

“no? what’d you do then, pretty girl?” he wonders, switching to sit on the edge of the bed while running his hand over my hair. he leans down to press a kiss to my forehead, and it’s only now that i realize he’s freshly showered and changed out of his golfing clothes.

i can hear the voice of Trevor outside our room, yell-telling a story to lord knows who.

“i found out what’s wrong with me.” i barely even second guess telling him. i thought long and hard about it before i fell asleep and it’s better to tell him now rather than in a few weeks.

“oh yeah?” Jack asks. “was i right? was it your period?”

i’m silent for a beat, just trying to think about how to phrase my next few words.

“um, i guess you could say that?” i tell him “or rather something to do with it.”

“that’s good.” “i’m pregnant.”

we both speak at the same time and i watch as recognition slowly spreads across his face. his hand drops from my hair, making me nervous.

“w-what?” he gives a few slow blinks, trying to process the information i just threw at him.

sitting up in the bed, i reach over and open the bedside drawer, clutching the tests in my hands and holding them out to Jack.

he stares at them for a few moments before taking them into his own hand. he rifles through each test, reading the results.

“can you please say something?” i whisper, tears pricking the back of my eyes. the anxiety is eating at me, nervous of what he thinks.

“we’re gonna have a baby?” his voice is quiet as he looks up at me, his eyes soft. i just nod in response, unable to speak without a sob coming out.

he drops the tests on the bed, cupping my face and crashing his lips on mine. soft and sweet, full of love and affection. he pulls away, laying his forehead on mine.

“we’re having a baby.” he whispers, more to himself than me.

“is that okay?” i question.

“that’s more than okay.” he tells me, pulling back to really look me in the eyes.

“i know you’ve talked before about wanting to have kids around the same time as your brothers, and i’m sorry that-”

“fuck that. we’re having a baby! a little you and me.” he wears an excited smile, placing another chaste kiss to my lips.

“yeah, we’re having a baby.”

[dystopicjumpsuit]

OC Sunday: Oisin, the space grandpa you want on your side

A gentle and kind Zabrak mechanic with a penchant for gardening and taking in strays. He hosts Benduday dinner at his home in Coruscant’s lower levels every week, where you might encounter a wide range of guests, from professional thieves, to illegal street racing bookies, to clone deserters, to feral children of the underworld. If you’re on the run and the Coruscant Security Force comes knocking, Oisin has never heard of you—even if you’re currently drinking a bottle of spotchka in his kitchen.

More info below the cut! Content warning for the sads, difficulty conceiving, pregnancy, death and grief, allusions to violence, blood and injuries including eye loss.

Overview

Name: Oisin (pronounced oh-SHEEN)

Birth year/age: 99 BBY (80 at the end of the Clone Wars)

Species: Zabrak

Pronouns: he/him

Orientation: bi/pan

Home planet: Iridonia

Current location: Coruscant (by way of Oba Diah)

Occupation: mechanic (formerly head of maintenance at Oba Diah City spaceport)

Affiliation: Pyke Syndicate (former)

Alignment: neutral good

Family: Epha (wife, deceased), Draig (son), Branna and Mic Dhorhil (family of the heart)

Physical characteristics

Height: 5’10”/178 cm by the time of the rise of the Empire (6’/183 cm when Draig was born)

Eyes: blue

Hair: bald

Skin: orange/red

Tattoos/piercings/identifying marks: traditional Zabrak facial tattoos

Miscellaneous: developed cataracts later in life, also lost two inches of height by end of Clone Wars 

Personal history: 

Oisin was born on Iridonia, the son of Maiv, an Iridonian Zabrak botanist, and Quinn, a Dathomirian Zabrak bounty hunter. When he was a young boy, the family relocated from Iridonia to Oba Diah, as his father had taken a permanent position as an enforcer with the Pyke syndicate. It was a dangerous job, and Oisin was only seven when his father was killed on a mission. Maiv opted to stay on Oba Diah, as they had put down roots in the immigrant community of Oba Diah City.

Oisin was a quiet, gentle boy, who grew up to be a quiet, gentle man. He had no interest in following in his father’s violent footsteps, instead becoming a mechanic. When he was twenty-nine, he met a young Zabrak woman named Epha. She’d visited Maiv’s nursery to ask for advice about starting a garden, and when the time came to leave, Epha’s speeder wouldn’t start. Maiv called Oisin to help, and the minute he laid eyes on Epha, he knew he was going to marry her. It took over a year before he worked up the courage to ask her out on a date. They married three years later.

Both Oisin and Epha wanted children very much, but the years passed, and eventually, they resigned themselves to the certainty that it was not going to happen for them. They settled very contentedly into their lives. They were well-liked in the community, and Oisin excelled at his work, eventually becoming the overseer of all maintenance crews at the Oba Dia City spaceport, while Epha became a rather well-known botanical artist. The garden she had planted so many years before flourished and became an oasis in the midst of the chaotic city, and she often chose to paint among the flowers that she loved so much.

And then, when Epha was forty-two, she unexpectedly conceived. It was a high risk pregnancy; while Zabrak physiology differs significantly from humans, it was still considered a “geriatric” pregnancy—a term which Epha absolutely despised and ranted about frequently to Oisin throughout her term. Nevertheless, several months later, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Oisin had seen a lot in his forty-eight years, but he’d never imagined anything as perfect as his son when he looked into Draig’s eyes—Epha’s eyes—for the first time.

Epha and Oisin adored Draig, and for the next fourteen years, the family lived happily. The summer that Draig was fourteen, though, Epha suffered a massive stroke. She was gone by the time the medics arrived. 

Oisin was devastated. The truth was, Oisin had always thought he would grow old with Epha. The possibility that he might outlive her had never even occurred to him, and he was inconsolable. He did his best to hold it together for Draig, but the boy saw more than Oisin ever knew. Oisin thought Draig was holding up fairly well until one evening a few months after Epha’s death when his comm chimed.

Oisin was surprised to see Branna Dhorhil’s face when he answered the comm. They were friendly as coworkers; she operated a crane at the Oba Diah City spaceport, and he’d always thought she was a nice young woman. Even so, nothing prepared him to hear her tell him that Draig and her son, Mic, had been suspended from school for fighting back against a bully. Branna let Oisin know that Draig was safe at her home, then invited Oisin to join them for dinner.

In later years, Oisin often had the thought that the Force itself had sent Branna and Mic into his and Draig’s lives at the time when they were most needed. While Draig bonded instantly with Mic and quickly began to see Branna as a mother figure, Oisin felt that Branna, in many ways, became the daughter he’d never had. Her unwavering support and compassion helped Oisin through the worst of his grief, and when the pain of his loss became too much to bear, Branna was there for him and Draig.

One day, Oisin was feeling unwell at work and went home early. When he arrived, he found Mic pulling weeds in Epha’s garden. The boy was embarrassed to have been caught in the act, but he eventually revealed that he’d been stopping by and quietly doing yard work each day after school when he noticed the garden was getting overgrown. Oisin confessed that he was having trouble keeping the garden up despite how important it was to him as a reminder of Epha. Mic asked Oisin to teach him about the plants so he wouldn’t accidentally pull the wrong ones, and after that, the two of them worked together in the garden nearly every day. 

