#this is why i muted that post immediately

[arom-com]

Buck: I’m on shift :)

Every miserable old man with a sad, unfulfilling life in a 3 mile radius: time for me to die

[pagesofkenna]

seeing people complaining about 'likespamming' because 'its annoying to have distracting notifications going off!'

[insecuregodcomplex]

*

[peachesnbees]

I can’t believe there is a subreddit for this shit…

[fearcicada]

Why must I capital F Freak Out anytime I join a discord server

[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 💙

[luvvixu]

how to tame your boyfriend

content: bf!gojo, mentioned of sex and sexual stuffs, 16+, fluff, drabble, does not contain any smut, i think gojo's like this can't blame me

wanna know how to tame your annoying (and horny) boyfriend when your flight is delayed?

that's very easy. just buy him some lego and he would go on instant mute.

"i can't believe you really bought satoru—a full 27 years old ass man—a set of legos?" your friend from the other line, shoko, wheeze and at the same time confused for your action to tame your boyfriend.

sighing hardly while massaging your temple, you answered. "i had to, sho. he won't stop bothering me to have a quickie since our flight was delayed and he was bored."

your flight overseas was delayed for three hours because of some maintenance needed to be checked in the aircraft. now, satoru thought it is a good idea to spend those three hours having a passionate fornication.

of course you immediately dislike the idea even though you are tempted too. you value your morals, ethics, and dignity. unlike your boyfriend, he has no shame and would even proudly tell some random people that you are his by some marks solely created.

"could've played with his phone but seriously, why lego?" shoko was still laughing, now that you opened your camera and showed her your boyfriend who's literally sitting on the airport floor with bricks of lego on his hands.

satoru looked so focused and unbothered, which is an extremely good thing—like he couldn't stop whispers in your ears, whining about how needy he is right now and how badly he wanted you. but now he's occupied, it is the greatest relief for you.

"first, his phone is dead and was tempt to buy a new fucking phone just because he said charging using a power bank takes a lot of time. had to smack the shit outta him and force him to get out of the apple store."

yep, the idiot forgot to charge his phone before you left for the airport. now his phone is dead, the desire to buy a new one instead of waiting for his phone to be charged in a powerbank is crazy. although, money is not a problem for the head of the gojo clan—he got figures that cost more, more, more than your annual salary.

"second, lego made him focused and entertained on building it, not for having scandalous sex with me. i feel like he's being my child than being my boyfriend at this moment." you joked, lowering your voice so your big baby wouldn't hear you.

"you said it yourself that satoru is a full package." shoko rolled her eyes, but she's not wrong tho. satoru is everything, he could easily afford things and could even make some things impossible to possible.

"touché."

shoko let out a laugh. "anyway, gotta go now. got a client in an hour so bye my boo, mwa!" sending also a virtual flying kiss to your platonic friend, you both bid a farewell to with sweet smile on your faces.

as you ended the call, you turned your attention to your boyfriend who's now almost done on his lego that he's been occupying himself for like an hour now.

you made to take some photo of him and post it on your close friends in instagram because this scene of your boyfriend is literally a wholesome and definitely iconic. satoru glanced at you when he heard you giggle at some adorable shots of your boyfriend.

"what are you laughing at?" your boyfriend glanced up to you, confused and warily.

you shook your head, holding your laughter to not raise any suspicion. "nothing babe, just focus on fishing your lego instead of other things."

satoru showed you the figure "oh but i'm finished and we still have like an hour before our flight…" he paused. your mouth hangs wide, questioning about how the hell he builds almost five hundred tiny pieces in just an hour?! truly your boyfriend was really something but this is wild.

"how did you—"

"can we have a quickie now?" satoru smiles sheepishly.

your face turns more sour at his shameless request. although you understand that satoru is a man in need, but his neediness sometimes is really out of place and it took a lot of effort just to stop him from doing so.

