#the age expectancy was this low bc

[mikansei]

the story has no real reason to take us to veritas prime but i hope it does solely because it would be funny if everyone, characters in-universe included, assumes ratio's clothing is indicative of the style of his homeworld, but when we get there it turns out everyone wears togas.

and ONLY togas.

ratio's skimpy black underlayer is comparatively covered up like a Victorian widow in mourning. the boob window is actually stuffy and conservative, everyone else is running around with at least one tit fully out at all times. they think he's the weird one for wearing pants. it would serve no narrative purpose whatsoever but it would entertain me greatly

[saetoru]

ppl who consider 30s to be old are wild to me bc realistically most people spend up until roughly 24-26 in college and so you’re basically saying you can rly only live your life for about 4-6 years freely before you’re considered “too old” to enjoy anything. wtf are ppl supposed to do for the next 30 years after that jackass ?? you tell me 🤨 are they supposed to just buy curtains and a new blender and be content with that 🤨

[amateurwordbender]

ok it took me a minute to get used to the serious, almost brooding tone of the pjo show, but man i'm so glad they took that direction??

the dialogue gets a little cheesy sometimes and a few moments don't land, but that's such a small price to pay for the show actually taking itself seriously and leaning into sincerity and drama, because that's exactly how it felt reading the books as a kid. yes, percy's sassy (cue flashbacks) and quippy and there's a lot of humor in the books, but what i latched onto was the depth of character and the tragedy and the grandness of it all

i love that percy's really, truly troubled and angry, i love that you can feel luke's burning resentment for the gods, i love that the monsters feel terrifying and it's not just ~quirky~ that the greek myths are real, the myths feel ancient and the gods are dangerous. also, that outro with art harking back to the original book covers gave me literal chills you guys. i'm so excited for what's in store aaaa

[orcelito]

It does feel really nice to go into my kitchen and see it not entirely filled with grime...

Like I still have more to do. But it feels so open. Is this what it's like to have a functional apartment?

[voidpunker]

waow i keep forgetting that having little bass is an issue w the audio card im using on my pc and not these headphones

[aliyahwritings]

PROTECTIVE INSTINCTS.

Summary: Rafe Cameron gets into a fight, and Sassy!Kook!Reader helps him clean up his wounds.

Warnings: childhood friends, overprotective!rafe, alcohol/coke mentioned, blood, dumb ahh inlove, annoying mf.

Words Count: 3163

A/N: my first 'official' post ohmygawwddd!!!! i hope you will all like this. u can imagine this out of the obx plot bc in this universe sarah and rafe lowk get along and she's not w topp*r. i imagine rafe being 20/21 and reader is js a year younger

Getting an invite to Topper's party was supposed to be the highlight of your week—a chance to let loose, drink, dance, and maybe sneak in a smoke or two. You were determined to have fun. You and Sarah had been buzzing about it for days, thrilled at the idea of a night out after what felt like an eternity of being buried under schoolwork. It had been ages since either of you had gone to a party, and with all the stress piling up, you needed the break.

But, of course, Rafe had to go and ruin it by reminding you that he existed and was going to attend the party.

As the night of the party arrived, you spent way too much time getting ready—your reflection in the mirror repeatedly checked as you perfected your messy dark eye makeup. Black heels on, strapless mini-dress in a black fabric. The waist is drawn with a thin, satin black ribbon into a neat bow. The skirt flared out slightly, you knew you looked stunning. Sarah had already sent you a dozen texts about how she couldn’t wait to hit the party, and you were just about ready to go.

When you arrived at the party, it was even more packed than you'd expected. Music thumped through the house, bodies swayed on the makeshift dance floor, and the smell of coke, smoke, and alcohol lingered in the air. Sarah grabbed your hand, pulling you through the crowd as you both laughed. That was exactly the chaos you both needed.

"God, I've missed this!" Sarah shouted over the music as we moved to the dance floor. You smiled, matching her energy, the rhythm pulling your bodies into a sway.

For a while, it was easy to forget everything—school stress, drama, even Rafe’s looming presence at the party.

That is, until you saw him.

Rafe Cameron, leaning against a wall with his usual arrogance, a bottle of beer in his hand and his eyes scanning the room like he owned the place. It wasn't long before his eyes landed on you, and as usual, he didn’t look away. His eyes tracked you from across the room. He always watched you—like it was his job to make sure you were okay, even though you made it clear you didn’t need him playing bodyguard.

You groaned inwardly. 

“Just ignore him,” Sarah whispered in your ear, sensing your mood shift. “Come on, let’s dance.”

And you did—letting the music take over as you moved with your friend, blocking out everything else. For a moment, it felt like maybe, you could enjoy the night without thinking about him. You walked away from your friend to get both of you a drink but as you arrived at the bar, a guy who you didn’t recognize walked up to me, his breath hot and alcohol-laced as he leaned in too close, his voice low and crude.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he said with a smirk growing on his face. “You look stunning tonight. That dress—damn, it’s doing wonders to your body.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore him as you focused on getting your drinks. “Thanks, but I’m not interested,” you replied coolly, turning slightly away from him.

“Oh, come on now,” he pressed, undeterred. “Don’t be like that. I could make your night a lot more fun. I know how to show a girl a good time. I could take you somewhere private, just you and me. I bet I could make you feel better than any of the other guys ever could.”

You felt your stomach churn, irritation rising as you glanced around for an escape. “I really don’t think so,” you said firmly, your patience wearing thin. “Just back off, alright?”

But he stepped closer, invading your personal space even more, a cocky grin plastered on his face. “Why're you playing hard to get when we both know you’re a slut. You don’t gotta pretend with me, baby—”

You rolled your eyes, about to insult him but the sound of a bottle smashing to the floor before Rafe’s fist collided with the guy's face.

“Say that again,” Rafe growled, his voice deadly calm as he grabbed the guy by the collar, pulling him close. The crowd around you froze, the music blaring in the background as Rafe’s knuckles bled from the punch he’d just thrown.

The guy stumbled, trying to mumble something that sounded like an apology, but of course, Rafe wasn’t done. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with a fury that sent chills down your spine.

“Rafe!” you shouted, pushing through the frozen crowd to get to him. “Let him go!”

But he barely heard you. His focus was locked on the guy, like he was two seconds ago from throwing another punch. It took Topper and Kelce rushing over to pull him off before things escalated any further.

The guy backed away, rubbing his jaw, his eyes wide with fear. “I-I didn’t know, man—”

“I don’t fucking care. Get out of here!” Rafe yelled, cutting him off, his chest still heaving with rage.

You watched as the guy walked away, his tail between his legs. Your attention shifted to Rafe, who turned on his heel and headed towards the stairs. You followed him with your eyes as he ascended until he disappeared into one of the rooms upstairs, shutting the door behind him.

You glanced around, searching for Sarah. When you spotted her you waved to catch her eye. She looked over, and you mouthed, “I’m going to check on Rafe.” Sarah gave you a quick nod.

With a deep breath, you pushed your way through the crowd and made your way upstairs, the noise from the party fading into the background as you reached the top. The hallway was quieter, the air heavier. Without hesitation, you headed straight for the door you saw Rafe disappear behind. You didn’t even think to knock; there was no need for formality between the two of you. It wasn’t in your nature to tiptoe around Rafe, not when you’d known him your entire life.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He glanced up when you entered, surprise flashing briefly in his eyes before it was replaced with that familiar guarded expression.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, “What the hell is your problem, Rafe?” you told him, crossing your arms on your chest. “You can’t just go around hitting people!”

He stood up, glaring at you. “He deserved it,” he shot back. He turned away from you, pacing the room like a caged animal. “Did you hear the shit he was saying to you? You think I was just gonna stand there and let him talk to you like tha?”

You sighed, frustrated but not entirely surprised. This was Rafe—impulsive, overprotective, and always ready to throw a punch when it came to you. “Yeah, I heard it, Rafe—he was talking to me. And I could’ve handled it. I don’t need you acting like my knight in shining armor.”

His head snapped up at that, and he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Really? You think you could’ve handled him? Because from where I was standing, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.”

You huffed, shaking your head. "That’s not the fucking point! You always do this. You’re always trying to play the hero when no one asked you to." You met his gaze with a hard stare of your own, refusing to back down.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he stepped even closer, closing the distance between you. His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "Maybe I’m not playing. Maybe I actually give a damn when some asshole thinks he can talk to you like that."

His proximity made the air between you feel charged, and you had to fight the urge to step back. Instead, you held your ground, your heart pounding in your chest. "And maybe you should learn to pick your battles instead of flying off the handle every time someone so much as looks at me the wrong way," you shot back, your voice just as sharp as his.

His lips twisted into a smirk, though there was no humor in it—just frustration. "Pick my battles?" He echoed, his voice low and dangerous. "Like you would ever let me. Every time I try to protect you, you act like it’s some kind of personal offense. Like I’m doing something wrong by giving a damn about what happens to you, Y/N."

You scoffed, crossing your arms tighter across your chest. "Because it’s not about me! It’s about you needing to feel like you’re in control of everything. You can’t just punch your way through life, Rafe."

"It’s not about control. It’s about not letting anyone treat you like that. I’m not gonna stand by and watch it happen. Not when it’s you."

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. You sighed, the fight slowly leaving your body. “You’ve always been like this, you know?” you said, your tone softening just slightly. “Even when we were kids. You were always ready to defend me.”

His expression softened, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well, some things don’t change.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “You’re impossible, Rafe Cameron.”

He let out a low laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. The anger between you was fading. He infuriated you, but deep down, you knew his heart was in the right place—even if he had a habit of making things way more complicated than they needed to be.

Rafe’s eyes lingered on yours, the tension still there but different now. He stepped closer again, but this time, there was no anger in his movements, just something more... deliberate. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "You looked good tonight, by the way."

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, you met his gaze with a smirk of your own. "You’re just now noticing?" you teased, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

"Trust me, I noticed the second you walked in."

You cleared your throat, breaking the intense moment between you two. “Let me see your hand,” you said, trying to refocus on something else.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his usual cocky smirk creeping back onto his face. “What? Worried about me now, princess?”

“Hardly, but you’re a mess and someone’s gotta clean you up before you bleed all over Topper’s sheets.”

He grinned, stepping back slightly and letting you grab his hand. His skin was warm under your fingers, and you tried to ignore the way your pulse quickened as you turned his hand over, inspecting the damage. His knuckles were raw, a few cuts oozing blood.

You glanced around the room, spotting a small bathroom attached to the guest room. “Sit down,” you ordered, nodding towards the bed. Rafe didn’t argue—surprisingly—but the amused smirk never left his face as he sat down, watching you with that intense, unblinking gaze of his. You walked over to the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet until you found some bandages and antiseptic wipes.

When you returned, Rafe had leaned back against the headboard, legs spread slightly, his arms resting on his knees like he was waiting to be entertained. 

“Hold still,” you said firmly as you sat on the edge of the bed beside him, gently taking his injured hand in yours. 

"Careful," he teased, his voice low and husky. "I might start thinking you actually care."

You shot him a quick glare, your eyes narrowed. "Or maybe I just don’t want to deal with your whining if this gets infected."

He chuckled, the sound deep and almost... seductive. "Trust me, I’m not the whining type. You, on the other hand, love getting under my skin."

You ignored his comment, though the corners of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Here you go, telling lies. Unlike you, I am responsible—something you wouldn’t understand.” 

Rafe’s smirk widened, his blue eyes locked on yours as you worked. “Yeah? Is that why you spent half the night trying to avoid me?” He tilted his head. “You’re terrible at it, by the way.”

“Maybe I was avoiding you because I knew you’d do something stupid. And look, I was right.”

“So, you were watching me all night, huh? Didn’t realize I was that distracting.”

“More like I could sense the chaos coming from a mile away,” you shot back, the corner of your mouth twitching despite your best efforts not to smile.

“Admit it, you’d miss me if I didn’t cause a little chaos.”

You snorted, playfully nudging his good shoulder. “Miss you? I think my life would be way more peaceful.”

He gave a dramatic sigh, clutching his chest with his uninjured hand. “Wow. You really know how to wound a guy. If I wasn’t already bandaged, I’d need another one for my heart.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Please, Rafe. You’ve got an ego the size of this entire house. I think your heart’s just fine.”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Maybe. But you like me this way.”

“Oh, do I now?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “And what makes you think that?”