Mic was a quiet but imposing boy, large for his age, and with a sizable chip on his shoulder, due to his sensitivity about his absent father. Having never had a father figure, he was drawn to Oisin, and soon Mic began to understand that the Zabrak’s kind and gentle personality was not an indicator of weakness at all, but rather of a remarkable strength of character. More than anything, Mic wanted to be like Oisin in that way, and as he grew older, he did his best to emulate Oisin—though he inherited enough of Branna’s protective nature that he never quite outgrew his impulse to kick ass and take names when he saw someone being bullied or harassed. 

Oisin began needing to take sick leave more often, until one day, when the boys were sixteen, he collapsed at work. He was diagnosed with an aggressive degenerative disease that was known to affect Zabraks. Treatment was available, but unfortunately, like everything else on Oba Diah, the medical infrastructure and supply chain was controlled by the Pyke Syndicate, which charged an exorbitant amount of credits for the necessary medication. Oisin’s condition worsened steadily, as there was no way he could afford the drugs. It became obvious that he would not survive without intervention, and so, unbeknownst to Oisin and Branna, Mic and Draig hatched a scheme to steal the meds.

The boys managed to get what Oisin needed, but it was messy, and Branna ordered the boys not to say a word to Oisin about where the drugs had come from. He had already started on his course of meds and was fast asleep when Branna, Mic, and Draig burst into the house and began frantically packing a few basic belongings. Mic had been badly beaten, Branna was bleeding from a large gash on her face, and Draig—

Groggy and bewildered, Oisin demanded to know what was going on, and that was when he caught sight of his son, battered and bleeding, holding a hand over his left eye. There was no time to explain. Mic helped Oisin into a commandeered speeder as Branna and Draig gathered up the medical supplies they needed, and they raced to the spaceport. It wasn’t until they were aboard a stolen shuttle, safely in hyperspace, that Branna was able to tend to Draig’s eye and her own injuries. 

In his confusion, Oisin demanded to be taken home to Epha. Branna and Draig tried to explain what had happened, but Oisin was too out of it from the meds to fully comprehend. All he knew was that Draig’s eyes—Epha’s eyes—would never be the same. In the pilot’s seat, Mic wept silently as he heard Oisin beg them to take him back to Epha’s garden.

When the group reached Coruscant, they disappeared into the underworld. Oisin eventually made a full recovery and started his own mechanic’s shop in the lower levels. Over time, he became a beloved fixture in the community, well-known for his kind and generous nature, his willingness to help those in need, and his famous weekly Benduday dinners. 

Personality:

Quiet and reserved, yet invariably kind, and possessing an extraordinarily long fuse. Due to his lengthy association with the Pyke syndicate (not to mention the dubious legal status of many of his customers and family members), Oisin is deeply skeptical of authority in general and law enforcement in particular. He routinely and cheerfully lies to both the Coruscant Guard and Coruscant Security Force to protect the members of his community, and thanks to his soft and seemingly harmless demeanor, he gets away with it. 

His garage is well known in the underworld as a safe place if you run into trouble, and nobody in the lower levels is stupid enough to try to rob or harm him in any way. Not only would doing so risk the severe retribution of a certain imposing bartender and one of the top thieves in the galaxy, it would inevitably bring down the wrath of the Coruscant underworld community. Even worse, Oisin would probably invite them in for dinner and proceed to treat them with such generosity and compassion that they would end up not only returning his possessions, but probably volunteering to help him in his hydroponic garden.

He never fully moves on from Epha’s death, but over time, the pain gradually begins to lessen, and somehow, without ever quite realizing it, his family grows to encompass more and more beings of every imaginable description, all of whom would fight to their last breath to defend him if he ever needed them.

Even so, sometimes he will stand in the darkness outside his shop and gaze up into the swirl of Coruscant’s underworld traffic, remembering the warmth of the sun on his face as he sat in Epha’s garden.

---

Taglist:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep

@moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine

@multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam

@skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist

@cw80831 @kimiheartblade @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

@reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose

@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod @ivyyyyy @smw-on-kamino

@burningnerdchild @saneabandoned

[subsequent-interviews]

I've made peace with the changes the show made as a matter of identity and necessity for it as an adaptation. honestly, I've never been too good with change, but usually once I give it some time to settle I find that I come around to it. but some of the changes made in the show are greater than they might appear, and I find myself thinking of those differences.

in the novels, Lestat is turned when he is twenty-one. when I first read the Vampire Lestat that seemed like an eternity away: to me then twenty-one was a full-grown adult, a man. it's an age I can look back on now as one of extreme youth -- not childhood, mind you, but still, youth. at twenty-one I was so sharp, so lost, so inexperienced. in your early twenties you're so desperate to prove that you're All Grown Up Now, but every effort I made towards that only seemed to underscore how much growing I had yet to do.

Lestat never got that. Lestat was turned into a vampire when he was younger than I was when I got married, when I met most of my current friends, when I moved into my own place with my wife, when I finished my first book's first draft. Lestat was turned into a vampire at an age when nightclubs were still asking me if I was here looking for a parent. Lestat had just began to tick off a list of firsts: his first boyfriend, his first apartment, his first job, his first foray into adult life.

and it was all cut short. what strikes me now when I re-read tVL is that, for Lestat, vampirism is very much his adulthood. vampirism is what came next after those first few firsts.

and Lestat's very young adulthood informs a whole lot of his character. one part of Lestat is always twenty-one. a part of being called "the brat prince" is that Lestat is twenty-one. a part of being constantly excused from fucking up is that Lestat is twenty-one. a part of trying to take on the roles of adulthood milestones -- becoming a husband and then a father -- and failing horribly at them is that Lestat is twenty-one.

of course Louis was upset with Lestat's immaturity, his disregard for future consequences. Lestat is twenty-one! and of course Lestat could not provide Claudia with true guidance as a parent. Lestat, tragically, is twenty-one.

we can keep going. Nicki, Marius, Akasha, David Talbot, Quinn, Antoine, more: so much of what happens between these characters and Lestat is informed by Lestat being trapped in vampirism at twenty-one.

it's not the only part of Lestat, of course: as the years go on there is another part gathering up all of the bitterness and the frustration and the disillusionment and the joy and the love and the wonder of still existing. but I've always understood Lestat best as someone who has been twenty-one for a very, very long time. and isn't that the horror of it all, that Lestat will never be afforded the chance to grow and change and age as a human might? that Lestat is forever Magnus's pinned butterfly?

and now ... we come to the show. because it's one thing to imagine everything that goes down with Lestat as twenty-one. it's quite another to see the same behavior done by someone in their thirties, almost forty. it makes it all feel very different.