"no, satoru. instead, we're going to have a quickie stop at the lego shop to buy you some more entertainment."

your boyfriend pouted at your answer like a hurdled puppy. "but i'm enjoying it more when i'm inside you."

that completely took you off guard.

"... tempting but no."

©luvvixu2023

[leebitofficial]

come to bed?

fluffy! hyunjin x reader,

2am, you quietly enter your home. it’s dark, it’s quiet, no sign of hyunjin.

the smell of freshly baked bread still lingers after hyunjin spent the evening trying to recreate his mother’s apple bread.

tiptoeing into the bedroom, you’re careful not to wake your sleeping boyfriend.

dropping your bags, you hear shuffling coming from the bed.

“baby?” hyunjin peeks from under the covers.

“oh- i’m sorry! did i wake you?” you worry.

“no, no, i’ve been up for a while. come to bed?” he ushers you.

“i will, need to shower first though.” you reassure your impatient lover.

he whines in protest as you bend to give him a quick kiss on the forehead before you maliciously abandon him yet again.

you hurriedly shower, eager to finally get some time with hyunjin after your long night.

finally climbing into your comfortable bed, hyunjin turns around to wrap his arms around you and hold you impossibly close, placing a few very soft kisses along your crown.

“how was it? did you have fun?” he asks, brushing your hair through his fingers.

“i guess it was fun, missed you though. it’s just hard to have fun being away from-”

her.

there’s that familiar sound again.

“i got it, you’re tired, go to sleep.” he spoke before kissing your forehead and unbinding you from each other.

rolling over and grabbing the baby monitor from his bedside, hyunjin mutes it before hopping out of bed.

he’s already heading out the door of your bedroom before you could say a word.

he told you to stay but you can’t help it. you follow behind him quickly, a man on a mission, his long legs carrying faster than yours ever could this late into the night.

nearly out of breath, placing your hands on his hips, you peek from behind hyunjin.

normally he would jump at the sudden touch from behind, but he was far too focused on the issue at hand.

“aigoo~ why is my baby crying?” he coos as he gently picks her up from her crib. he holds her gently in his arms and begins to ever-so-lightly rock her.

almost immediately she stops crying.

all you can do is sit back and watch in awe.

hyunjin has always been the favorite between the two of you, but you don’t really mind. she’s still your baby and of course she still loves you with all the emotion she can process at six months old.

she’s such a daddy’s girl and it absolutely melts your heart.

you sit on the chair in the corner of the room, overwhelmed with drowsiness. through tired eyes, you watch your boyfriend sing a makeshift song to try and get your daughter back to sleep.

“i think she’s hungry” he says as he turns to you sitting behind him.

except you’re sound asleep.

so once he’s finished feeding your daughter and putting her back to sleep, he gently scoops you from the chair, careful not to wake you— though not successful— and takes you back to bed.

you let out a whine in protest of him disturbing your sleep, but that doesn’t stop him from ensuring you’re comfortable. he tucks you in before then tucking himself in, settling into your previous position with your limbs intertwined, and placing kisses on your temple with some incoherent whispers in between.

forget his career, he’d rather spend his life taking care of the two of you if it meant moments like this.

a/n: i literally wrote this months ago and never posted it but baby fever got the best of me 💔

[lingeriae]

you catching an attitude w your best friend!connie after seeing him posted up on a girls instagram? whewwww...

warnings - flufff, connie has nip piercing, mention of readers pum pum but there is no sex! kissing, ass slapping, connie literally says he's gonna have sex with the reader, jealousy, toxic connie if you squint a lil, cursing, reader is female,not proofread, raeder and connie are aged up to 21+

It's a wednesday night when you're scrolling through tiktok with connie on facetime, your laid on your tummy with your feet swinging behind you, thighs being squished by the pink thigh high socks you had on. you giggle at a tiktok your friend scent you moving to reply but pausing to roll your eyes at the deep voice that came from your phone speakers.