Rafe leaned in just a little more, that teasing grin still plastered on his face. “Because, no matter how much you complain, you’re always right here. Taking care of me. Telling me I’m an idiot. It’s kind of your thing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the sass in your voice was playful. “It’s called charity work, Rafe. I should be getting paid for dealing with you.”

He laughed, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back up. “Oh, I’ll pay you back. Trust me.”

You tilted your head, giving him a sly smile. “Yeah? And how exactly are you gonna do that?”

Rafe’s grin widened at your challenge, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He shifted a little closer, the air between you growing even more charged. “Oh, you’ll see, princess. But you’ll have to be patient. I know that’s not your strong suit.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you leaned back on the bed, crossing your legs. “Patience? With you? That’s asking for a miracle, Cameron.”

He chuckled, his hand resting just beside your thigh. “Miracle? More like a blessing. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and you know it.”

You shot him a look, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Best thing? Don’t flatter yourself. You’re like a stray dog that keeps following me around, begging for attention.”

Rafe smirked, leaning in so his face was closer to yours, his voice dropping low. "And you love the attention. Don’t act like you don’t.”

“Please, the only thing I love is the peace and quiet I get when you’re not around.”

He let out a mock gasp, putting a hand over his chest. “Ouch. Again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Dramatic again. Besides, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, that cocky grin never leaving his face. “Me? Can’t take it? You must be thinking of someone else, sweetheart. I can take anything you throw at me.”

You leaned in a little, matching his energy. “Anything? That sounds like a challenge.”

He tilted his head, his blue eyes locking onto yours, full of playful intensity. “It is. Go ahead, try me. What’ve you got?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think for a moment before smirking. “Alright. How about this? For starters, you’re predictable. Every time something doesn’t go your way, you throw a tantrum or a punch, like you’re still a spoiled little boy.”

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter, if anything, it grew. “Predictable? That’s rich, coming from someone who’s always acting like she doesn’t care when we both know she does.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “I don’t care. I just know how to deal with your dramatics.”

“Right. That’s why you followed me up here, bandaged my hand, and now you’re sitting here flirting with me,” Rafe said, his tone smug.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second. “Flirting? Don’t confuse taking care of your stupidity with flirting, Cameron.”

He leaned even closer, his lips just inches from yours now, his voice a low, teasing whisper. “Oh, so this isn’t flirting?”

You bit your lip, fighting the heat rising in your cheeks. “No. This is me being nice because you’re too dumb to take care of yourself.”

“Sure it is,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that husky tone that always made your heart race. “You’re really bad at hiding it, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “Hiding what?”

Rafe grinned, his gaze flickering down to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “How much you like being around me.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re delusional. I’m just here so Topper doesn’t kill you for bleeding all over his stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” Rafe replied, his thumb lightly tracing circles on your thigh, the gesture casual but full of tension. “And I’m sure you’d leave the second I’m patched up, right?”

You blinked, but your voice didn’t waver as you answered, “Absolutely. As soon as I’m done here, I’m out.”

“Really?” His eyes sparkled with challenge, his breath warm on your skin. “Then why haven’t you left yet?”

You faltered, trying to keep your cool, but his proximity was intoxicating. “Because... You needed help for your hand and I couldn't let you be miserable.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Always gotta get the last word, huh?”

“Someone has to,” you shot back, but your voice was quieter, less sharp as the tension between you both thickened.

He watched you for a long moment, his gaze intense but soft at the same time. Then, with that infuriating smirk still on his face, he leaned back slightly. “Alright, I’ll let you win this round. But don’t think I didn’t notice how close you got just now.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the bed. “I was checking your hand, not getting close to you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess,” he teased, watching you as you walked toward the bathroom to put away the bandages.

You turned back to him, shaking your head with a smile. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet, you keep coming back,” Rafe quipped, standing up and stretching.

And he was right…

tags: @glors3 @mattyskies @cutiebuety @sumlovesjude @dilfluvr4ever @cooper8224 @octaviareina @imawhoretho @drewscoquette @cutiebuety @gracelynnmarielester @amourfolklore @gillybear17 @rafestaurusgf @meekmillsfrenchfries @auriellawp @urdreamgirl12 @katie-the-author @love1deandra @rafecameroninterlude @stargrltara @stupendousturt1e

[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 💙

[iluvloganhowlett]

I HATE YOU .𖥔 ݁ ˖

in which logan leaves for a mission unexpectedly for almost a year and still expects to be welcomed home upon return

warnings: angst, no happy ending (oops!), a little violence, mutant!reader, that’s it fr

reader has same powers as logan bc they were both experiments at the same time

i also switched up the timeline slightly so pretend logan isn’t a grumpy old man and is more so how he was in x-men (2000)

i also saw some other story that was kinda like this one but i couldn’t remember who’s it was so if anyb knows drop it so i can credit

part 2

“why are we here again?” wade questioned, stuffing a handful of cheetos he stole from a vending machine a while back.

logan only glared at him, “because. i left her for 9 months, the least i can do is come home and show her that im alive.”

wade shrugs, “who even is this ‘she?’ is she hot?”

in seconds, wade finds himself pinned against the wall of the hallway, logan’s claws only centimeters from his neck. “she’s my girl, you don’t get to talk about her being hot,” logan growls, retracting his claws and releasing wade.

“well damn wolvie! don’t get your panties in a bunch, im not stealing your girl! unless the charm is just too much for her then-“

“do you ever stop fucking talking outta your ass?”

wade only sighed, halting to a stop as logan did the same. “137,” logan muttered, looking up at the 137 sitting next to your door.

as logan rose his hand to knock, the door was swung open. logan’s eyes widened. he thought he’d gotten himself back into the right headspace to see you again, clearly he’d been mistaken.

the way your low-set brows rose up at the corners in anger, your long lashes drawing his eyes straight to your deep brown ones. your plush lips curled in slightly and your hair flowed down your back smoother than water.

wade whistled, “hey hot stuff-“ before he was cut of with a punch to the nose, dragging him down to the floor.

logan still had yet to say anything, admiring all the parts of you he’d missed.

however he was cut off with a groan, looking down at your claws that had made their way through his abdomen and back out, retracing back into your forearms.

“what the hell are you doing back here? and who’s the red sex-toy lookin’ thing that i j punched?”

as much as logan wanted to laugh at your dig at wade, he knew how to read the room. and frankly, he was still to stunned. “y/n? baby?”

“don’t call me that,” logan’s eyes widened, “you don’t get to call me that after disappearing for 9 months without notice, lo!”

logan couldn’t help but admire your use of his nickname you created even though you’re pissed at him.

“listen. i know, okay? i know and im sorry but if you let me in,” logan stepped closer, “i can expl- ah fuck!”

you’d stabbed him again in the same spot, pushing his body against the hall with your claws. “no you listen to me, logan. and you listen to me good. i’m not letting you come into my- our house after going awol for fucking forever and coming back with some random gay in a red suit,” you pulled your claws out of him but didn’t put them away this time.

your face softens, eyes moving rapidly between logan’s. he knew you better than anyone, he could see the way your eyes shifted from angry to vulnerable and the way your eyebrows lifted; you were a mini him, despite you being the same age.

“i thought you died, lo. i spent the past months thinking the only person i had and loved was fucking dead,” your eyes welled up as you backed away from logan, putting your claws away alas.

“i’m sorry, doll. im so sorry you have no idea,” logan’s calloused hands grazed your forearms, thumbs tracing the spot where your claws rested.

you sighed, holding back the urge to give in and hold onto him as long as you could.

“but you dont understand-“ you looked away, only for logan to lift a hand and cup your face in it, forcing your glossy eyes to meet his.

“you’re right, james! i don’t understand! so jesus fucking christ enlighten me.”

logan was taken back at your use of his real name, lip parting slightly. his heart ached more and more every time he watched your bottom lip quiver. he knew you were trying to keep up your strong facade, but were beginning to fail.

“i had a mission to go on. i had to save the world, baby!” your brows curled back into anger, and logan knew you thought he was bullshitting. “cmon, angel, stay with me. the asshat over there in the red, he dragged me into this. so if you’re gonna kill anyone for this, have it be him. i just- i need you to let me in.”

you shook your head. “lo- just-“ you stuttered, scavenging for words. “but why didn’t you say anything? you couldn’t have called? sent a letter? hell, baby i would’ve been happy with a fucking pigeon!”

“i didn’t have access to that shit.”

“for 9 months?”

he took a deep sigh, “yes, for nine months.” his tone grew louder. “because if i hadn’t left you for those 9 months there would be no more you for me to come back home to!”

“get out of my damn building, logan.”

“what?”

“leave! i want you and that goddamn red thing to get as far away from me as you fucking can and stay there.”

“y/n-“

“bye logan!”

you slammed the door in his face, leaving him standing there in utter disbelief.

logan’s claws retracted, “FUCK!” he screamed through the hall, leaving a giant claw park across your door.

he looked down at wade, who was watching from a safe distance on the floor. he put his claws away, grabbing wade by the fabric of his suit and dragging him onto his feet.

“get up, you heard the girl; let’s get the fuck away from her.”

logan was breathing heavy, more than ever before. it was like his heart couldn’t catch up to everything he was feeling in the moment. the last thing he wanted to be doing right now was walking out of your apartment building and leaving you, but he was weighed down by so much anger and hurt that he wasn’t exactly in control of himself at the moment.

“well,” wade started, “you handled that well.”

and before he knew it, wade was stabbed into a wall. “ow?”

logan growled, “i’m coming back for her.”

wade only let out a long laugh, stopping logan in his tracks.

“what the fuck are you laughing at? you should’ve heard the joke she made about you! she said you look like a sex toy-“

“i’m not laughing at that, you ape. i’m laughing at the fact that you’re coming back to her! look how it turned out the last time you ‘came back.’ “

“you don’t know what you’re talking about, kid. i’m coming back, whether she likes it or not. i’m not losing the love of my life after all i did to make sure i wouldn’t lose her.”

“i-“ “and next time im here, you won’t be.”

so! should i make a part 2 WITH a happy ending when he does come back??? 🫣🫣

♯ taglist! ∿

@spazwayy @oatmilkriver @sseleniaa @mei-simp @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesangel @realsimpbitchshit @pickuptruck01 @keigohawks @thereallchristine @velvrei

[apocalypse-shuffle]

AGATHA HARKNESS (mcu | agatha all along)

—

“A Witch’s Bargain” (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader) and (mentioned Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader)

| Once you find out a witch as infamous and powerful as Agatha is seeking you out you decide to go to her before she can pull one over on you; an attempt was made.

| SFW, obeah, flirting, hints at immortality, reader has something going on with both Agatha and Rio, -caribbean!reader & witch!reader

| pic source: Agatha All Along (2024)

| Note, the Reader-Insert is speaking with an accent but I didn’t write the particulars of it down bcs that would’ve been a lot to parse through even for me. Also, happy less-than-forty days till Halloween!

| 2k+ words

“Oh my,” you drawl, leant back against a large tree near Westview’s local psychic shop and nearly lost in its shadow, “this is…underwhelming.”

A whopping three people — only two witches, one of which was currently powerless — pause in front of you on the sidewalk, your words ringing even truer at the way the boy amongst them jumps at your abrupt entrance.

Lips pursed, you look him up and down with little favor. If this was to be the makings of Agatha Harkness’s “great coven” the pickings truly must’ve been slim.

The very witch you came to see turns to you, her hair falling into her face with the movement like she’s in some big brand shampoo commercial. Without another word, you watch on with an opposing stillness, your heart remaining steady.

Interesting.

For a woman you’d all thought dead Agatha looked well. Hair not clumpy, skin not worn or leathery. Even the way she held herself still bellied her comfort in mysticism, even dressed like a modern day woman as she was.

“Mm,” she hums shortly, turning in place with a few unhurried steps until she can cast narrowed eyes onto her apparent newest tag-along. Matching her stare head on you lean into the sun’s light a little more, your own thick curls brushing across a few low hanging branches where your hair is wrapped in cloth atop your head. “I don’t recall asking for an Obeah Woman,” she announces, tone bitingly light.

A scoff falls past your lips.

“And I didn’t expect the whispers for a coven would lead me to you, like this,” you twitch, letting your smile spread your plush lips thin, “broken and without your gifts.”

“I wouldn’t test me, New Girl,” she parries, and you hold your palms up in surrender.

Though your expression doesn’t sober.