yes: I've neglected nuance, spent precious little time on Lestat's gravity, on the psychology of being both twenty-one forever and forced to grow up all too quickly because otherwise your family might well have starved. I've compared the milestones of young adulthood in the 2010s to those of the 1780s without an essay on historical context. I didn't even mention Rose and Viktor. and I should say that none of this is meant as an exhaustive or definitive analysis. as with most of my posts on this website ... I'm just talking.

but ... doesn't it feel different, watching Lestat in his mid-30s grow jealous of Claudia's and Louis's closeness instead of Lestat in his very early 20s? Lestat at 21 throwing himself into endeavor after endeavor to get Louis's attention is one thing; Lestat more than a decade older doing the same behavior seems very much like another.

yes: I know that your thirties are your youth, too. but the story changes when the character is one who has been denied all but his most extreme youth as a human adult, instead of a character who has had a decade more lived experience as a human adult but who still can't lose a game of chess without a shouting match.

change is not bad. these differences emphasize different parts of the character, draw our focus to different aspects of the story. and with them, characters interact in different ways. but this particular change to Lestat's age was striking to me because of how much it recontextualizes Lestat's behavior. that behavior is no longer the antics of someone just out of his teens, and I guess I'm still sorting out just how much the rest of the story is impacted by that.

[paranormals-of-ilvermorny]

Chapter 10 (double digits whooo!)

Sunday, October 19, and Lorelei woke up with a very bad stomach ache. She knew fully well that it had nothing to do with what was served for dinner last night, butternut squash gnocchi with spinach, but more to do with the fear of being wrong. There was nothing bad if she was proven wrong on any other subject but this one. Spending longer than usual to start her day, Lorelei lay in bed, motionless and fed her anxiety with fearful thoughts. What if there was a skinwalker? What then? Probably tell the headmaster, he’ll know what to do. But what if he doesn’t believe us? What about the students that have no idea, they could be at serious risk of getting hurt. Or worse, killed.

It took a while, far longer than she had hoped, but eventually Lorelei had a long talk with herself. If, and it’s a very big if, there was a dangerous beast looking to sink its teeth into someone, Lorelei was going to do everything she can to make sure no one gets hurt. To further strengthen her assurance, and quiet the anxious thoughts, Lorelei thought of the not-so realistic probability that a Skinwalker is wandering around Ilvermorny. From doing more research she found out that they are mainly found in the Southeastern part of the states, the complete other side of the country. There have also been no known cases or sightings of them north in the last forty-three years. So with this knowledge, and a very deep breath, Lorelei got out of bed and began to dress for the midday Quodpot match. The uneasy feeling she previously felt in her stomach moments ago had calmed down.

This Sunday Robin was in a mood. She sat in her unassigned-assigned seat in the dining hall, eating some hot oatmeal with brown sugar. It was rare for her to wake up so early on a Sunday, especially when she didn’t have a game, but something was different today. It was also a rare occurrence for Robin to seek inwards for why she feels or acts a certain way; choosing to rather talk to others than to herself.

But this morning she chose to do exactly that. She picked a spot on the table, a bowl containing berries, and asked herself why it mattered so much to be believed about this ‘mystical’ animal.

Growing up in a magic household meant that every weird incident she saw was easily believed when retold to her mom. One time, on the eve of Yule, Robin swore she saw a mouse with three tails run across the fireplace and steal a piece of popped corn from the tree. When she ran and told her mom who was in the kitchen baking gingerbread wizards with Quinn, her mom full heartedly believed her. She even asked little Robin to draw what the mouse looked like, although she admitted to never hearing of such a creature before. Later that week Robin told her friends at the park but they just laughed at her and said what a dumb thing to make up. She got so worked up over not being believed by them that her mother had to come and give her a break.

Lisa Copper explained to her daughter that not everyone has the same imagination, but all Robin heard was that her mother didn’t believe her either and was just humoring her. This, along with a few other times people couldn’t trust what she was saying, built up a wall of animosity towards those who don’t think Robin can be truthful. It exposed a sore in her that festered whenever someone would say, “I don’t think so” or “that’s not true”, but worst of all was, “you’re lying”. Lying to Robin was the biggest crime one can do. Aside from murder, obviously. But to lie about something means you don’t like the truth. Sometimes it's to defend yourself or a friend, other times it's to protect someone’s feelings.

But Robin prides herself on her blunt honesty, even when it's gotten her in trouble a few times. Many times. Of all the people she trusts, the number one person on that list is herself. And she knows she saw something in the woods.

It’s just a matter of getting Lorelei to see it too.

The sun was shelled behind a cloudy sky, but that only made for perfect conditions to play Quodpot.

Today saw the Pukwudgies versus the Horned Serpents, not that Lorelei cared about winning too much. She was more competitive against herself than anyone, sometimes the odd scholarly rival. She, along with Robin, sat in the stand that had the best viewing of the forest’s edge. According to Robin, that is.

As the girls watched the game start, the teams making their grand entrances and agreeing to play by the rules, Lorelei couldn’t help but feel Robin was taking her job very seriously. Sitting with her hands on her lap and eyes glued to the trees, Robin wasn’t going to let a silly little thing like a Quodpot match distract her from catching a glimpse of her monster. Lorelei quietly hoped that by the evening, she’d have her easily distracted best friend back.

The match started with quite a lot of vigor, the Serpent's starting with the Quod and the Pukwudgies trying to delay the amount of time the Quod had before hitting the pot. There were many good plays and passes between team members, David Florian performing a certainly dangerous move around the neck, as the round continued.

”WOAH! LOOK AT THOSE SERPENT’S GO! THEY CERTAINLY KNOW HOW TO SLITHER AND SLIDE.” Grant announced from the speakers box, annoying those unfortunate enough to be sitting nearby. “CACHE BLOCKED BY NUTTER, THEN PASSES THE QUOD TO FIR… WHO SCORED INTO THE POT! SERPENT’S ONE, PUKWUDGIES ZERO!”

The team celebrates before getting ready for the second round, starting with Pukwudgie with the Quod. A team member passed the Quod over to Orville, before he too was blocked and sent the ball to another open mate.

Lorelei had the perfect view of Orville as he rode his broom through the air, still chilly from the lack of sun. His uniform was green with copper colored stripes to show the school his Pukwudgie pride. It was easy to see the way his body works hard to keep up with the sport, the slight definition of muscle strength making Lorelei’s heart beat wildly. She really couldn’t be blamed, how else was she supposed to react to such a dreamy vision as a sweaty Orville wiping his brow and running his hands through his hair. What Lorelei wouldn’t give to comb her fingers through his dark locks while he reads to her from her favorite book.

“CROWELL THROUGH THE QUOD FOR THE POT…”

Not to mention the slight grunts of exertion he emitted as he played…

“OOHH AND MISSES BY A DRAGON FANG!”

…or how his large hands clenched in his fingerless leather gloves…

“THIS EARNS THE TEAM A HALF POINT FOR LANDING IN THE SCORING CIRCLE.”

…his bum snuggly seated upon his broomstick…

“NEXT ROUND STARTING SOON!”