"What got you giggling like that?" his voice is raspy due to all the screaming and hollering he was doing while on the game with ony, he glances at you for a second before dragging his eyes back to his computer screen cussing said man for some unknown reason. "why this fool wont stay outta my business." you mutter showing the top half of your face so he wouldn't see the grin on your glossed lips as you watched how he side-eyed you.

Your phone vibrated as you got a notification from instagram, your brows drew together at the message immediately clicking it.

big cocky deja 👅

girlll....

shared @sasha's story

i be instigating or is that baldie???

aint yall talkin??

Lashes fluttering as you blinked at the picture, slowly sitting up as you clicked on the story zooming in lips slowly parting in disbelief. "What's wrong?" the sound of his voice sudddenly reminded you he was on the call, quickly clicking on to the call you rubbed your lips together with drawn eyebrows suddenly becoming irritated with his prescence as you felt your lashes get wet. "Who the fuck is Sasha?" you asked with a steady voice, pushing up your lips impatiently as you waited from his to answer the question.

Connie paused his game at your question, eye brows furrowing as he turned to look at you. He bit his lips as he looked at you, noting the irritation your face with a shake of his head he turned back to the game. "Don't wory bout it." Your face twisted at his words staring at his side profile for a minute before sucking your teeth not carying if he could note how upset you were.

"Alright, bro, bye." not giving him the chance to answer you hang up deciding to go on 'sasha's page to stalk her itching to find out who she is, and what relation she has to connie. Mid scrolling you pause at a picture of her kissing connie's cheek, it was posted a few months back but it still made you feel a pit in your stomach and made you gnaw at your lips while tears ran down your cheeks. Connie was messaging your phone non-stop, telling you to stop playing and answer his messages, trying to explain shit between him and the sasha girl, but you didn't bother reading any replying with a simple thumbs-up emoji and muting him.

You thought about how silly you were being seeing as how you and Connie weren't even together, but it felt like you were. Always together and if you weren't you'd alway be on the phone, always telling each other shit, always sharing tender touches and meaningful glances at eachother - fuck he even called you 'his girl' infront of his homeboys, didn't that mean you were together? although, he didn't ask so that technically didn't mean you were but you weren't seeing nobody and he reassured you that he wasn't either, was that just a lie?

Sniffing you clicked off of sasha's profile, leaving your phone on the bed as you got up to use the bathroom. Looking at your puffy eyed expression you sucked you teeth mad at yourself for crying over some boy, you gently washed your face with cool water before using a towel to wipe away the water and applying baby oil to your plump lips, the sudden knocking on your door had your eyebrows furrowing until you realized who it could be. The thought alone caused an annoy sigh to leave your lips, and for you to feign ignorance to the fluttering at you stomach at what would happen.

Taking your time to walk at the door, stopping at mirror on the wall to fix your appearance and unbuttoning your snoopy pajama top to show a little of your cleavage, a gold necklace with the inital 'c' glistening against the pretty brown skin of your supple breast, you turned to look at the shorts bending over to shake your ass a little but quickly standing up as Connie's knocking grew louder.

Rolling your eyes you walked up to the door, pulling it open to reveal Connie. Your pussy did a thump thump as you took him in, a black tank top you're sure he just slipped on in a hurry, his nipples along with his nipple piercings pushing against the material of it and grey sweatpants. His hands were shoved in the pocket on his sweatpants as his eyes roamed your body slightly pausing on your thighs that spilled through the material of your socs, jaw clenching as he finally met your eyes with an eyebrow raised.

Leaning against your door you look him up and down before looking at your coks clad feet, fidgeting as you felt his gaxe pierce into you. "Whatchu want Connie? It's late."

He quinted his eyes at you letting out a sarcastic laugh with his tongue poking his inner cheek, "You too good to look at me, or sum?"

Cocking out your hips with your arms crossed over your chest, you shook your head before rolling your eyes at him moving to shut the door while muttering "I aint got time for this." softly under your breath. Your breath hitched as Connie held unto the door, pushing it open and walking inside before shutting it behind him leaning against the door and refusing to break eye-contact with you.