The smile that rises to match your own in response to that is lopsided and sharp. Years worth of condescension she’d grown too used to falling back on without caution due to the magic coursing through her coming to the surface.

Agatha Harkness’s name in whispers had sent you into a fit at first — a witch of her caliber and age with your name on her mind never meant good — but looking at her now you could only tilt your head.

On the other hand, the boy with her seems eager to shake apart with laughter that grinds upon your nerves. Luckily, one look from the Salem veteran keeps him quiet.

Mostly.

In seconds she too is cackling, however — the boy’s muffled laughter acting as background noise — and you don’t bother stopping your sneer then.

“Oh, I see. You think you're hot shit,” she draws out, voice dropping an octave. “Don’t you operate a failing apothecary out of your apartment?”

Lips flattening, you step from the shadow, your face fixed without obvious malice to the best of your ability.

“It’s a side hustle,” you sniff. “And still better than being sentenced to 100 lashes and persecuted by the Danish; if I ever see the inside of a Christianshavn prison again I’ll frig up more than a few rum distilleries.”

“Of course. Now you just get persecuted by American Authority instead,” she says, the cut of her mouth sly.

With a flourish you wave her off. “Wretched as your worry is, it’s unneeded. Poison is no different than an elixir when you make it backwards.”

“Okay,” she simpers, shrugging herself, voice light and eyes never straying from your form as you glide closer over the concrete.

Powerless or not, something beneficial could surely come of making the occasional acquaintance of such a renowned woman.

Movement in your peripherals catches your attention though, and you stop moving to turn your head to find who you can only assume is the cause of your blight today.

Your sneer situates itself right back over your lips.

“Lilia,” you announce, the woman stops in her tracks and cuts you a brazen look out of the corner of her eyes. You take caution to only let your molars grind together for a second, releasing the tension in increments as your gaze narrows on her and you stand taller. “I should cut you down where you stand.”

The psychic huffs, shawl sliding a bit down the slope of her shoulder.

Slowly pulling the covering back into place she tuts at you, “Or…you could not. I mean, let’s face it, you would’ve been drawn here regardless of if I gave Agatha your name.”

“Unlikely,” you snap, words ground out like you’d rather spit on her than keep to something so civil as using mere words to express yourself.

And you would if you weren’t in such mixed company. Lilia was only meek when she was playing some angle after all.

You didn’t like anyone else making your moves for you, forcing you to speed up your timeline. Your own plans be damned.

“Witches, witches!” Agatha cuts in, holding her hands out to keep you and the psychic apart despite the way she’s only looking your way. “Let’s not tear each other apart just yet, hm?”

She eyes you from head to toe, taking her time to pan down as she takes in your flowing clothing and lightly clacking beads, before giving you a wicked look. “We wouldn’t want to mar anything too pristine before things really get interesting, now would we?”

Knocking your gaze to Lilia for a second you clock how she initially meets your glower, but keep your gaze steady regardless, just up until she finally twitches in discomfort. Only then do you ease up, tossing a grimace of a smile her way, before watching Agatha closely once more as the psychic wanders off somewhere out of sight with a few muttered curses you pay no mind to.

Meanwhile, Agatha’s expression has changed, having lost its begrudging appraisal and turned furrowed.

You raise your brows, “Harkness?”

She squints, obscuring fine cut hazel.

“I know you, don’t I?”

“Ah,” you grin without teeth, shoulders shaking, “so you can’t tell your porridge from your oats either I see.”

She rolls her eyes.

“The ‘wise sage’ act is very annoying, I have to tell you. It’s really ruining an otherwise beautiful package and I think you should work on that.”

“Should I?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Oh, alright,” you examine your bare nails, twisting your wrist this way and that to get a ‘better’ view of your cuticles, “you’ll have to put the request in with my secretary first, though, I fear.”

Agatha’s pet’s head pops up from over her shoulder, his face screwed up, “You have a secretary? …No offense.”

Sighing, you drop your hand back to your side and make a point of rolling your eyes hard enough to nearly make yourself dizzy.

“No. I don’t,” you tell him finally, though you don’t look away from the actual witch in front of you even as you do.

Immediately after you raise your brow at Agatha, however, “As for you, you know full well that I’m better than any sage, and that passing me up would be a waste when you need a potion maker. Regardless, no we haven’t met, but your backside is just as unpleasant as people describe.”

“Hm,” she hums in agreement, moving to toss her round brunette curls around to her back with a wink in your direction, “unpleasantly beautiful, you might say.”

“Worthless more like it,” you correct.

Agatha stops putting on her little show so quickly you might as well have just lashed her across the face.

Briefly, her eye spasms, “Watch it.”

“I might,” you say, “so long as you prove me wrong. Now, if we could get back on track.”

“Huh,” she scoffs, glaring at you now. “Fine. How bout’ this, unless you can make an elixir to make me invincible from every witch closing in on me, then scram. I’m dealing with enough ameatures as is.”

Head thrown back for a second, you laugh, letting your fervor echo throughout Lilia’s forever vacant parking lot.

“Oh, make no mistake, Harkness, I can do that...” you say eventually, voice easy in a way that gives the other woman pause. You jerk a brow up, briefly mirroring the way her interest seems to physically jump up to stare at you, “…for a price.”

Gaze finally brightening she moves to knock her male companion on the shoulder, gesturing your way afterwards before plastering a much “nicer” smile on her face.

“Teen’s got the money. Give the woman whatever she wants, come on.”

“Oh no, I don’t want money,” you cut in with a flick of your hand at the grabble she’s making for the boy’s wallet.

Agatha pauses in the middle of silently arguing with Teen, glancing your way from her slightly bent position.

“—You don’t?”

“I might not call myself a witch, but that in no way means I’m confused as to what you witch them does do.” You get closer to her, and how she straightens to meet your advance makes you preen. “I want a favor. A binding one.”

“As if,” the boy cuts in with, “A witch of her caliber doesn’t do binding spells, they’ll only hinder her.”

Oh my—

“You well fucking rude,” you say distastefully, giving him a harsh look. Irritatingly, his forward ass only lays his hand over his heart with a gasp.

For her part all Agatha does is laugh, knocking you lightly on the shoulder as if you’ve told a particularly funny joke, and taking you right out of your stare down. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Dear. Cause you sure are delusional.”

She snorts.

You suck your teeth.

This back and forth routine was getting far more tiresome than you’d anticipated.

“The only lucky one here is you,” you deadpan.

She opens her mouth to respond, that same dismissal in the curve of her mouth, but then pauses. Expression twitching, she leans even closer to you to inhale.

Frowning, you pull your upper half away from her.

“What—?”

“—I should’ve known,” Agatha exclaims lowly, pointing her finger at you. “You reek of her plague, that's why you seemed so familiar. What have you been dabbling in, I wonder, to smell so thoroughly of Rio? Joining her plot against me?”

You shake your head, looking away from her. You’d only hung around Vidal for the same reasons you were hanging around Agatha: to gain connections and, better still, favors you could cash in on if you ever found yourself in a bind due to your own ventures.

You hadn’t been lying earlier when you’d said you’d start making drastic moves if you saw the inside of a cell again, you didn’t care where it was. You’d burn it all down until they had to put you down before you’d waste away imprisoned ever again.

“Absolutely not. Whatever cuhruckle that went down between you two is yours alone. All I’m worrying about is my deal.”

To the displeasure of your heightening pulse, however, Agatha doesn’t just look passingly interested or even admiring any longer. She looks like she’s been given a puzzle, and like she likes it.

“Too late,” she chirps, fluttering her lashes, “Rio is far too picky about the company she keeps alive for your involvement to be left unexplored.”

Hand coming up, she runs her nails along your jaw. You stave off a flinch from the ticklish sensation her touch elicits. “You’ve taken on too potent a poison, Darling, situating yourself in the middle of our fight,” Agatha finishes, clicking her tongue, before walking her digits back up the umber expanse of your skin to press the pads of them into the hinge of your jaw.

You swallow roughly, hope she can’t hear it.

Agatha smiles, pressing in until she can force you to meet her eyes again. They’re roving, almost manic when paired with her smile.

“Yes,” she breathes, eyes alight. “Maybe I do need an Obeah Woman after all. We’ll be going to the Witch’s Road, won’t you come with?”

No. It’s on the tip of your tongue. The feel of Rio’s blackened energy still a hot, sizzling brand across your lips.

One deal had been made already, yes, but were you sure about pursuing this one as well with the inevitability of getting caught in the middle of a centuries old rivalry so probable?

Unfortunately, your, “Fine,” slips past your lips before you can stop yourself, and rather than deal with the indignity of walking your agreement back you stay quiet.

Watching for her move. Reasoning with yourself that there were still benefits here despite this new hiccup, if only you played your cards right.

She doesn’t make you wait long.

A shiver rises over you as her presence does the same, her steps carrying her till there’s hardly a whisper between your bodies. Even without her magic, being this close to Agatha Harkness allowed her to snake herself across your soul same as Rio Vidal had when you’d also unintentionally peaked her curiosity a while back.

“Wonderful,” she coos, the pad of her thumb gliding up your cheekbone as her hazel bores deep into your brown, “let’s see about that deal then.”

Dammit to hell; this had better be worth whatever Agatha and Rio’s combined interest would do to you.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

Fun fact, actually, I wrote this when I’d only watched episode two up until Agatha and Teen left Lilia’s place, and so didn’t know that Jen (gorgeous as she is) would be who they went to for poisons (or that that was in any way a requirement in the first place) so that was a fun little coincidence. Otherwise, the setting of this oneshot I just pulled out of my ass fr.

Also, character motivations are a bit funky but I can’t pinpoint the exact reason and really want to post this tonight so we’ll all have to deal.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

—

Caribbean word of the day (i.e.,the glossary): “Frig” - an alternative way to say ‘fuck’. so ‘frig up’ = ‘fuck up’.

“Cuhruckle” - a fight or (intense) disagreement; drama.

*remember, though, that dialects are regional so the words in this glossary aren’t used by every caribbean* 

EDITED: 9/26/24 & 10/26/24 (after s1ep7 I’m even more in love w/ Rio now)

[lalalunel]

Shh, he can't know..

wrote this like ages ago with dbf Leon in mind bc it's my FAV version of Leon yes this is also pathetic Leon saga

wc: 288

cw: oral m!recieving, dirty talk, gagging

enjoy?

You shut your eyes tight, breathing in through your nose sporadically as Leon pushed your head down, packing your mouth with a low groan. You tapped his thigh with a choked whimper, to which he tutted disapprovingly. 

"C'mon sweetheart, you're doing so good, stay like that for a bit, hm?" He praises, grasping at your hair with a better grip to slowly bob your head up and down on his length. He pushed you all the way down, pressing his tip into the back of your throat and eliciting a gagging noise from you. 

"Shh, quiet, baby. Don't want your dad hearing you," he sighed lowly, tipping his head back against the couch as your mouth enveloped his cock. He pushed you all the way down for a moment, holding his cock deep within your mouth and relishing the way your throat squeezed around his head. “Oh, what would he think, sweetheart?” 

"What would he think if he saw this? Your mouth full of my cock in the living room, the way you're drooling all over and making me feel so good. We can't have him finding out, can we?" He looked back down at you, expecting an answer, laughing a little when he realized you couldn't speak. 

He pulled your back up, letting you take a breath and give him an answer. "N-no, we can't." you replied hoarsely, already looking a mess just from that moment. Your cheeks were a bright pink hue, eyes teary from brief lack of air yet glimmering all the same, drool dripping down your chin in an obscene trail. 