“I’m feeling a little hot, gonna get an ice cold cider, be right back!” Lorelei rushed out to Robin before leaving her seat quickly, her cheeks warming by the second.

The match was looking pretty grim for the Pukwudgies, but that never stopped them from keeping up morale. A Pukwudgie’s spirit can never be broken beyond repair.

With the score nine to four it was shaping up to be a landslide win for the Serpents, but the crowd was still looking forward to the winning goal or any special plays. There was still a chance for the Pukwudgies to win, but considering this round was started by the Serpents, it was highly unlikely.

The whole game Robin has kept her eyes locked onto the tree line, not once jumping up to cheer with the surrounding audience, or laughed when the Quod blew up and left harmless soot on Ulysees Yowie’s face. She was determined to spot the creature and get Lorelei to see it.

And believe her.

As the Serpents passed the Quod back and forth towards the pot, Lorelei took a second to glance at her friend. She was completely oblivious to the game, her only focus was the forest. For the first time all game, Lorelei decided to follow Robin’s gaze and peered across the pitch into the surrounding forest.

When she saw nothing of excitement, she was ready to turn her attention back towards the game. But something caught her eye. There was movement by the tree line, a dark figure, almost tall enough its head reached the top of the tree’s branches. It moved, long limbs gliding quickly, with something flowy like a cape following the movements. Lorelei stared aghast as it moved about six feet from one tree to another, then to a thicker one before it disappeared completely. She saw it, just like Robin said, the ears, the limbs, and the height.

Still in shock of what she just saw, Lorelei looked to her side where she met Robin’s eyes. She too had seen the creature a second time, her mouth open with her corners upward in an astonished expression, almost happy to have seen it. Lorelei however had her own mouth slightly open and her eyes twice their size, the implications of what this means hitting her like a boulder.

There was a Skinwalker roaming Ilvermorny’s woods.

The music was loud, the lights were blaring, and the smell of sweat and dirt was overwhelming. It was safe to say, the Pukwudgie common room had never seen such a lively party.

Even though they lost, the Puk’s were known to throw parties that ranged from mild to “can’t remember last night” for the littlest things. First snowfall of the year? Hot cocoa party! Don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day? Singleton’s party! Lost the house cup? Who cares, let's party! The ongoing theory as to why they celebrate such redundant events, like National Gnome Day, was the food. No one knows how really, but there was always a table of delectable on theme snacks and drinks for the festivities. It seems more like the house members are trying to live up to their house’s name by always feeding the students of Ilvermorny.

Tonight on the infamous round snack table were some classics like popcorn, cider, pumpkin juice, chips and dip. For tonight’s celebration there were also chocolate pretzel brooms, house color cupcakes, and mini Quod’s made from chocolate truffles.

The common room was also decorated in various colored streamers, balloons, and even some glitter shaped like brooms covered the floor. Usually, the green velvet furniture wasn’t sparkling, the wooden tables used for studying didn’t have colorful runners, and the many medicinal plants weren’t covered in crepe streamers. There was also a large antique apothecary cabinet stocked with different gauzes and remedies from a common cold to a broken bone. The Pukwudgies acted as a second hospital wing, which was helpful when you didn’t want to disclose how you got a noticeable scar on your cheek. On the wall nearby was also some herbs drying upside down, most likely to be used by students to make a healing tincture. And of course, a marble statue of Hermes, Greek God of medicine, that as of right now had a party hat and streamers someone placed on him.

Poor guy.

Lorelei wasn’t really in the party mood, having been dragged along by Robin because they “needed a reward for studying so hard”, as she said. So Lorelei kept to the wall, away from the crowd, and watched her friend dance and have the time of her life with some of her Quodpot friends. It was moments like this Lorelei found it hard to believe they know each other, let alone are friends. But that was one of the things she loved most about Robin, how she pushes Lorelei to step out of her comfort zone and try new things, meet new people.

She wouldn’t have such a problem with that, if they both hadn’t seen a possible man-eating beast hours ago.

Trying to take her mind off of what she saw, Lorelei decided to have her own kind of fun until Robin said she wanted to leave. Or she ate all of the snacks. Keeping to herself, she picked up vial after vial of the different homemade healing supplies in the common room’s first aid cabinet. So far she’s seen pastes made from calendula, marshmallow root droplets, and ginger root tablets. By reading what was in each bottle, Lorelei felt like she was expanding her knowledge of medicinal herbs.

She bit into the Quod truffle she grabbed from the snack table, taking a bite and was surprised with the crunchy center. Some sort of nut? Her palette wasn’t the most refined, but if she had to guess…

“Hey, hope your enjoying yourself”

The sudden intrusion to her silent corner scared the living daylights out of Lorelei. So much so that, embarrassingly, she began to choke on the truffle. “Oh Merlin, drink this!” Suddenly a bottle of pumpkin juice was thrusted into her spasming hand. She quickly grabbed it and drank about half of the bottle’s contents. “I’m so sorry, Lei, didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

As her breathing began to return to normal, and her vision started to clear from the tears the coughing fit induced, Lorelei had a whole new reason to be mortified. Standing next to her was the one and only Orville Doe, and she just drank his pumpkin juice. Great.

“It’s okay,” she choked out, not sure if she could blame the truffle on that, “the music must have obstructed your footsteps.” As the air continued to reach her lungs without problem, Lorelei also realized his large hand was on her back, probably trying to keep her alive. Unfortunately, the realization made Lorelei go stiff at the close contact.

To her relief, Orville huffed out a laugh at her joke. He then brought his hand away, almost like it was burned by her, and ran his fingers through his hair. Lorelei felt even more embarrassed than before, watching him bring his hand away so quickly and distancing himself from her. He’s just trying to be nice, don’t read into things.

“Sorry again, I just wanted to check on you since you seemed to be over here alone.” Great, he probably thinks I’m a loser who doesn’t talk to people. Which I am.

Desperate to change the subject, Lorelei steered the conversation away from her. “Honestly I have a bit of a stomach ache,” not a lie, “and was looking for something in your cabinets. I hope that’s okay?”

He had a somewhat dumbfounded look on his face, but on him it looked very cute, shaking his head before responding. “Oh, yeah, of course you can! Here,” he used his long arms to his advantage and brought down a small crate of different glass bottles. “This is specifically for stomach aches and nausea. Let’s see we have ginger, peppermint…Oh, and some fennel seed!” He said lifting the glass bottle of long, thin seeds. He took the top off and poured some into a nearby mortar and pestle, begging it to grind them up. “These are good for lots of stuff, like indigestion, built up gas, it even helps breast milk production.”

A pregnant pause, pun intended, waves through the pair after Orville realized the words that escaped his mouth. Lorelei, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable, decided to play along and ease his embarrassment. “Well, I’ll have to remember that for the future. The very far off future, heh.”