Scoffing you turn your back to him before walking to your room, an extra sway in your hips as you feel him walking closely behind you, eyes on the fat that spilled out of the material of your shorts hearing him cuss under his breath as he almost hit a wall from not staring caused a small smile to pulll at your lips. falling unto your bed with a huff you glared at him. You hated the fact that he looked so good, his muscle atraining againt the material of his tank top as he crossed his arms looking down at you, dick straining against his sweatpants, your mouth almost watering at the sight had you looking away.

"What's your problem?" laughing with a shake of your head you pointed a finger towards your chest. "Me? I don't got a problem, cause im not supposed to worry about it right? tuh fuck you take me for."

Connie groans running a hand down his face mumbling something in spanish under his breath, fueling your anger. After he disregards your question he comes into your house acting as if you were the problem, when he was out there laid up with other girls. You stand up from the spot on your bed smacking your lips together as you snatched your phone from it's position on your bed, walking past him making sure not to touch him as you made your way to the kitchen. His mouth parted at your attitude, hot on your trail as you began mumbling some shit under your breath.

"Don't even know why I fucking bother, aint like you my man anyway-" you inhaled deeply as connie pressed himself behind you, mouth running dry as you felt all the muscle beneath his tank top and his dick against your ass hands shoved into his pockets as he watched you take a water bottle out of the fridge with shaky hands, trying your best to ignore his presence behind you.

"Whatchu mumbling? Say it again so I can hear you." The vibration from his worth runs throughout your body and straight to your pussy, your back straightens as you close the fridge spinning around to through him a weak glare that quickly flattered as he looked down at you through his lashes, his eyes almost seeming dark. Your legs shook as he licked his lips the action not going unnoticed by him, you took a deep breath before unlocking your phone, shoving it into his face a second later refusing to meet his eyes.

His honey coloured eyes dragged from your face to your phone, taling it from you to look at what you were shovwing him properly, his lips parting to release a huff that sounded too close to a laugh had your eyes dragging from the floor to meet his, shivering a bit as they were already on you. Raising a brow at you connie licked his lips, "You jealous, ma?" giving him a blank look you tried snatching your phone out of his hand only for him to move it back, your chest now pressed against his. Biting your lips as you feel his nipple piercing rub agains your nipples, you try not to let a whimper escape you at the groan he lets out and the look on his face, bottom lip tucked between his teeth with a pink blush across his face and a look of lust in his eyes. You shiver as he removes the hand he has in his pocket, bringing it to rest on your back to keep you against him.

He rubs his nose against yours before resting his forehead against yours gently squeezing your hips, he kisses your lips twice transferring the baby oil you placed on them earlier t his lips, and you allow him savouring the taste of them like you have many times before. "Sasha's this girl I used to talk to," he says after a minute, letting out a breath through his nose at the way you tense beneath his touch and try to move away before he's pulling you back against him placing your phone on the counter so that he can hold your face. You look at him with your lips folded, hurt evident in your expression which caused him to sigh softly and kiss your cheeks. "We weren't together cause I found out she was messing round with some guy. I haven't talked to her since, and I wouldn't have known she posted that shit cause I blocked her."

eyes watering, the tips of your figer brush aginst the thread of his sweat pants as you play with the strings watching the way you twirl it around your finger, sniffing you slowly look up at him rubbing your lips together. "You promise?" humming he kisses you again, leaning back wiping under your eyes.

"Promise baby." you pull him down to kiss you again, parting your lips to give him access and sighing into his mouth as his hands slip under your snoppy pajama top. He leans back again pecking your lips and resting his forehead against yours with closed eyes, you feel his hands move from your face to your hips inching towards your ass before he gives it a squeeze laughing as you hiss at him and try to remove his hands.

"Looked too good not to," He says leaning down to kiss you again, " gonna fuck the shit outta you for giving me so much attitude." the sound of a smack sounds through the air as connie slaps your ass, rubbing it after and laughing at your whines.