"Atta girl, so keep quiet, ‘kay?" He said approvingly, gently pushing between your lips, coaxing you back down on his cock once more.

~~~

gawk gawk core

[yanderefarm]

yandere vampire's pet introduction

cw;; yandere tendencies, blood, abuse, child abuse, manipulation, orgies, pet play, hypnosis

i love this little freak. there's a lot of information here bc i had a lot to say. he's so pretty and i love him so much one of my favorites for sure. im sorry to everyone who wants to be kind to him and treat him gently. im definitely gonna write about him getting bullied.

like I said before his yandere type is self destructive not like ares who is more traditionally yandere. so his content is less about him being jealous and hurting other people or you and more about his obsession. you're the only thing that matters in his life and it drives him to insanity.

silvan was born in a territory owned by a cruel vampire who purposely mistreated the humans under his watch because of how dirty he thought they were.

because of this it was hard for his family to find food so when he was a young child he was given to some low ranking vampires in exchange for human food.

that's how he got his scars around his neck. the vampires kept him for 3 days and nearly killed him before his blood started to develop a bad taste.

when humans are malnourished their blood starts to taste more like dead man blood which can be toxic to vampires. when silvan fell at your feet he tasted horrible, it wasn't until he'd been eating regular healthy meals for a few months that you actually risked trying his blood for the first time.

he tastes sweet. he's like biting into a perfect strawberry that's juicy and sweet without any tartness.

he believes that you're just inherently superior to him because you're a vampire. he feels like he needs to serve a powerful vampire like yourself that you're the only thing that gives his life meaning.

if he had been sired by you he would have been distraught and unable to cope with the idea of it. he wouldn't theoretically mind hurting humans. the problem is his self esteem and how lowly he thinks of himself.

he makes it no secret to you how he feels about himself. it's why his guilt tripping is so effective.

it also means that when he actually does something bad that earns him punishment he takes it incredibly hard. your servants will report his screaming and wailing so loud they can hear him if they go to that part of the manor.

you had to make his punishment room essentially baren so he wouldn't try to hurt himself. even the floors and walls had to be redone to minimize risk. it's basically a padded room.

you would expect him to lay on the guilt tripping extra hard after he gets out but he doesn't. his eyes are empty and his voice is just about gone. he's like a shell of a human being.

silvan will just walk around for a while like that. he'll hesitate to even go near you because he doesn't want to disappoint you again. he doesn't start to return to normal until you bite into him.

he loves when you feed on him. he feels wanted, needed even. you're so powerful and amazing there's no reason you should need him but you do.

he loves sitting in your lap while you drink. he'll run his fingers through your hair and babble about how happy he is. he just goes on and on if you let him, until he's absolutely woozy from blood loss.

he can't die easily because of the preservation procedure. he can withstand having his blood drained past the point of a regular human, he doesn't need to eat every day, he doesn't age. the only thing that could actually kill him is a deliberate attempt on his life.

you've robbed him of part of his humanity by turning him into a pet.

it's not like silvan cares though. you could take all of his humanity if you wanted. you could force him to crawl around like a dog for eternity and he would do so happily.

and compared to his home in the human farm his life is significantly better because he belongs to you. it's not just the fact that he's a pampered pet living in a lavish manor and eating whenever he desires. it's that he's yours.

he's met plenty of vampires by now, other lords like yourself included. no one compares to you. you can show him the bare minimum of affection and that is worth more than all the adoration he gets at parties.

some parties can be a bit too much for him. he's always willing to serve so if it's your will that he be passed around he'll submit himself to any vampire you decide. but sometimes vampires are too greedy, sometimes it reminds him too much of his childhood trauma.

he finds it hard to run to you for support, not because you're some cruel owner but because he doesn't believe he's worthy of your care. if he actually comes to you with a problem you know it's serious.

if he starts to panic or get upset while he's in the middle of being fed on and used by many vampires he can't exactly get up and run into your arms. that's when he finds his ribbon.

the first gift you gave him was a ribbon to tastefully hide his scars. you wrapped it around his neck like a dog collar. since then the original had gotten torn but you bought him a new one.

every one that got torn went to a shoe box in his room. he took good care of the one he wore around the manor but at parties they often got carelessly discarded by greedy vampires. you always bought him a new one, usually to match his outfit.

it was so important to him that he would use it to soothe himself when he was upset. it's presence was like your embrace to him. he would imagine your cold fingers gently touching his skin as you tied it on him. everything was ok.

not every party was a horrible slog fest. the small parties you and the other elite would have were the most fun. you and your friends would all bring your pets and while you talked business silvan got to spend time with the other pets.

he likes other pets because they tend to be the only humans who understand him. some humans have a deep resentment for vampires and they dream of revolution. some humans simply accept their lot in life and do their best while silently cursing their vampire rulers. it seemed like only pets understood the deep admiration for vampires.

silvan and the other pets would excitedly brag about their respective owners and gush over how cool they were. at least until the party turned to other things.

if you're an incredibly affectionate owner he'll become a spoiled brat. he'll still be self loathing but being sat on your lap adorned in all the beautiful things you got him is basically therapy. he doesn't ask for material possessions usually all he really wants is your attention. he interrupts your work, he crawls into your bed, he'll even accidentally barge into meetings with other vampires. he'll pretend to be your stupid pet who doesn't know better. he didn't know you were busy he just needed to see you so bad. the other vampires just watch his shameless smirk when you let him do what he wants.

if you're more of a tortured soul type vampire he loves you but you also irritate him a little. you gave him a good life because of how pathetic and sad he looked when you first met. you give him clothes, you feed him, you gave him a warm bed. so why won't you bite him? why do you wait until you're starving to finally feed on him? he's your property it's your right to feed on him. but you don't. when you finally do you're crying and apologizing. it makes him so frustrated he doesn't understand you. there's nothing more insulting to silvan than you not wanting to eat him.

if you're a mean owner it makes him feel all the more desperate to please you. he'll gladly ask you to take your frustrations out on him. if you want to see his face twist in pain you're going to have to get creative. you punch him, strangle him, cut him, anything and he has a big dopey smile on his face. he can so easily convince himself that you hurting him is your way of showing affection. as long as you don't lock him in the punishment room it means you love him.

as long as you let him stay by your side he'll remain your devoted and loyal pet.

silvan has a vampire kink. he gets so turned on by your fangs, your cold hands, your power over him. compel him. bite him. touch him.

with this comes a pain kink, a blood kink, and a hypnosis kink.

he's already obedient but compel him to make him quiet, dumb, and pliant. he'll jack off to the memory of you doing whatever you want to him for months.

it's hard not to notice just how much you drinking his blood really turns him on. especially if you're a messy eater. he has to physically restrain himself from kissing you and licking up his own blood.

if you're covered in someone else's blood he gets strangely jealous but still undeniably turned on. let him remove your bloody clothes or touch him with your bloody hands and he'll end up humping your leg.

he likes taking care of you. he's clumsy and overexcited but let him help you get dressed or take a bath or get you off. he'll do his best to show you the love you showed him.

he will suggest crawling under your desk and cockwarming you all day. but if you give a mouse a cookie.

he likes more traditional pet play too. put him in a proper collar and make him bark. call him good dog or good boy.

he's really skilled at taking multiple people at once. it's part of why he's so popular at parties. as long as you're not participating he'll be able to focus his attention on everyone.

if you're participating everyone else is chopped liver. he wants to show you how good a pet he is but he also only wants to touch you.

the rare exception is at the small parties with all your friends. all of the pets just get passed around. the first time he got really jealous of whoever you would put your hands on but as he became friends with them all the jealousy subsided somewhat. he knows they'll never want to leave their owners so he doesn't have to worry about them wanting you.

you're vampires of course you have to have cool vampire orgies. if you can't have cool vampire orgies what's the point!

his favorite position is either on your lap or with his legs over your shoulders. he wouldn't particularly care too much what position you had him in. he just needs you.

brat taming. if you spoil him you get to brat tame him and in return he'll misbehave more just to get punished.

he's the most fun to bully or mess with when you have company. he tries to be beautiful and put together eye candy by your side, he can hide his obsession with you for a little while. until you're pulling his hair or cutting into his neck. undo all the hard work your maids went through to make him presentable.

he can't hide how hard he gets when he's looking up at you and your company with tears in his eyes and his shirt stained with his blood. he'll play pretend that he's a miserable dog who's being mistreated by his owner but you're both well aware that he loves it. any kind of attention is good attention.

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

Could you do the (16/17 year old) step daughter of spencer who calls him really late one night to pick her up from a party because she's (very) drunk and she knows he's up bc of his insomnia. And she clearly sees him as her father bc her dad left before she was even born.

Spencer Reid X Stepdaughter Fem Reader

THANK YOU FOR 400 FOLLOWERS!

Request: Could you do the (16/17 year old) step daughter of spencer who calls him really late one night to pick her up from a party because she's (very) drunk and she knows he's up bc of his insomnia. And she clearly sees him as her father bc her dad left before she was even born.

Third person pov...

Y/N was out at a friends house for a party, she was having fun, dancing and drinking all night long. She hadn't gone to a party in ages.

As the clock struck 1 am, Spencer was lying in bed, eyes wide open. Insomnia had been a constant companion for him, It was especially difficult on nights like this, when his stepdaughter Y/N was out at a party.

Y/N was a bright, independent teenager. But Spencer couldn't help but worry about her, especially since her biological father had left them before the H/C girl was even born. Spencer had taken on the role of a father to Y/N and they had formed a strong bond over the years.

Just as Spencer was about to drift off to sleep, his phone rang, jolting him awake, he immediately sat up, concern flooding through him, groggily he answered the call, expecting it to be Y/N checking in before heading home.

"Hey Y/N, everything okay?" Spencer answered with a touch of worry in his voice.

"Hi, uhm, can you come and pick me up from this party? I'm really drunk and I don't want to stay here anymore" The teenagers words were slurred and her voice was shaky.

"Of course, Y/N, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Just stay put and I'll come get you" Spencer replied, already getting dressed and grabbing his car keys.

"Thanks, Spencer" Y/N said

She then gave him the address of the party and hung up. Spencer quickly got dressed and left his house in a hurry.

As he drove towards the address, he couldn't help but worry about Y/N, He had always been there for her, but he knew that her teenage years would be difficult but he would be there for her.

When he arrived at the party, Spencer could hear the music blaring from the house. He parked his car and walked towards the front door, bracing himself for what he would find inside.

As he neared the house he saw her sat outside. Y/N was sitting on the porch steps, her head hanging low, her H/C hair hanging infront of her face.

He could see the tears streaming down her face, and his heart broke. He got out of the car and walked towards her, sitting down next to her.

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer asked, gently placing a hand on her back.

Y/N wiped her tears and nodded. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you. I just wanted to go home"

Spencer hugged her tightly, rubbing her back as she cried. "It's okay, Y/N I'm here for you"

"I-I'm sorry" the teenager hiccuped, trying to stand up but failing miserably.

Spencer gently helped her up and led her to the car, Once she was buckled in, he drove her home in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

They drove in silence for a few minutes before Y/N spoke, fidgeting with her painted nails "I'm sorry, Spencer" she said, her voice shaky with emotion.

"I know I shouldn't have called you. I just...I needed somebody and i couldnt call my mum" Spencer reached over and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"It's okay, N/N. I'm here for you. Always." They drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence. When they arrived home, Y/N stumbled out of the car, her legs unsteady from the alcohol.

Spencer helped her inside, and she collapsed onto the couch, shivering from the cold.

Spencer pulled a throw blanket over her, and she immediately snuggled into it, her body still shaking. He sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, holding her close.