The downward spiral of embarrassing thoughts, evident by his shocked expression, came to a halting stop when Lorelei spoke. Orville’s deer in headlights look was replaced with a small smile and eyes that screamed relief at her understanding. The fennel seeds forgotten, he lifted his hand to scratch the back of his neck, something weighing on his mind. “Uh, hey, Lorelei, do you think—“

“ORVILLE, DUDE!” Screamed a loud voice. Out came Grant stumbling from the uneven ground, making his way to his friend. “Wattaya doin’ over there in the corner, join the party man!” He reached his much more balanced friend and tugged his arm, encouraging his return to the group. “Thanks for keeping this guy company Lori!” He shouted as the two of them walked back to the music and smells. Orville sent Lorelei a mouthed apology as he was dragged away, which she responded with a shrug of her shoulders and a smile.

Looking back to the forgotten fennel seeds, Lorelei grabbed a pinch and put them into her pumpkin juice. They added a slight taste difference, but nothing unbearable. Deciding the night was late enough, Lorelei walked over to the front door and made her way back to her room. The thought of sharing a bottle of juice and Orville’s attention to care warmed her as she walked through the castle on this October night.

Finally, after what felt like a day that would never end, Lorelei was back in her bed ready for sleep. The warmth of her quilt and cotton pajamas warmed her body, but nothing could calm her mind. It always happened when her body would yearn for rest, but the many thoughts that swirled around her head felt like she was running. There really was some dangerous animal on school grounds, and this wasn’t the first time it’s been here. What if the last Quodpot match wasn’t the first time either? Could there be more of them? How long did we have before someone got hurt? What does it even want?

As Lorelei’s brain continued to run down a tumultuous road that spiraled into fear, not even the safety of her four-poster bed could protect her. Lorelei’s stomach ache from earlier returned with vigor, the fennel seeds nor the comforting thoughts of Orville could subside the pain. Tossing onto her side and curling up, she tried to think of pumpkin juice, chocolate, and slow dancing with a handsome young man to calm her mind.

The last thing Lorelei hears before drifting off to sleep is the far off howl of an unknown animal.

[poetzproblem]

Sorry poetz, but I have to go back to the sex location list because I'm going to need you to expound on something: "Also the baby grand piano that goes into their house in Riverdale." Did Rachel trick Quinn into getting it by saying it was for her singing practice, when in reality she's always had a piano sex fantasy? Or did Quinn gift it to Rachel for her music when in reality Quinn had a piano sex fantasy? Love all you do poetz!

Can it be…

Both?

Both is good.

One of the perks of buying a house is the many extra rooms, of course, affording Quinn the opportunity to have a full-sized office with space for multiple bookshelves for the first time and Rachel with the opportunity for an actual music room.  Up until this point, her songwriting has been done with a serviceable electronic keyboard that can be easily stored in a closet, audio software on her laptop, and Quinn’s borrowed office whenever she needed a little privacy. Now she gets to have a whole, entire room - and one little electronic keyboard will just not cut it. She obviously needs a real piano for both function and aesthetics. 

So...

“Imagine how elegant a grand piano will look here,” Rachel muses, doing a little spin in the center of the empty room she’s claimed for herself.  

The house is officially theirs as of eleven forty-eight this morning when they’d signed the last paper at the closing. Now they only need to fill it with all of their possessions and all the new possessions that they’ve always wanted but could never cram into their tiny Manhattan apartments. 

Quinn raises a singular eyebrow at her wife’s antics. “Rach, sweetie, I know this room looks big now, but there’s no way we’re fitting a grand piano in here along with your awards case and the keyboard and that pink guitar your dads still have packed away in their closet for you.”

The grin disappears from Rachel’s face. “A baby grand then,” she amends on the fly. “There are a few high quality ones out there.” And with what they’d just spent on this house and what they’ll still be spending for a car that they now need, it's probably best not to sink the full cost of a second summer house into one piano. 

“There are high quality uprights too,” Quinn points out with a critical gaze roaming around the room in obvious contemplation of its dimensions.  

Pursing her lips in determination, Rachel steps closer to Quinn with a sway of her hips and slips her arms around her waist. “Quinn, baby,” she purrs, batting her eyelashes. “An upright isn’t nearly…sturdy enough for our needs.”

Hazel eyes meet hers in mild bemusement. ”Why would…?” she begins but abruptly bites off her own question, eyes suddenly sparkling with understanding. 

A slow, wolfish grin slants across her mouth, and Rachel knows that her wife is remembering a very particular fantasy that she’d once related to Rachel - one that Rachel had really had no way to safely fulfill in a way that wouldn't potentially get them arrested for public indecency. “Yes, sturdy would be better…for reasons.” 

Rachel hums in agreement, hands drifting lower to the curve of Quinn’s ass. “I knew you’d see it my way.” 

“You know, Teresa did tell us there was no hurry to pick up the girls today,” Quinn reminds her in that raspy, suggestive tone that never fails to resonate right down Rachel’s spine.  “We should take this time to review all of your many needs for this room.” Soft, skilled fingertips sneak a little farther underneath Rachel’s blouse with every word. 

Rachel closes her eyes on a sigh, leaning into her wife’s warm body. “If we were ten years younger, I’d let you have me on this hardwood floor right here and now.” 

Quinn chuckles huskily, her lips already sliding down to Rachel’s pulse point. “Oh sweetheart, don’t you know by now how creative I can be?” 

Heat sizzles through Rachel’s body when that talented mouth connects to her skin with intent, and she tips her head back, giving in just enough - just for a moment - to indulge in the impossible fantasy. Quinn takes the invitation without any hesitation, and before Rachel even realizes what’s happening, her back is hitting the nearest wall and her very professional black skirt is unzipped.  

“Quinn,” she gasps out in surprise, eyes flying open. 

“We should test out how sturdy this wall is, don’t you think?” Quinn asks, far from innocently. One palm is flat against that wall while the fingertips of her other are already dancing under the loose waistband of Rachel’s skirt. “It’s where your awards case is going after all.” 

And it is, of course. Quinn knows her too well. It’s the best place for the light of the window to reflect off her many statuettes in a way that will make them positively sparkle. 

Rachel’s eyes dart to that same open window, and then to the still open door of the otherwise empty room, and then she remembers that this is their house and they’re the only ones with the keys to the front door (that they did remember to lock behind them) and their precious, precocious daughters are safe in Manhattan, and Quinn is already doing very pleasant things to her body that she really doesn’t have any desire to put a stop to. 

“You’d better not throw out your back,” she warns, but her body is already giving in - hands pulling Quinn closer and thighs parting enough to give her more room to work. 

Quinn laughs, teasing, “So sexy in your old age, Mrs. Fabray.”  

Rachel’s fingers twist into blonde locks. “I’m merely protecting a long term investment, Quinn.” Her lips curve into an impish grin. “I still need you to help me shop for that piano.”  Quinn’s fingers sink deeper in blissful retaliation, and Rachel moans breathlessly. “Among other things.” 

“I’ll show you other things.” 

And she does. 

[kiillmeromantically]

This is a starter call for the muses listed below. Some are new and some I just want more things for! Please reply and let me know which you'd like one from! If you want more than one, totally cool with me!