"Connie! Don't do that shit it hurts!"

[mossmotif]

more on gamer!shoko because she's on my mind...

she's got this tell that she doesn't become aware of until a few of her viewers start to pick up on it. when you walk into her room while she's streaming shoko almost always immediately mutes her mic just in case you aren't aware that she's live and also just out of general respect for your privacy. this means her viewers are left in silence for a little bit.

shoko's handcam, however, remains on during these small interventions, and it never fails to miss the way she fidgets anytime she's speaking to you. they trace along the fabric of her mouse pad, mess with the cords on her desk, or simply pick at the cuticles of her thumbs. they're these small, meaningless movements that shouldn't mean anything to strangers, or even to shoko herself. but they become hard to miss when the routine to them is so obvious.

a fan makes a silly post about it. the type with over the top slow motion to highlight her movement and a cheesy song to match the tone of the text overlayed on the compilation: "shoko getting nervous whenever her roommate walks in the room"

the amount of views it gets is ridiculous. the comments are ridiculous. and most of all, the feeling in the pit of shoko's chest is ridiculous.

her hands all of a sudden feel very disconnected from her body. she stares at them through the dark, holding them in front of her face and watching their outline grow fuzzy the more she strains her eyes. the glow of her discarded phone only seems to mock the honesty of their use, illuminating them briefly with each notification before fading back to nothing at all.

traitors, she thinks briefly. but then what was there to betray? none of these people knew what they were talking about.

the sound of dishware clattering breaks her attention. her hands fall back to her chest as she rolls out of bed and makes way to her door.

the sight of you in the kitchen this late doesn't alarm her. the air is laced with the smell of almond extract, the aroma tickles her nose as she watches your back and the way you drag your palms along your apron. an imprint of flour and egg is smudged along the battered fabric.

there's a video playing faintly in the background, something you're only half paying attention to. the noise comes from your phone, which has been propped up against a mixing bowl and unmistakably has its own set of stains in the shapes of your fingerprints along its corners and screen. the evidence is dyed a hard grey. an odd choice for frosting, most likely a mistake of yours while trying to find the perfect shade or hue. shoko can't help but be endeared by the mistake.

she stands there for some time. she forgets why she left her room all together, thoughts still so embarrassingly stuck to the tackiness of her online life and the speculations surrounding it. the room begins to break off in fragments.

what did she come in here to prove? her right hand wrings itself into a fist as she debates whether or not the smell in the air is actually oozing itself out of one of her distant dreams. the one where her lips cut the sweetness of yours.

there she would only be a mouth, nothing that could grab, prod, grope, or take. ideally, all of her would disappear and she could unlatch—without a palm smacking against her open mouth—and let herself melt into you like powder.

"shoko?" you're turned toward her with a piping bag in hand. "i didn't know you were awake."

she pushes through a shard, letting the movement of your arms pierce her as she attempts to focus her gaze on your eyes. you place the piping bag onto the kitchen table like it's a puzzle piece. there are old burn marks on your left forearm; they're small and hold different shapes.

"i was going to try and catch you off guard but i ended up spacing out," shoko lies.

one of the scars stretches in this curve she particularly enjoys tracing against anything she can get her hands on.

you move to grab something and the healed skin expands.

shoko tucks her hands into her pockets.

"rude," you reply. your voice has turned into something comically dry.

"i'm sorry?"

"right." you approach her with a spoon in hand. "taste this for me?"

a spoonful of raw batter pools itself into the form of the silver, yellowed and suspiciously lumpish looking.

shoko looks back at you, brows lifting themselves through an uncertainty she hopes you find amusing enough to not find too offensive.

"what is it?" she questions.

"just taste," you push.

the spoon edges itself towards her lips. you guide it toward her slowly, almost as if to not startle her, all the while, your figure has breached her space. you two stand nearly chest to chest as shoko hesitantly opens her mouth for you. the hand you have cupped beneath the spoon to prevent any messy spillage brushes the skin of her chin just enough for her to feel a spark at the end of her fingertips.

she swallows. you step back to watch all of her, eyeing anything tucked away.