They sat like that for a while, Y/Ns head resting against Spencer's chest. She was still shivering, and he could feel the guilt and regret radiating from her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I shouldn't have done this. I know you must be disappointed in me."

Spencer gently lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. "I could never be disappointed in you, Y/N You're not perfect, and I don't expect you to be. But I do expect you to be safe. And to always come to me when you need help."

Tears filled the H/C teen eyes, and she buried her face in Spencer's chest. "Thank you" she mumbled.

"I love you, Spencer. You're the only dad I've ever known"

Spencer's heart swelled with emotion, and he held her tighter, tears prickling at the corners of his own eyes.

He had never thought of himself as a father figure, but in that moment, he knew he would do anything for the girl in his arms.

They stayed there, cuddled up on the couch, until the sun began to rise. Y/n had eventually fallen asleep, her breathing slow and steady.

Spencer smiled, grateful for the opportunity to be there for her in her time of need.

She may not be his biological daughter, but in that moment, none of that mattered. They were family, and that was all that truly mattered.

He shifted himself so he could put a pillow under her head, he then unbuckled her shoes and put them down by the couch.

Standing up he looked down at her. "How am I going to do this" he muttered to himself, the tall man then leant down he wrapped an arm around her shoudlers and put his other one jnder her legs so he could lift her up.

Once she was in his arms she automatically curled up in his arms again, a content sigh escaped her lips. Smiling Spencer begins walking to his bedroom.

He wasn't going to let her sleep on the sofa, when he opened the door he he set the teenager down on the bed and lent her body against his so he could pull back the covered for her.

He then tucked her in, brushing her hair away from her face, he then kissed her temple. "Good night Y/N" he whsipers before closing the door.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot, so sorry for the wait for this request! Sorry for any grammar and Spelling mistakes.

Requests are open!

Word count : 1120

[rookiesbookies]

Captain John MacTavish x His wife x Sergeant Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

I dont know how it would happen but i'm imagining sweet little Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish meeting Captain MacTavish and his wife. I guess this is me rewriting what happened bc Im made we’ll probably never see Neil as his boy again. 

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

Smut smut smut under the cut for my lovely mutual @shotmrmiller of my John and his wife meet sweet little Johnny au thing.

Also @glitterypirateduck this one is for you and #soapitup

“Bhean,” he whispers loudly, following it with squirrel noises, motioning for her to follow. She walks out of the recreational room. He nuzzled bis face into her neck, letting her know he was nervous about what he was going to say. “I'm getting serious deja vu.”

“Talk to me, Goose.” A shameless quote of their favorite date night movie from when they dated made his nervous face crack a smile.

“I have this crazy memory,” he mumbled into her neck, she always worried he’d hurt himself craning it down like that so often.

“What about, don’t leave me on cliff hangers, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Do you remember our first time together?”

“Skiing or fucking? Because I remember both very well.” He chuckled at her bringing up his failed skiing attempts from a vacation they went on.

“Making love, Bonnie.” He hummed, “would you believe me if I told ya it’s because I had done it before?”

“Considering baby you told me he’d call me mommy? Yes. Yes, I would.” She hummed. “You also found my clit really fast which makes that really reasonable in retrospect.”

“What if, like my future self taught me at that stage, we teach him how to make love to you so he can charm you with the monster.” It came out more as a question, making his nerves hammer against his chest. He was more than sure he beloved wife would say yes, but he didn’t want to risk making her uncomfortable or saying it wrong. 

“He does really want to impress me,” she mumbled. “Fine. But there’s ground rules.”

“Of course, Mo chridhe, anything.”

“Just the tip, you know how I am about hygiene. I don’t fully try young you to keep everything clean. He swears to secrecy and if I ever think for a second he mentions this im ending his blood line. And you stay with us. You are my husband after all, not the boy.” The Captain nodded with every word. He’d make sure. He knew the Sergeant would want no harm to come to his future wife, and the Captain didn’t need a scorched relationship.

“Thank you, Mo leannan, it’s what helped me keep up hope I could lock you down when I met you when I was his age.”

“So it was a memory and more than deja vu?” She asked with a raised brow.

The Captain just simply nodded, planting a kiss on her temple, “you’d tell me if you wanted to back out right? If it made you uncomfortable?”

“John.” She was serious, she never called him just ‘John’. “I expect the same from you. And you’d know I’d never keep that from you.”

She reached up to his face and gently rubbed it. He melted just a little bit into her touch. “I assume you don’t plan to do this on base?”

“No, but that’s the hard part.” “I’ll handle it, go tell the mini you,” she said softly, planting a kiss before walking away.

The Captain sighed and let his shoulders relax, he knew he was so lucky to have her. The sergeant was about to be the lucky one though.

He made his way down the hall and stole his past self from a conversation with Gaz. “My wife and I have decided to give you an opportunity to learn more about her.” He said in a low deep voice. “I will be teaching you about her body so you can please her but there are ground rules she set and a few of my own.” Once he covered his wife’s, he got on to his own, “do not bite her, dig your nails into her, or ignore me if I tell you to do something. No coming inside either and don’t try anything.” Sergeant Soap nodded along, “I’m not sure you’re actually listening, sergeant.” The Captain growled. Soap’s eyes went wide, “Captain me, sir, I prayed last night for an opportunity to feel her skin, honestly I was just expecting to be allowed to shake her hand.” The younger Soap grumbled, “believe me, I’m all ears.” “And none of that ‘I have a latex allergy so I can’t wear condoms’ crap. I know we don’t have that allergy. You will be wearing one.” “You’re so no’ fun,” Soap mumbled. “Fine.”

The Captain didn’t entirely know how he felt about the kid creaming his wife. Sure, it was him, but it was a younger, rowdier, dumber him and not his same body. Getting married meant he was the only one allowed to cream pie his wife, and yes, it is a version of him, it wouldn’t be the same as him doing it. Even if his wife is on birth control and enjoys them, he knows he’d get jealous, way too jealous. Besides it’s his job anyway, he signed a paper to be able to do it, and this kid version gets to just randomly do it.

“So when do I get to show mo bhean how a younger body is better to make love with?” Sergeant asked, patting his older self on the back. This made the Captain flip until the voice of an angel spoke up.

“Ya mean when you meet yer own damn wife. Ya wee-” the Captain’s rage was cut off. “Tomorrow night. I’ll be there ahead of schedule to prepare, my husband will drive you.” She said, walking past the two with effortless grace and a sway of her hips. She flicked a piece of hair back over her shoulder. 

The next 24 hours were full of different forms of tension for younger Soap. He was eager, so eager, almost too eager in the Captain’s eye. The Captain’s raging jealousy made him almost want to shut down the whole thing. 

When he loaded the sergeant and himself into the old truck he sighed. “Remember the rules?” “Of course.”

“Can’t believe you still own this truck.” “She’s carried me through a lot.” “When you meet YOUR wife, she’ll appreciate it. Square bodies are her favorites.”

The rest of the drive was small talk. The sergeant saw a notification appear on the Captain’s phone and snatched it up, since the captain was driving. He back read the short conversation from this morning between the Captain and his wife, who had been the notification. ‘Mo chridhe you better not warm yourself up on that clarty vibrator’

‘You expect him to be able to get me warmed up enough?’

‘Its a teaching experience, mo leannan’

‘I don’t want to make him wait too long, I remember how impatient you were <3’

“Does she think ima div?” Soap looked at the Captain and asked. “Reading my personal texts? Real professional, ya eejit.”

“Does she think I can’t make her feel good? Or make her feel like she’s on Eccie?”

“No, she just doesn’t want you to wait too long. She does this. I bought it for her first time I left on a long mission, now she uses it to take away the fun part of getting her warmed up.”

“So she thinks I'm a fandan.”

“Dinnae fash yersel.” The Captain sighed, “we’re here and the least ya can do is make her feel good as a thank you.”

When he dragged his younger self into the hotel room, it finally set in that he was going to be cucked. By a younger him. Fucking his wife.

He knocked on the door twice and it kind of felt like his wedding night all over again. There she stood in a silk robe, eyes only on him with a gentle and soft smile. It's a smile she only gave when she was nervous, he gave a similar smile back to let her know he felt the same. It was subtle, but he reminded him this was indeed his beautiful wife.

“Go strip in the bathroom and sit down in the chair when you’re done, we need to talk.” The Captain said sharply. 

“Aye aye Captain,” the sergeant mumbled, walking into the bathroom. 

The Captain’s hands immediately found his way to his wife’s hips. 

“Are you nervous?” He asked, holding her close with his mouth near her ear between kisses he placed in her hair.

“Of course,” she said softly into his chest.

“Do you need to back out? We can leave and forget all about this if you need.”

“Do you need me to want to back out?” She asked soft, turning her head to look up into his eyes.

“No, I don’t think so, mo bonnie lass.” He said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Give me a safeword to give him and a safeword for emergencies.”

“Two levels of safe words?” 

“Just in case I don’t hear the first one, he’s kinda loud.” She giggled and placed a kiss on his neck.

“Bubbles for him and Soap for emergencies.”

“My old callsign?”

“I never call you anyway,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Can I undress you and keep that privilege to myself?” All he needed was the little nod she gave before he moved to untie the robe. 

The lace blue bra she had been taunting him with with the matching panties drove him crazy. She ran her hands up and around his chest as his opened the clasp with one motion and undid the hooks holding the straps over her shoulders so she didn't have to remove her hands from his torso.

He sunk down lower as he planted sloppy kisses down her body and removed her underwear. Lovely pacing a kiss at her lower lips before trailing bite marks backup as the Sergeant exited the bathroom.

“I thought you said I couldn’t bite!” He accused as he watched the Captain leave a hickey on his wife’s chest.

“YOU can’t, I can.” This made the younger Soap look offended. The Captain smirked at the Sergeant’s face. “My wife, remember. Not yours.”

His wife just ran her fingers through his slightly grown out mohawk, a means to sooth him. 

Captain MacTavish moved to his wife’s ear and whispered softly, “may I told yer hand through this, mo ghraidh?”

“Gu sìorraidh is gu bràth,” she said back, pointing to the tattoo on her collarbone. When Soap heard it he almost fainted.

“She knows the language?” Sergeant Johnny asked.

The Captain hummed, pulling his mouth away from the dark hickey he was leaving on her neck, “learned a little bit for me.”

The Captain gave his younger self a once over before landing a sarcastic remark as his eyes landed on the bush, “glad to know you haven’t started shaving yet.”

“You trim?”

“Occasionally,” the Captain pulled his waistband down a bit, nuzzling into his wife, “I wax for special occasions. Yer lucky I found one who doesn’t care.”

The Captain locked his fingers with his wife’s, gently herding her to the bed. He laid her down gently and got her into a good position, shoving a few of the lousy pillows under her waist to offer a better angle.

“How are you?” He asked softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “Ready as I can be,” she said with a soft giggle, as he bent down to plant a kiss on her lips.

“Sergeant, come here.” The Captain commanded, pointing at the foot of the bed, his wife couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her as she dropped her hand over her face. The Captain moved his wife’s knees apart with his free hand, the other still lovingly holding her’s. Johnny got on his own knees as John commanded him as he spread his wife’s pussy lips apart with his fingers. “Ya see that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir,” John corrected Johnny. He basically gave his younger self a tour of his wife’s softest pieces. Telling Johnny her favorite things that he does and what she reacts best to. Johnny was so enthralled with her body he could move his eyes anywhere else. Especially when John put his fingers inside and curled them suddenly making her gasp so Johnny knew how far in her g spot was. The way her body jolted and softly raised as the gasp left her lips was his new favorite thing. He was so jealous he didn’t have her yet. That she wasn’t his wife yet, that he didn’t have the liberty to mark her body yet. “Get to work,” the Captain said, patting Johnny. He didn’t need to say it twice because Johnny went right in.

The wife brought her free hand down to her mouth to hold in the gasps and moans as Johnny ate so eagerly. John was usually slow and sensual, to the messy and a vehement eating that was happening at her core was a much different sensation. John gently pulled her hand away.

“Checkin in with ya, are ya doing good?” he asked his lovely wife. Her eyes couldn’t focus, her mouth gaping and shutting. 

She gave a nod and a hum as her body started to clench as Johnny inserted fingers between her legs and curled, making her body lurch towards the sky and gasp. The Captain gently placed kisses on her face, her velvety cries just make Johnny want to do it again. “She’s even prettier from this view,” Johnny mumbled, spreading her apart with his fingers.