BEATRIX GRIFFIN thirty four. bisexual. drug trafficker. heir to an empire that wasn’t supposed to be hers. father and brother were both killed and instead of allowing it all to fall apart, she stepped up. now she’s stuck in a life she never wanted and has no hope of getting out of. NATHALIE EMMANUEL FC.

GRAHAM EVANS. twenty nine. he/him. heterosexual. mechanic. he never thought that he would do much with his life. yet he had a passion for working on cars and became the owner at the garage he worked at as a teenager. JOSEPH QUINN FC. 

ALICIA CARDENAS. twenty one. she/her. bicurious. film student. she grew up always being the outsider looking in but that never bothered her. her family moved from mexico to the states and she was determined to make a name for herself. she got a scholarship to nyu and is a film student there. JENNA ORTEGA FC.

LUCA HAVILI. forty four. heterosexual. logger. a solitary man who prefers to be alone over company. opts to live alone with no one around him after his wife left him for another man. if he dares to venture out it’s rare. JASON MOMOA FC.

ALESSIA CALO. twenty nine. heteroflexible. former trust fund baby. she grew up with a silver spoon but her father lost it all. now she’s living in a studio and trying to figure out how to survive. it’s led her down a path she never imagined into being a cam girl. ARIANA GRANDE FC.

EVERETT GRIMES. forty. heterosexual. arms dealer. a man who quite literally gave up his life for the woman he loved. only she walked away when he did. now he’s become a criminal who doesn’t care about anyone or anything. at least that’s what he lets everyone believe. BOYD HOLBROOK FC. 

MANON HEX. forty four. heteroflexible. gallerist. former wild child,all that changed when she was in her mid twenties. that was when she met her husband. the marriage was good for about the first ten years and then she found out he was cheating. yet she stayed because of their two children. MINKA KELLY FC.

ALEXANDER MOORE. fifty five. architect. former military man who never entirely knew what to do with his life. he attended college after he was out and realized he wanted to design buildings. he made a successful career for himself but that was all he ever focused on. JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN FC.

[rockislandadultreads]

Nonfiction Thursday: Art History

Hands of Time by Rebecca Struthers

Timepieces have long accompanied us on our travels, from the depths of the oceans to the summit of Everest, the ice of the arctic to the sands of the deserts, outer space to the surface of the moon. The watch has sculpted the social and economic development of modern society; it is an object that, when disassembled, can give us new insights both into the motivations of inventors and craftsmen of the past, and, into the lives of the people who treasured them.

Hands of Time is a journey through watchmaking history, from the earliest attempts at time-keeping, to the breakthrough in engineering that gave us the first watch, to today – where the timepieces hold cultural and historical significance beyond what its first creators could have imagined. Acclaimed watchmaker Rebecca Struthers uses the most important watches throughout history to explore their attendant paradigm shifts in how we think about time, indeed how we think about our own humanity. From an up-close look at the birth of the fakes and forgeries industry which marked the watch as a valuable commodity, to the watches that helped us navigate trade expeditions, she reveals how these instruments have shaped how we build and then consequently make our way through the world.

A fusion of art and science, history and social commentary, this fascinating work, told in Struthers’s lively voice and illustrated with custom line drawings by her husband and fellow watchmaker Craig, is filled with her personal observations as an expert watchmaker—one of the few remaining at work in the world today. Horology is a vast subject—the “study of time.” This compelling history offers a fresh take, exploring not only these watches within their time, but the role they played in human development and the impact they had on the people who treasured them. 

Picasso's War by Hugh Eakin

In January 1939, Pablo Picasso was renowned in Europe but disdained by many in the United States. One year later, Americans across the country were clamoring to see his art. How did the controversial leader of the Paris avant-garde break through to the heart of American culture?

The answer begins a generation earlier, when a renegade Irish American lawyer named John Quinn set out to build the greatest collection of Picassos in existence. His dream of a museum to house them died with him, until it was rediscovered by Alfred H. Barr, Jr., a cultural visionary who, at the age of twenty-seven, became the director of New York’s new Museum of Modern Art.

Barr and Quinn’s shared goal would be thwarted in the years to come—by popular hostility, by the Depression, by Parisian intrigues, and by Picasso himself. It would take Hitler’s campaign against Jews and modern art, and Barr’s fraught alliance with Paul Rosenberg, Picasso’s persecuted dealer, to get Picasso’s most important paintings out of Europe. Mounted in the shadow of war, the groundbreaking exhibition Forty Years of His Art would launch Picasso in America, define MoMA as we know it, and shift the focus of the art world from Paris to New York.

Picasso’s War is the never-before-told story about how a single exhibition, a decade in the making, irrevocably changed American taste, and in doing so saved dozens of the twentieth century’s most enduring artworks from the Nazis. Through a deft combination of new scholarship and vivid storytelling, Hugh Eakin shows how two men and their obsession with Picasso changed the art world forever.

The Art Thief by Michael Finkel

For centuries, works of art have been stolen in countless ways from all over the world, but no one has been quite as successful at it as the master thief Stéphane Breitwieser. Carrying out more than two hundred heists over nearly ten years--in museums and cathedrals all over Europe--Breitwieser, along with his girlfriend who worked as his lookout, stole more than three hundred objects, until it all fell apart in spectacular fashion.

In The Art Thief, Michael Finkel brings us into Breitwieser's strange and fascinating world. Unlike most thieves, he never stole for money, keeping all his treasures in a single room where he could admire them to his heart's content. Possessed of a remarkable athleticism and an innate ability to assess practically any security system, Breitwieser managed to pull off a breathtaking number of audacious thefts. Yet these strange talents bred a growing disregard for risk and an addict's need to score, leading Breitwieser to ignore his girlfriend's pleas to stop--until one final act of hubris brought everything crashing down.

The Louvre by James Gardner

Some nine million people from all over the world flock to the Louvre each year to enjoy its incomparable art collection. Yet few of them are aware of the remarkable history of that place and of the buildings themselves—a fascinating story that historian James Gardner elegantly chronicles in the first full-length history of the Louvre in English.

More than 7,000 years ago, men and women camped on a spot called Le Louvre for reasons unknown; a clay quarry and a vineyard supported a society there in the first centuries AD. A thousand years later, King Philippe Auguste of France constructed a fortress there in 1191, just outside the walls of a city far smaller than the Paris we know today. Intended to protect the capital against English soldiers stationed in Normandy, the fortress became a royal residence under Charles V two centuries later, and then the monarchy’s principal residence under the great Renaissance king François I in 1546.

It remained so until 1682 when Louis XIV moved his entire court to Versailles. Thereafter the fortunes of the Louvre languished until the tumultuous days of the French Revolution when, during the Reign of Terror in 1793, it first opened its doors to display the nation’s treasures. Ever since—through the Napoleonic era, the Commune, two World Wars, to the present—the Louvre has been a witness to French history, and expanded to become home to a legendary collection, including such masterpieces as the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo, whose often-complicated and mysterious origins form a spectacular narrative that rivals the building’s grand stature.