“She donnae like condoms but imma make ye wear one anyway,” Captain Mactavish told his younger self before placing a kiss to the forehead of his flushed wife, still coming down from her orgasm as her husband ran his fingers through her hair as her breathing slowed with her closed eyes. John threw the condom at Johnny, who quickly rolled it on before standing up. “Donnae force it in, go in slow.”

Johnny positioned himself, putting one of the lovely wife’s ankles to his shoulder before giving it a soft kiss. He didn’t dare pull her down the bed like he would have normally done, he walked on his knees to meet her. Hands sliding down her legs to lift her ass, one he saw as so perfect.

He slowly slid it in as John kissed his wife’s face, holding her hand. She was more than used to John’s dick by now, but she was far from used to Johnny’s pacing. So much energy and stamina, not to say John didn’t have it but John was definitely more about making love than he was about fucking or just having sex.

Once she started to grind her hips, Johnny’s face lit up and he immediately started a toe curly, back arching pace. His tip bullied her g spot, making her mouth fall open but no sound falling from her lips.

John cooed at her as Johnny bullied her soft parts, not caring about his own pleasure, solely the pleasure of this goddess in front of him. Once he was sure he had found the spot, Johnny folded her a bit more to hit it a bit deeper, making sure everything was dragging against her.

The only thing that left her were whines, she felt her melted brain might just spill out her ears as the white, staticy heat built up. 

A nice ring built up around Johnny’s cock as he began to roll his hips. Her pulsating cunt milked him so much he felt an almost numbness in his fingers as all he could do was hold her and roll his hips as she let out a broken moan and came. Her husband’s voice echoing around her head with praises and loving words.

It was down right impossible for Soap to not come from her body's pulsations so he did. He wished it hadn’t been into a condom but he was grateful he just got the chance.

John gave him a look and Johnny took it knowingly, going to get a warm and damp towel. He handed it to John who began to clean his wife up, nodding to Johnny to let him know he could leave. 

Johnny didn’t know it was so John could reclaim his wife with some slow sensual sex and lots of love bites.

John, unlike Johnny, was going to come inside. Johnny looked at the photo he had taken of himself with the wife of Captain John from the night prior, "I'm going to marry you. Yer the one I've been looking for."

[mooniiify]

Lexiiiiii

I go insane thinking about the idea of Wriothsley when he was still imprisoned at the fortress as a prisoner, and hes ended up in a super sweet but also painstakingly angsty star crossed lover situation with the current Duke's son/daughter/gn!reader

It's forbidden but stolen glances and if he starts fighting in the pancration ring to try and show off to reader, and gets beat up and reader goes to tend to him and wriothsley protects reader from any other prisoners trying to overstep and mess with reader because of their negative feelings for her father and aaaa reader sneaks into their dad's office to find wriothsleys record because they can't believe he could ever hurt anyone then they find out and - RIP MY HEART OUT ALREADYY

the girl from the fortress and the convict | wriothesley x reader

word count: 4.3k cw: fem! reader, use of y/n, fluff and a lil angst towards the end, making out but nothing explicit, not proofread! notes: i think i got a little carried off with this request bc it SO GOOD thank you anon <3 this could've been longer but i was feeling a lil uncreative sorry, hope you enjoy it anyway!

She was no inmate, yet she was bound to a life in prison, wether she liked it or not. The Fortress of Meropede was all she knew, having been born and raised within the metal structure. There were few times where her father had taken pity on her as a child and brought her outside with him, though that was always only due to him having work in the overworld. Besides that, she didn't particularly like hanging around her father, anyway.

Her life was boring, but she was used to it. 

The inmates never interested her, mostly due to them always being older than her. It was to be expected, of course, due to crime rates among younger people much much lower, if not non-existend in Fontaine.

That was until when she was just seventeen, when she'd heard whispers of a young boy, supposedly around her age, being sent to the Fortress. She hadn't seen him yet, though all the rumours about him piqued her interest. 

It was about three months after she'd first heard of his inprisonment that she heard about him fighting at the pankration ring. She wasn't allowed there, her father would kill her if he found out, but what was life without a little risk? 

With a mask over the lower half of her face and her head low, Y/n managed to sneak into the rink with no trouble. She stood to the side, watching, making sure no one was approaching her. 

The spirits were high, chatter filling the arena. They were talking about the newbie who'd started climbing the ranks quickly, and that was when she'd first heard of his name. Wriothesley. She wondered what a person with such an interesting, noble name would look like. 

An announcer got on the rink, no mircophone since it was still, after all, a prison, yelling over to the audience. ''On the left corner, we have the beast that is he is in the rink, the monster he unleashes against those who dare challenge him, I want to hear your applaus for Dougier!''

A rather buff man appeared on the stage, his hands in the air as he enjoyed the praise. Y/n clapped along, still hidded in the back and trying not to stand out. 

Once the cheers died down, the announcer continued. ''Now, in the right corner, we have the newest rising star in the pankration rink, the one with iron fists, go off for . . . Wriothesley!''

Y/n stood straighter at the name, her eyes stuck on the rink. Up walked the youngest inmate she'd seen around. His black hair was tousled, his eyes icy like the vision that hung on his hip. His attire was simple, his boots heavy. She watched him as he pulled on the Cryo Vision and flung it to the side, it falling near the corner. No one dared touch it. Y/n wondered how no one has stolen it yet. 

The two fighters got into position, fists in the air. Y/n watched as the bigger man flung himself at Wriothesley, who expertly dodged before throwing a punch in his gut. He was moving so quick Y/n could barely follow, and before she knew it, the buff man was on the ground, knocked out. The announcer grabbed Wriothesley's arm and put it up, declaring him winner. 

Wriothesley seemed rather indifferent to his victory. He walked off the stage as the other man had to be hauled away, making his way towards the betting table where he was able to recieve his payment for the win. Y/n bit the inside of her cheek, watching as he waited for his coupons to be counted. 

She kicked off the wall she'd been leaning on, manneuvering through the people. She was planning to leave at first, then noticed the Cryo Vision still on the edge of the rink, Wriothesley seeming none the wiser. She contemplated for a moment, then seized the chance, picking up the vision and making her way towards Wriothesley. 

He'd just recieved his coupons when Y/n tapped him on the shoulder, mask down as to seem more inviting, holding out his vision. ''You forgot this.''

Wriothesley seemed stunned for a moment, staring in her eyes. Y/n was no different, taking a closer look to his face. There was a small scar under his eye that seemed to be almost healed, so it must've been rather recent. She couldn't help but wonder how he'd gotten it. 

He was the first one to shake himself off. ''Thank you.'' He took the vision, reattaching it to his belt. ''Sorry, I didn't catch your name?'' 

''It's Y/n,'' she said, holding onto her mask. ''I'll see you around, Wriothesley.'' 

''Hey, wait━'' 

She didn't. She walked away, her mask back on, convering the small smile on her face. 

The Fortress wasn't the biggest place in Teyvat, yet it took a few days before Y/n finally spotted Wriothesley again. He was at the canteen at the same time she was making her way there, sitting alone to the side. She understood, though. Everyone else was much older than them. It was weird. 

She picked up her food, the most appetizing one of the day, and made her way to Wriothesley with her tray. ''This seat taken?'' 

Wriothesley looked up, one of his cheeks stuffed with food. He quickly swallowed down his food, clearing his throat. ''No, go ahead.''

Y/n sat down, putting her tray down. She looked over at Wriothesley's, noticing he'd gotten the welfare meal of the day. It didn't look nearly as appetizing as hers. She looked down at her tray, at the bowl with mashed potatoes. Picking it up, she placed it on Wriothesley's tray. ''Here. Have at least one actually edible thing.''

Wriothesley furrowed his eyebrows, looking at her. ''Doesn't this cost, like, a bunch of coupons? Don't just give it to me.'' 

''Just accept the gift, will you?'' Y/n said as she picked up her fork. ''Call it the forging of our friendship, or whatever.''

Wriothesley quirked his eyebrows. ''Since when are we friends?''

''Since we, my dear friend, are the only people of our age in this hell of a place,'' Y/n said as she messed with her food with her fork. ''Trust me, I've checked. Unless you want to hang out with all the oldies, that is. I can gladly take my mashed potatoes back.''

''No, it's . . . it's fine.'' Wriothesley said, taking a bite of her offer, humming. ''It really is good. At least, better than anything else I've had so far.''

The rest of the lunch passed in silence, which Y/n didn't find awkward. Wriothesley opened his mouth a few times, as if he wanted to speak, but never went through with it, so neither did Y/n. At the end of their meal, both of them returned their trays, Y/n looking at him with her arms crossed and a smile. ''Same time tomorrow?'' 

''. . . Right.'' 

They kept up their silent lunches for a week. It was nice, finally having company and not having to bring her lunch back to her room so it wouldn't feel awkward with all the other inmates. Then, one day, Wriothesley finally dared ask her a question. 

''How long have you been here for?'' he asked, making Y/n look up at him. ''I mean, you seem oddly experienced about the Fortress, considering you're about the same age as me. You must've done something insane to have come here even before me.''

Y/n hummed, tapping her plate with her fork twice before answering. ''I've been here since birth.''

Wriothesley furrowed his eyebrows. ''What?'' 

Before Y/n could answer, she felt a looming presence behind her. Looking back, she made eye contact with Dougier, the same convict Wriothesley had beaten just a week before. He stood behind her with his arms crossed, but looking at Wriothesley. 

''Well, look what we have here. The newbie sweet-talking his way to the Administrator's daughter's pants.''

Y/n watched as Wriothesley's eyes widened slightly. It wouldn't have been really noticable if she hadn't spent the last week observing every possible expression and manneurism he would show in her presence. 

''I'm not sweet-talking myself into anything.'' Wriothesley's eyes narrowed at the man. ''I apologize that I happen to be a better company to some.'' 

''You━'' Dougier stopped himself before he could throw a punch at Wriothesley, then looked at Y/n. ''So, seems like after all this time, you've finally found yourself a boy-toy? I'm not sure how well your father would take that in.'' 

''What, are you going to go tattle-tale to my dad now? What are you, twelve?'' Y/n challenged, seemingly making Dougier even madder. 

''You little━''

''How about you leave the girl alone?'' Wriothesley stepped in before any filthy words can be uttered in her direction, crossing his arms in front of his chest. ''Do I need to send you running with your tail between your legs again?'' 

Dougier only scoffed, sent each of them a last look, then left. Y/n chuckled as she looked at Wriothesley. ''Thanks for that, but I had it handled.''

''Oh, I could tell, Miss Administrator's Daughter,'' Wriothesley said, leaning on his forearms on the table, eyebrows raised. ''Why didn't you say anything?''

Y/n shrugged. ''Not like we've really talked. But, you know now, so. Truthfully, I don't really talk to anyone here because they're scared of getting on my father's bad side, so they mostly avoid me, except to tease me, as you just saw. I don't really rat anyone out because I don't care.'' She looked down, playing with her food. ''Now's the moment to get up and leave, if you're also scared of the Administrator.''

Truthfully, she expected him to stand up and walk away. When she didn't hear any movement, she looked up and noticed him still rooted in his position, his eyebrows raised. ''What? You think I'm some sort of a coward?'' 

Y/n smiled at him, genuenly for the first time since she'd actually met him. ''No, not really.'' 

She thought that from that day on, their relationship would blossom, in one way or another. That was, until she was called into her father's office later that same day, urgency written all over the guard's face.

She made it in, seeing her father in his chair. She's rarely seen him out of it, really. ''You called for me, father?'' 

''I hear you've been getting cozy with a new inmate.'' Her father took a smoke of his pipe despite the poor ventilation in his office. ''Wriothesley, isn't it?''

Y/n sighed. ''Look, I don't know what Dougier or anyone else told you, but Wriothesley and I are just friends.''

''You cannot be friends with convicts, Y/n.''

Y/n scoffed. ''If you haven't noticed, you've kept me stuck here my whole life. I don't really have much of a choice.'' 

''I have no time to deal with you. If you do not stop associating yourself with that boy, I will have no choice but to punish him instead.''

Y/n's breath hitched. She watched her father as he got back to work, essentially showing her the conversation was over. She opened her mouth, wanting to protest, but there was no point. She stomped out of his office, straight to her room. 

The next day, she went to the cafeteria to pick up her lunch. A note was stuffed away in her pocket, her eyes scanning the area, falling on Wriothesley. He was sat on their usual table, already waiting, his lunch untouched. 

Y/n walked over to the table, seeing the small smirk appear on his lips. ''Well, look who decided to━''

Y/n slammed her hand on the table, startling Wriothesley. ''I can't hang out with you anymore,'' was all she said before she walked away, leaving a confused Wriothesley behind. He watched her as she picked up her lunch, then made her way away from the cafeteria. 

He looked down at his tray puzzled. Something white caught his eye, just where Y/n's hand had slammed on the table. He quickly took it, looking around to make sure no one was looking at him. Unfolding it, he was met in a few sentences. The handwriting was rather neat.

Dougier ratted me out to my father, and he doesn't want us to hang out anymore. He said if he hears of us again, he will hurt you. I'll wait for you at the infirmary, Sigewinne won't tell on us, so we can talk later tonight. If you're willing to take the risk, that is. Since you're no coward. 

Wriothesley stared at the note, re-reading it a few times. He thought of Y/n and how cold expression had looked just moments before, but it all must've been a mask. He wondered if it was worth it. He'd only known her for a week. Was it worth risking making his life even more miserable for a girl he barely knew? They've talked twice for the whole time they've known each other. 

Y/n sat on one of the infirmary beds that night. Sigewinne was gone, treating someone in their own room. Her feet dangled over the bed as she waited, playing with an icy dagger she'd created with her own vision. When she heard footsteps approaching, she let it disappear, standing up. 

Wriothesley appeared atop the stairs, looking down at her. He stood there for a moment, staring at her before he made his way down. The two stood face to face, a little too close for comfort, normally. Each of their arms was crossed over their chests. 

''So.'' Wriothesley was the one to start. ''You father would hurt me if he finds me with you again?'' 

''Mhm.''

''Which means if we want to be friends, we have to sneak around?''

''Precisely.''

''What do I get out of all of this, if we don't count potentially getting my teeth knocked out of my mouth if caught?''

''Well, you get my amazing friendship, first of all, filled with my sparkling personality,'' Y/n explained, doing jazz hands for emphasis. ''And you also prove you're not a pussy.'' 

''Hm. Sounds like a deal.''

Y/n was rigth at the end. Their friendship continued, though descreetly. They no longer dared have lunch together, but getting dinner at odd times and eating it in the infirmary with Sigewinne was nice. Every time they would pass each other anywhere, each of them would be unable not to steal a glance at the other. Y/n wasn't required to work since her father gave her as many coupons as she needed, but she'd made a habit of visiting the work stations under the pretense of checking how the work was going, definitely not just to stare at Wriothesley. 

She was, after all, just a girl. And Wriothesley was kind, attractive, caring and funny. Everything she'd learned she wanted in a guy from all the books she'd read. 

Wriothesley had informed her he was fighting that night, so she'd snuck into the pankration ring again, back in with her mask. She watched as Wriothesley was once again declared victorious. His face was still rather stoic, his eyes looking over the crowd. Once he found her face, a smirk broke out on his lips, making Y/n roll her eyes. 

His next match he won again, though this time not unscated. Once he walked off the rink, Y/n rushed by his side, worry driving her, not caring about anyone seeing her. ''Are you alright?'' she asked as soon as she'd reached him. There was blood coming out of his mouth and he was clutching his side. 

''I'm fine.''

''You're not. Come on, let's get you to Sigewinne.''

Y/n used her vision to keep her hands cold as she held onto Wriothesley's side where he'd gotten punched pretty badly, trying to soothe him as best as he can. The infirmary was empty when they made it and Sigewinne worked her magic on him immediatelly, while Y/n cleaned the blood off his face. 

Once he was patched and ordered bed rest, Sigewinne left to attend other matters, leaving the two alone once again. Y/n sat on the bed next to him as he continued to lay, watching him despite his closed eyes. 

''Are you feeling better?'' she whispered in case he was asleep. 

''Yeah.'' Wriothesley's eyes opened and he moved to sit up, leaning his elbows on his knees. ''Thanks.'' 

''Yeah, no worries.'' 

The two stared at each other's eyes, slowly leaning in simultaneously. The moment their lips met, Y/n was glad she'd cleaned the blood off. 

Wriothesley's arms found their way to her waist, holding on. Y/n held his neck, pulling him closer, humming into the kiss at the satisfaction. When they pulled back, they rested their foreheads on each other's, eyes closed. Y/n moved one of her hands up to his cheek, caressing it as she spoke the words that were either going to ruin or make everything.

''You're not doing this because I'm the only girl available, are you?'' 

Wriothesley chuckled, his warm breath hitting her face, sending shivers down her spine. ''I'm doing this because you're the best girl I've ever met.'' 

Right. Wriothesley, unlike her, hadn't spent his whole life stuck here. She opened her eyes, taking a quick glance at the now fully-healed scar under his eye. She ran her thumb over it, unable to help the corners of her lips twitching up. Wriothesley also opened his eyes, seeing the smile on her face and kissing it right away, his lips matching hers. 

For the first time in her life, Y/n felt the thrill of life. 

From then on, it was sneaking off, stolen kisses and glances. They would be in a random hallway, away from praying eyes as Wriothesley would have her pressed against one of the cold, metal walls, his lips on hers as he held her tightly, keeping her legs wrapped around him. Y/n giggled into the kiss, at his touches, at the comfort he gave her. 

They were in the infirmary, laying on one of the beds, side to side. They faced each other, none of their limbs really touching, but it felt oddly intimate. ''Tell me something, Wriothesley.'' He hummed as a response. ''How is it in the overworld?'' 

''The overworld?'' Wriothesley looked like he was thinking for a moment. ''I mean, it's pretty nice, I think. Have you never been out?'' 

''A few times. Only to the Opera Epiclese and back, when I was really young. I don't remember much.''

''Hm, I see. I mean, I lived a little outside of the city, so we were always surrounded by nature, which was pretty nice. The grass was always green and there was a field of flowers my siblings and I used to like playing at. My favorites were the rainbow roses.'' 

''Oh, I've read about those,'' Y/n said. ''Never seen them, though.'' 

Silence fell between them. Wriothesley kept looking all over her face and seemed like he wanted to say something, but he kept silent. Regardless, there was some sort of a promise hanging in the air, though Y/n wasn't exactly sure what. 

She'd snuck into his room one night, thankful he wasn't sharing with anyone at the moment. His bed wasn't nearly as comfortable as hers, but laying on his chest felt much warmer than under her own blanket. He was playing with her hair, pressing the occasional kiss on the crown of her head. Y/n would've fallen asleep had it not been for the question that was plaguing her mind. 

''Wrio, I want to ask you something.''

''What is it, princess?''

Y/n moved to sit up on her folded legs, watching as Wriothesley followed, leaning his back on the railing behidn his bed. Y/n took a deep breath, then finally let her thoughts out. ''Why are you here? What . . . what was your crime?''

Wriothesley's face fell. He sighed. ''If I tell you, will that . . . change anything?'' 

Truthfully, she wasn't sure. His answer scared her. 

When he noticed her lack of responce, Wriothesley reached out, placing a comforting hand over hers. ''Y/n, I promise what I did, I did because I had to. And I promise that I would never, ever hurt you, alright?'' 

Y/n gulped and gave him a slow nod. She interlaced her fingers, not looking away from his eyes, waiting. 

Wriothesley nodded. ''Okay. My crime . . . my crime is that I murdered my parents.''

Y/n didn't react. She tried not to visibly, at least. She wanted to ask him why, what had happened, but based on the look on his face, she thought he'd shared enough for the night. She didn't want to pressure him further. ''Thank you for telling me.'' 

''Yeah . . . no worries.'' 

Regardless of his promises, regardless of the comfort he'd brought her just moments before, Y/n felt uneasy when she laid back down on his chest. She was laying down with a murderer. 

After she left that night, she couldn't bring herself to face Wriothesley. Of course she knew he'd been a criminal from the very beginning, they were in a prison, for Archon's sake, but she never would've thought someone like Wriothesley, someone that was so kind and gentle and nice to her, could ever take the life of another. She couldn't shake off the thought.

He was a murderer. 

She'd expected some petty theft, maybe tax fraud or something. She felt shivers every time she thought about his crime and couldn't bring herself to face him. Every time she'd see him at the canteen she would ignore him, picking up her lunch and running back to her room. 

A whole week had passed. She decided to take her mind off by going to the pankration rink, unaware that it was Wriothesley fighting that night. He'd won once again, but once he'd found her face in the crowd, he'd simply looked away and left, not even picking up his coupons. 

She felt like shit. She'd promised him things wouldn't change, that she would accept anything, yet here she was now, avoiding him like the plague despite him being truthful with her. 

Her father, the lazy person that he was, had decided one day that he couldn't be bothered to sort through some inmate files, sending Y/n to do it in his stead. She'd done it begrudgingly, doing as told. Her eyes were droopy until she reached a certain file, one with Wriothesley's name on it. Her eyes widened. 

Should she read it? Was this invasion of privacy? But she had to. If she didn't find out why, what he meant when he'd said he'd done what he had to, she thought that she might never be able to approach Wriothesley again, despite the burn she felt in her heart every time she saw him alone to the side. 

She opened the file, her eyes scanning the words. They widened, dropping the folder on the ground as she ran out. 

She checked his room first, but he wasn't there. Not at the canteen, at his station or at the pankration rink. She finally made her way to the infirmary, where she found him with his arm bandaged as Sigewinne was telling him to be more careful. 

Y/n breathed heavily as she realized her search had finally come to an end, catching the attention of Wriothesley and Sigewinne. Sigewinne looked between them before making her way out, once again leaving them alone. 

Slowly walking down the stairs, Y/n couldn't bear to look at him, ashamed of what had happened. She pulled a chair to sit in front of him, looking down at his hand. ''What happened?''

''Sparring gone wrong.'' His voice was cold, but she couldn't blame him.

''I'm sorr━''

''You promised.''

''I know.'' 

Silence fell between them and, for the first time since they'd met, it felt uncomfortable. Y/n looked up, realizing Wriothesley had been looking her the whole time. She realized he wasn't going to say anything more. It was on her to fix things. 

''I came across your file.'' Y/n admitted, her voice quiet. She'd never felt so small under Wriothesley's gaze, the one person who always made her feel like . . . well, a person. ''I'm so, so sorry for assuming the worst. I . . . understand why you did it. And I'm so, so proud of you for stepping up for your siblings.'' 

Wriothesley looked down then, his fingers picking on his bandages. ''You could've just asked me. I would've told you.''

''I'm sorry.'' Y/n moved to sit next to him, taking his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. ''You're such a kind person, I just couldn't wrap my head around it. I'm sorry. It's no excuse, I know, but Wriothesley, you're the most important person in my life and I just━ I can't bear the thought of losing you, but if you want nothing to do with me after this stunt, I'd understand.''

Silence again. It was starting to get unnerving. Wriothesley didn't move either, so Y/n gave his hand another squeeze, still to no reaction. 

It felt like an eternity when he finally squeezed back. ''I just think you're such an idiot if you think something so small could make me not want you anymore.'' Wriothesley finally looked at her, bringing his bandaged hand up to cup her face. ''Next time, just talk to me about it, yeah?''

Y/n felt relief wash over her shoulders. ''Yeah. Thank you, Wrio.''

At that moment, Y/n didn't know that in just a few years time Wriothesley would challenge her father for his title and would win, that his sentence would end he would be bestowed with his new title of Duke, that his sentence would be over and, despite his new responsibilities, he would keep his wordless promise he'd given her years ago and take her out to the world to see the green grass and rainbow roses and everything the world had to offer, if she so wished. That he would make her his wife and, despite the fact that she would still have ties to the fortress, she was finally going to be happy. 

No, she didn't know all of that. At the moment, all she could think about was how warm Wriothesley's embrace was and how much her love for him seemed to grow with each day. 

requests are still open!

[bratphilia]

── ★ ˙ princess? whore  ̟ !! 

note ✧.*‎  written after copious amounts of convos with rhi about step-dad leon. i live and breathe for stepcest. my world makes no sense and then stepcest is there to guide it back on track. anyways i hope this kickstarts more revil asks especially leon bc i love that man to death.

pairing ✧.*‎‎ leon s. kennedy x reader

cw ✧.*‎‎ reader is of age and in college, step-dad!leon, stepcest, age difference, kinda voyeurism, groping, pussy slapping, squirting, clit rubbing, overstim, mocking, daddy kink, literal wedgie, spanking, multiple orgasms, doggy style, rough sex, name-calling, general degrading

taglist ✧.*‎‎  @kissingrhi @cemeteryry 

synopsis ✧.*‎ your step-dad finds you in your room with a boy's hand up your skirt and decides to teach you a lesson.

the second leon pulls up in the driveway and sees an unfamiliar car parked in his usual spot, he knows something is wrong. very wrong. so wrong that a shitty feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, causing him to frown. someone in his house when you're supposed to be home alone only spells out trouble. 

so naturally, he goes and investigates. doesn't call your name when he walks in like he usually does. something tells him not to. the door closes quietly. he kicks off his shoes — per your mother's request to keep the floors clean — and pads upstairs. to his surprise, your door is cracked slightly open. it's usually closed. this is weird, and once again, he just gets an icky feeling that something is wrong. 

conveniently, the space between the door and its frame leaves enough room for leon to peer inside without having to open it any wider. and that's where he finds the source of that nasty feeling disturbing him. some boy, who looks to be about your age, has both of his hands under your shirt. from the way the imprint of his hands underneath the fabric looks, he's groping you harshly. no method, just pure lust and hunger. but, like the needy slut leon pegs you for, you're gripping the sheets of your lacy white duvet, moaning quietly. 