[queenhermionelambert-blog]

First post in my Daniel Durant Character Headcanon series: James Kennedy (Netflix's YOU; Season 2 Episode 6 "Farewell, My Bunny.")

1. James Kennedy was born 3 weeks before his mother's due date and became so colicky that not long after he was born, he had to spend a few weeks in the NICU. He was the youngest of 3 because his mother had already had 2 daughters, both of whom were older than their baby brother James. He was definitely closer to one of his sisters than the other, but there was love between all 3 of the siblings. The doctors told his mother that he was deaf when he was a baby, and his mother and both of his sisters decided to learn sign language to communicate with him. James never knew who his father was because he left before his son was born. James had a very vivid imagination since he was the baby in his family and would cry if his middle older sister tried to leave him. His oldest sister had a drug problem as an adult, and young James would often try to get a hold of her, but to no avail. He would catch the flu a lot and get sent home from school quite frequently. His middle older sister would take care of him whenever his mom or oldest sister were away or busy and comforted him whenever he was scared or sad. Whenever his sister would ask him if he ever wanted to have kids, he would sign, "I'm not ready for that yet."

2. James met Love Quinn in college, and they traveled a lot together throughout their relationship. His middle older sister would often tell his future wife to try to be careful with him, but she also knew that her little brother would never do anything to hurt anyone, not even his own future wife. Love promised her future sister-in-law that the former would take good care of the latter's little brother, which Love did a mostly good job of.

3. When James's mom told him that his oldest sister had passed away from an unfortunate drug overdose, his middle older sister reached out to him and sent him her condolences, and she discreetly told her baby brother that she was pregnant with her first child. Even though he was surprised about his big sister being pregnant while he was still reeling from such a hard loss, he was also very happy for his sister and her partner getting ready to bring a new life into the world. By the time his baby niece was born, James went straight to the hospital to visit and support his sister through the birth, and it was worth it.

4. When James and Love got married, Love's younger twin brother Forty and James's mom, sister, and niece came for their wedding. Because Love's parents were incredibly distant towards both of their children, she was only ever really close to her brother growing up, but her mother still approved James.

5. James's family was still quite happy for him getting married to Love, and they would continue to send him sweet messages on his birthdays and even his 1-year wedding anniversary.

6. When James's middle older sister heard that he was sick, she supported him going into remission for his illness.

7. James's death hit his mom and sister really hard, to say the least. They were absolutely devastated when they found out that their son and brother had died, and they cried at his cremation. His middle older sister would cry often at night and miss her baby brother and wish that he had been able to get out of his situation with his widow, Love Quinn, and find happiness with whatever he had planned to do with his life. Forty comforted James's middle older sister, and the once close sisterly relationship that James's widow and his middle older sister had begun to develop when he and Love first met had become quite distant, but it was also evident that both women still had quite a mutual love and grief for their husband and brother, even though James's sister was understandably quite weary and concerned about her sister-in-law seemingly treating her brother like a baby, which he wasn't, and also emitting concerning and dependent behavior towards him in the moments leading up to his death, and it ultimately made the moment where James's middle older sister found out that his wife had killed him a betrayal to the former. His sister went to therapy for all of the trauma caused by her sister-in-law killing her brother.

Long story short, James Kennedy deserved so much better! 🤟🏻💔🥺😭🤧🖤🕊🤍🦋🫂

[snowvies]

𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐬 ❄︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

you

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

[californiahq]

✧.* 𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑻 ┛ . . . you're officially an angeleno now, dara ! welcome to los angeles, where the ocean meets the city, brunch is a religion and even traffic jams have their own instagram accounts. before you shine bright, take a peek at our checklist and send your account within the next 24 hours.

kim seokwoo (rowoon) as minjae 'ian' kang .

jessica chastain as adeline quinn .

kim seokwoo (rowoon) + he/him + cis man  –  have you seen minjae 'ian' kang around los angeles? the twenty five year old is usually jamming to onryō by the newton brothers. word around the city is that they’re imaginative, yet, they can also be gullible, but you didn’t hear that from me. they’re currently a composer & streamer and are typically seen walking the streets of los angeles with his master & dynamic wireless headphones. when i think of them, i think of the quiet loneliness felt at 3am, the haunting sound of strings and piano heard faintly in the background, & the clacking of an xvx L75 keyboard. let's hope the city treats them good! ( dara / 31 / she/her / est / n/a )

wanted connection: maris kang's younger brother wc.

jessica chastain + she/her + cis woman  –  have you seen adeline quinn around los angeles? the forty four year old is usually jamming to your hand is safe in mine by blush. word around the city is that they’re perceptive, yet, they can also be foolhardy, but you didn’t hear that from me. they’re currently an investigative journalist & podcast host and are typically seen walking the streets of los angeles with her opal pendant necklace. when i think of them, i think of a newspaper draped across half eaten breakfasts, wishes upon shooting starts, & the melodic laughter shared during game night. let's hope the city treats them good! ( dara / 31 / she/her / est / n/a )

[jewishbarbies]

Literally how did Love Quinn's parents let Joe the Hoe get away with killing (directly/indirectly) BOTH of their kids???? Hello , you are rich , have sime vengeance, some sense of justice at least when it's about your own omg

the mom is probably on a bender given her mental state and drinking problem in season 3, like I imagine the death of her only other child hit her pretty hard. idk about the dad but it’s probably because Joe was believed to be dead and that whole thing? there wasn’t any revenge to be had on a dead man. and forty was killed in “self defense”, which also “saved Love”, so that wasn’t exactly revenge worthy.

[wrongeddeadthenevermourned]

Staring down at the compass, Leopold frowns as he's walking. Then looked back a bit toward Quinn, listening to her reply, he laughs a bit "Oh. You know, that would be good, wouldn't it? Some food." He shivered a bit "A nice warm meal, it's kind of cold out here." He imagined it might be getting late, which would not be great for them.

Walking again, Leopold looks around, hoping that being lost in the woods wouldn't last too much longer. Taking the hairpin out of the container, he rubbed it against his hair, then dropped it delicately back onto the leaf. Glancing around as the hairpin righted itself in the right direction, at least, he hoped. He wouldn't be too pleased if he was wrong now.

"Yeah. We'll get out." Leopold assured, frowning. He continued to follow the pin's direction, frowning a bit. His other friends would certainly be making jokes about this for a long time after, if this ever got out. As she insisted he continued to walk with her. After about forty some odd minutes however, the tree's began to thin "We might be nearly out!" Leopold called back, walking faster only to stop as a pair of baby cougars rolled out, playing with one another.

Quinn wanted out of the woods sooner rather than later at this point. She felt like she was on edge and just wanted to see the sky and hear the sounds of cars around her. It was weird what being stranded in the woods does to her brain. Quinn was trying not to over think or over panic. It was just hard not to focus on the bad things that could happen if they didn't get out of here.