"you like that?" the guy asks you, pulling his hands out to pinch a nipple that earns a yelp from you. 

"mhm," you murmur, drawing out an 'ooh' with your mouth in the shape of an 'o.'

god fucking dammit. the way you moan always goes straight to leon's cock. apart of him says to just walk away and leave you alone. that is, until this boy's lips meet your own and his hand glides up one of your spread thighs to reach under your skirt. that's when leon's had enough. no one gets to touch you down there except for him. 

all respect of privacy goes out the window when leon swings the door open so hard it slams into the wall. "get your hands off of her," he says, voice low and threatening.

automatically, your legs snap shut and the guy's arm retracts, looking very fearful of leon. but he has the audacity to ask, "who the fuck are you?"

"who the fuck are you?" leon spits, "in my home, with your hands on my daughter. get out of my house."

the guy sighs, defeated. he turns to you, who's looking quite pale yourself, and says "i'll see you in class."

leon follows the guy out to the hallway, stands over the bannister and watches him close the door behind him. he can feel your eyes on him, and when he turns to face you, they're glossy with tears. "'m sorry, daddy. i can explain—"

but leon's too pissed to hear your whiny excuses. "no. i don't wanna hear it."

he walks over to you. nice and slow to keep you on the edge of suspense as he tells you, "you're a fucking whore, you know that? couldn't wait til daddy came home to get fucked? you had to bring some boytoy in here to do the job for me. and then what? did you expect him to do it better than me?"

"n-no." a tear slips down your cheek. "no, we've just been talking for awhile and—"

he holds a hand up to silence you. "what did i just say? i don't give a fuck about your excuses." 

you sniffle, more tears fall from your eyes. "daddy, 'm sorry. won't do it again, i promise."

he tsks at that. "you're really good at that, you know. repeating one phrase, my dumb little broken record." and then he mocks your voice by going up a few pitches, "daddy, daddy, daddy."

you sob, "stop it..."

leon ignored you and sits back on the bed, rests against your plushie of a duck that's fat enough to be used as a pillow. kiiroitori? who gives a fuck, he doesn't care. you turn around and watch him. spreading his legs to make room for you in the middle, he makes a face that suggests resting there is the most obvious thing in the world and pats the area.

you climb over to the place between his legs with another sniffle and assume correctly that he wants you to lay back against his chest. leon pushes the folds of your skirt up to rest on your tummy, not bothering to take it off and making no moves to take off your panties. he snakes his hand down to your panties. he can't see which one it is — your skirt's in the way, blocking his view — but he gets a feel around it and he can tell which one it is just by the itchy fabric. it's your pretty white, lace thong with flowers embroidered as the pattern. he knows you wear it to impress him even though they're "uncomfy" — in your words. it makes his blood boil to think you wore them for that guy. this asshole who doesn't deserve what leon's doing to you right now.

jealousy gets the better of him. he bunches up your panties and pulls real hard, the fabric getting smushed between your lips in a wedgie. "daddy," you whine desperately, drawing out the word. 

"mhm, keep fuckin' talking," he says like he's bored. you keep whining and he keeps tugging, and eventually it feels good. the burn of the fabric scratching you down there is honestly better than you could imagine. but with one last, long tug, he lets it snap against you, causing you to involuntarily close your legs and fall to your side on his lower abdomen. your reaction is what shocks him.

"does my little girl like it when daddy hurts her cunt? you wanna be abused down there, huh?" he asks with a smile that you unfortunately can't see, but there's delight evident in his voice.

you're breathing heavily through your nose, trying to compose yourself by wriggling back in the center of his legs. impulsively, leon brings his hand down to smack your pussy. you yelp, closing your legs around his hand. but with a strong grip, he situates your legs so they rest on the outside of his, leaving you nice and open for him. he smacks you again, hitting your clit with precision, but mainly just with a large hand that knows the area all to well. 

he smacks you over and over and over. you cry and jolt and whimper with every hit landed onto your poor cunt but he doesn't let up for even a moment. your incessant whining only encourages him more. you can feel your wetness pooling, molding your panties to become one with your pussy.

and then, with a particularly rough hit, you're cumming — no, squirting — through your panties. soaking the fabric, the sheets below you, his hand, and babbling incoherent words such as "oh my god" and "daddy" and "please." he goes harder and increases in speed to induce more of your cum insatiably.

"there you go, there you fuckin' go. just let it all out, yeah? you needy slut," he eggs you on, making you moan and flush at his words alone. 

when you've come down from your high is when leon pulls your panties to the side and begins to circle around your sensitive clit. "daddy," you whimper quietly. "no more. please."

"shut the fuck up," he says calmly. "you wanted to get fucked so badly so i'm giving you what you want, the right way." 

you didn't say anything after that, instead just flush impossibly deeper. he rubs your clit side to side. picks up his pace over time. he wonders if you can squirt again, but cumming for him twice is enough. you're biting your lip while you moan, squeezing your eye shut, shaking your legs. to no avail, there's just no getting away from his hand. you're trapped here, in this absolute mind fuck of a situation. literally. 

you don't end up squirting for him again, but you do cum. he collects the wetness that gathers at your weeping hole and sticks his middle finger in your mouth, sloppy and wet from dipping it inside of you. you taste yourself, that taste leon knows he can't get enough of. he wants to taste you right now, directly from the source, but you don't deserve that right now. for now, you're just a needy slut who tried to fuck some other guy, invited him into your bedroom willingly, almost let his hand up your skirt, and the thought just makes leon seethe, earning just one more slap to your clit. you cry out in surprise, a delicious sound that he basks in; he'll never get tired of it. 

"get up and bend over at the foot of the bed so i can fuck you," he whispers in your ear. on shaky legs, you get up and do what he says. pulling up your skirt isn't necessary as it rides up to give him perfect, easy access. 

he rubs the fat head of his cock up and down your slit. "think you deserve it?" he asks tauntingly.

you only sniffle and push backwards, desperately attempting to slip his cock inside you yourself. "uh-uh. i asked you a question."

"no," you say, sniffling again. "i don't deserve it."

"good girl. exactly what i wanted to hear," he says and slips it in. once he's bottomed out inside of you, he leans down to tuck a strand behind your ear and whisper, "bet you wanted to be taken like a princess on your princess bed, huh? wanted to be his little pillow princess, sitting back while he does all the work. but you deserve to get fucked like a whore by your daddy. i'm the only one who should be fucking you." 

"ohh," you moan, completely at a loss for words. how the fuck do you even respond to that.

with that, he starts thrusting. he doesn't slam into you in fast strokes, but every time he fucks into you he bottoms out. buries into you to the hilt, just how you like it. just like how he rubbed your clit, he eventually picks up the pace. 

the sound of his torso hitting your ass only adds to the noise. the bed rocks, not as violent as the way he's hitting it right now, but enough to creak. there's also the noises of your slick sliding against his dick, swallowing him and elongating every time thrusts back in. you're moaning and whimpering wildly, matching the sounds of his grunts and his dirty talk, muttering almost nonsense. you can pick up the words "slut" and "whore" though.

"tell me you're mine and you'll get to cum," he tells you. 

your face burns in humiliation. "i'm yours, daddy."

"are you going to bring another boy in my house?"

"n-no, won't ever happen again. i — ah — promise."

he nestles himself inside of you, kissing your cervix. rubs your clit nice and fast, side to side just like before. you babble "i'm yours" and "only yours" and "daddy" over and over as if it's a prayer as you cum around his cock. you clench so deliciously. he pulls out and shoots his load on your back. slaps your ass with his dick and then his hand for good measure. 

once you gain composure, you sit up on the bed, pupils dialated, look at him with doe eyes. "'m really sorry, daddy. never meant to hurt you."

"what-the-fuck-ever," he sighs and walks out the room. he needs a beer and smoke.

[muikitoo]

Their favourite physical part of you!

Rottmnt x gn! reader

Warnings:

Includes both sfw and nsfw(not direct action) the nsfw only goes for the future versions of the turtles!

A/N:

I finally posted! Shocker i know. I didnt have any ideas but this js popped up cuz i used to love hc like these. I've never written for gn reader so pls give some tips, ty!

Sfw:

Donnie

- This dude likes your hands. He likes when you hold hands and how they fit perfectly in his.

- he LOVES to play with them too, especially when he has nothing to do or when hes stressed.

- Even tho he isnt big on physical touch, he LOVES when u hold his face. But i feel like he would actually enjoy it as long as it isnt unexpected or when hes irritated!

- he would probably try and sneakily hold ur hand around family without anyone noticing bc he will not hear the end of it (*cough cough* Leo.)

- probably zones out while watching u do anything with ur hands (paint, write, even fiddle with random stuff)

- you probably have him melting if u ever try and give his shoulders a gentle massage with your hands

- in short, he loves ur hands and holds them any chance he gets cuz hes touch starved af.

Bonus: you guys probably have some morse code and he taps his fingers a certain way if he feels uncomfortable and wants you to leave the room with him.

Leo

- i think its obvious he would like your hair.

- He loves playing with your hair when you guys are cuddling.

- will style your hair. Maybe even ask Mikey to join in too. Youll probably end up with atleast 50 hair clips by the end of it.

- if u have long pretty hair u bet he WILL DRAMATICALLY SOB once u cut it off, but he loves it regardless.

- melts and grins like an idiot if u dye it blue. Brags to his brothers about it.

- "guys look! See? See? They love me so much they dyed their hair blue!"

- low-key jealous u have hair..

- I also hc that he loves ur arms too!

- oh lord dont get me started on the arms. If you're a bit muscular and u start flexing/training he would be dead. Gone. In the grave.

- even so he would love to have you wrap your arms around him

- dude wants to be babied so badly

Mikey

- ADORES your smile and your eyes.

- he loves how your eyes lit up when youre excited. Or the way a smile keeps up on your lips when you talk about something your passionate about.

- your sweet giggles are heavenly atp.

- loves loves loves loves the way u praise him when he creates something.

- you have this boy head over heels.

- the way you look at him with complete love in your eyes makes him want to sob on the SPOT.

- you're so adorable he just wants to kiss u on the spot (cuteness aggression atp)

- he js wants to see you happy :(

Raph

- i feel like he would also like your hands. Theyre so small compared to his.

- Loves everything atp, tho he does get scared. Especially if you're smaller than him. Hes so scared that he'll crush you!

- probably likes your cheeks.

- bro would squish and cup them then just slightly nuzzle your noses.

- gets flustered when you cup his cheeks too

NSFW‼️ Aged up!

If you do not wish to see any of this, please exit!

Thighs, chest or ass?

F! Donnie

- if i have to be completely 100% honest? He doesnt care about any. At all. Just loves you.

- but if i had to give an answer for sake of these hc? thighs. No words. Just thighs.

- loves it when you crush his head between them.

- will grip your thighs, leaving slight marks but not enough to actually hurt you. He doesnt want that.

- loves leaving marks and kisses on them.

- if hes stressed because of a failed project, he'll just lay between your thighs in your shared bed. Occasionally giving a small nibble here and there.

- If you're wearing short shorts, good luck.☠️ Do not expect slow and passionate Donnie.

F! Leo

- all of the above.

- mostly an ass and chest guy.

- He would probably slap your ass occasionally, but not hard enough to hurt you. Again, he hates that.

- but if you beg him to do that? He'll be hesitant but if you beg hard enough he might.

- leaves bite marks.

- I did say he loves your arms and when you flex them, but he also loves your chest.

- your gender doesnt matter. He notices you panting and your chest rising up and down?

- Lord. This man does not know is he wants to dominate you or be dominated.

- Loves trailing teasing kisses and slight bites up and down your chest.

- Loves to cum on your chest and ass. He thinks you look so pretty.

- still wants to shove his face in your thighs tho

F! Mikey

- Again, he probably doesnt care either. He loves you regardless of your body.

- He just wants to make you feel loved.

- But again, for the sake of this - i think he'd be a chest and thighs guy.

- Loves laying on your chest, loves leaving kisses and bites.

- nuzzles his face either on your chest or on the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

- hes so sweet, but will shamelessly cum on your chest. Especially when youre giving him head.

- he loves your thighs, doesnt care if theyre small or big.

- he thinks theyre so soft<3

F! Raph

- Waist. And belly. Forget everything above, just waist.

- Again, bros scared he will crush you. Especially since hes much much much larger now.

- He really doesn't want to hurt you :(

- He loves to grab your waist. Its so tiny compared to his giant hands.

- Dont get me started with the belly. Chubby or not he loves squishing the soft flesh on your belly.

- covers it with his cum.

- He loves it.

Important!

I just wanted to say these are not meant to be accurate, these are js what i think the rise turtles would like physically! I struggled a LOT with mikey and raph.