"People do prefer hobbies that involve a little less getting lost and a lot more food." Quinn agreed with a nod of her head. She wasn't sure that she would be hiking any time soon. Not after getting lost this time. While logically Quinn knew that the odds of getting lost again was low, she didn't want to risk it for a while.

"I am just going to hope that we get out of here alive at this point." Quinn said as she was trying not to be that dramatic. But she knew if they were seeing large animals they were likely farther in the woods than she thought they were. "Lets just keep going, quickly." Quinn said, but she wasn't sure if that was the best plan all things considered.

[ongaku-ato-kakikomi]

Could I ask for a Forty Quinn x Reader one-shot? The reader works at Anavrin and Forty is very fond of her. One day, Love (who also befriends the reader) gives her a few days off work to relax and Forty cannot stand not seeing her as he is used to her presence and undivided attention. Forty (being his dramatic self) stages an accident at work and makes Love call the reader to come to Anavrin to take him home and look after him. Don't feel pressured to do it though! I know life can be hectic. :)

“I’m back, dear sister!” Forty stretches his arms wide as he enters the store’s kitchen, a wide grin on his face as he gives Love a teasing look. “I know my presence just made your life so much better, but don’t worry... there’s no need to thank me.”

Love snorts as she cuts a few vegetables on the kitchen island, her eyes looking back at him with a soft smile on her face. “Sure, Forty.”

“Anyway! Not that I came to see you with a specific agenda, but...” He gently taps his hands against the kitchen island, his eyes frantically looking around the kitchen looking for something. “... have you seen (Y/N)? She’s not out in the front.”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Love ignores her brother’s evident choice of words, her attention partially coming back to her task at hand as she speaks. “She was getting pretty tired these days, so I gave her a few days off.”

Forty looks back at his sister with an unreadable expression, his eyes blinking a few times before he tilts his head at her. “Excuse me, what?”

“You heard me. She’s off work for a few days.” She looks back at him with a teasing glint in her eyes, her lips stretching onto her cheeks when she notices a pout forming on his. “What? Disappointed you won’t be able to see her?”

“Duh.” He shakes his head just as he steals a carrott from Love’s cut pile, the man rapidly putting it in his mouth as he steps back towards the store’s front. “But don’t worry, lovable sister... cause I’ve got a plan to bring her back here!”

“Bring her back here?” Love quirks an eyebrow, slight confusion taking over her face as she watches him come out of view. “Forty, she’s tired, please don’t bother her-”

“Aaaah!” Forty gives out a terrified scream of pain, a loud thud soon accompanying the rest of his words. “Oh, the pain! It’s unbearable!”

Despite knowing that this is a trap, Love cannot help but feel overworried for the safety of her brother, the young woman already stepping out of the kitchen to see him lying on the floor and holding onto his leg. She gives out a long sigh, shaking her head as she puts her hands on her hips.

“Tripped and fall, huh?”

“It really hurts!” He gives out a pout, slightly shaking back and forth on the floor. “I need someone to take care of me!”

“Hm, and I can’t leave the store unnatended, how convenient...”

“Yes, a real shame!” He closes his eyes for a moment, his face contorting in a dramatic expression. “Guess you’ll have to call someone to pick me up and take care of me... like... let’s say... (Y/N)?”

He opens one of his eyes to stare, a light of hope in his pupils. Love gives out a chuckle as she sees this, her body already walking towards the nearest phone in the store. Forty’s lips stretch out in a victorious grin upon seeing his plan working, a loud ‘yes!’ coming out of his mouth soon after.

“You know...” She speaks up as she types in your number, giving him a quirked eyebrow. “... you could have just called her yourself.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her. “Where’s the fun in that?”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

“How did it happen again?”

You pronounced those words while looking for something in the freezer, having left Forty alone on the couch in your living room. The Quinn man blinks a few times as he comes back to reality, his mind just now busy daydreaming a day date with you.

“What?”

“Your leg.” You grab a bag of ice out of the freezer, closing its door just as you turn a quirked eyebrow to him. “How did you hurt it?”

“Oh!” Forty suddenly remembers the real reason why you picked him up at the store, his hands unconsciouly grabbing his left leg. “Yeah, I tripped on an orange a client left on the ground. Can you even believe it?”

“Hm hm.” You give out a teasing grin just as you sit next to him and hang him the bag of ice, the man speaking out a silent “thank you” as he takes it from you. “An orange, huh?”

“Yeah, I know! I’m so clumsy.” He gives out a large grin as he puts the ice against his left leg, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he stares into your eyes. “You should have seen Love’s face, though. She was so worried!”

“Love, yeah... You know, it’s funny...” You bite onto your bottom lip as you think, your fingers scrathing the side of your face. “... cause she told me you tripped on some dropped water, not an orange.”

His expression falters down to a panicked one for a moment, a nervous smile gracing his lips a few seconds later. “Ha! Yeah, that’s right. I don’t know why I said orange... must have hurt my head too when I tripped.”

“Yeah, maybe...” You point at his left leg, a quirked eyebrow surfacing on your face. “But it doesn’t explain why you’re putting the ice on the wrong leg.”

Silence takes over him, his head slightly tilting at you. “... huh?”

“At the store, you said your right leg was hurting.” Your lips stretch into a wide grin, your approaching him. “So why are you putting the ice on the left one, huh?”

His heartbeat stops for a few seconds as he realizes how close you are to him, a warm feeling spreading to his cheeks as a million ideas comes to his mind, most of them consisting of smashing his lips against yours.

“... fine, I lied.” His words make you chuckle and you put more distance between the two of you, a slight feeling of disappointment taking over him as a result. “Love said you were off work, and I wanted to see you! What else was I supposed to do?”

“Um... you mean aside from fake-hurting your leg?” He nods at your words, another chuckle escaping through your lips. “You could have just called and asked me out. I would have said ‘yes’.”

His eyes widen with shock just as his lips stretch into an excited grin. “Did I hear that right? You wanna go on a date with me?”

You give out a scoff. “No, you wanna go on a date with me.”

“Sorry, that’s not what I heard.” He completly ignores the look of disbelief on your face as he shakes his head, his smile almost wide enough to break his skin. “Oh, (Y/N), what misery you must be in! If I had known you wanted to go out with me so bad, I would have asked you days ago.”

“Huh huh.” You approach your face to his once more, a teasing grin on your lips as you quirk an eyebrow. “You still haven’t asked me, though.”

“Jeez, you’re so impatient.” You roll your eyes at his words, the mere action causing his stomach to twist. “But fine... if you insist. Will you go on a date with me?-”

You answer his question by crashing your mouth against his, your hands gently holding onto his head as you move press your lips furthermore. His hands unconsciously let go of the bag of ice as the shock and warmth of this moment spread through his entire body, the bag making a loud thud once it hits the floor of your living room.

You part away a few moments later, Forty unconsciously following your mouth as he blinks his eyes open. You give him a wide grin, a chuckle escaping your mouth.

“Does that answer you?”

His own lips stretch into a grin of pure excitement. “That was the best answer you could have given... like, ever.”

And he couldn’t for you to repeat that answer... over and over again.