"good?" you question her silence.

shoko looks away, tries to focus on the video still playing in the background, recognizes the faint familiarity of her own voice over the chime of a game she hasn't booted up in months, untucks her hand from her pocket to wipe at her lips, and feels you mold the simple self inflicted connection into something viscous.

"good," she answers.

[sillysillygoofygoose]

"Speak Up" ♡

You dont get anything unless you tell Toji exactly what you want.

*daddy/little one usage, ddlg-ish, safeword used, implied subspace... don't like, don't read <333 MDNI, READER IS 18+

LMAAOO GUYS literally ignore everything I said in my last miguel post (though I stand by it 😩) because reader is the polar opposite in this one 💀 I'm such a clown y'all, I switch up sooo fast

"Please?" Your hoarse voice barley leaves your throat as your mouth hangs open in exhaustion.

"Aw, c'mon, little one... you can do much better than that, don't cha think?" His sly delivery makes the heat in your lower stomach spread like a forest fire.

Flushed features scrunching up at his teasing, you grow more and more frustrated at his antagonizing and sadistic games. Toji's thick, calloused fingers ghost over your embarrassingly soaked pussy, treating you as if you were a burning hot stove top. Every slip of his fingers down your slit has your back arching from his chest, legs threatening to unlatch from his built thighs. His legs keep yours spread as you sit on his clothed lap, feeling his twitching boner against your pudgy ass.

You never realized how quiet you get in bed... almost as if someone switches on your mute button the second your clothes hit the ground. Toji hates it. Of course, he thinks you're cute - the way you clasp your hand over your mouth every time a noise threatens to leak out - but he wants to hear you. He needs to hear you. Especially when you get all mushy and pathetic, just for him.

Your hushed whines are almost overpowered by the lewd wet sounds Toji pulls from your pussy as he sinks his middle and ring fingers in, knuckle deep. He's guided you to your edge four times already. And everytime he's pulled you back from stumbling over.

"Pleeaasee, I want it. Fuck, really want it daddy." Griping onto his bicep, you feel tears begin to build alongside your orgasm. Your bare toes curl in on themselves as tingling sensations blur in your feet and travel up your sensitive, desperate little body.

"What do ya want? Huh, baby? C'mon, tell Daddy, use your big girl words." Toji smiles when he sees the delicate muscles in your stomach clench as your body stutters.

"I want to. Please. 's so embarrassing. " More mumbles. He really thought he was getting somewhere. You feel the coil in your stomach unsatisfyingly unravel, fall apart more like, as Toji removes his fingers from your body without warning.

"No! Why-why did you stop? I was so close." The tears splashing at your waterline race down your overheated cheeks as you completely remove your body from your cruel boyfriend's touch.

"You gotta speak up, baby, or I won't know what you want." His sadistic smile only makes you cry harder as he gathers you up in his arms once again, spreading your weak, trembling legs. Turning you to face him, he positions your crying cunnie over his brawny leg, clit immediately rubbing against his sweatpants. The pain overrides the pleasure as he rocks you back and forth against him, forcing stimulation on your puffed parts.

"No more, n'more. 'M all done." You beg, pushing his broad shoulders as you shiver and shake, tears gathering at the tip of your nose while you look down in shame.

"You can take one more, hm baby? All you have to do is ask nicely, and I'll give you anything you want, sweets." His pushes you down harder, forcing a sob out of your lips, splotched face buried in his neck.

"Nnmmh. No. No, thank you. Red." Your last word is hardly a whisper, but Toji hears you loud and clear.

"Oh, hey, hey, shit baby, I'm sorry." Toji hands fly from your hips as he lets you crawl from his thigh, disoriented and shy. Your cries increase into the palm of your shaky hands as embarrassment crashes over your overexerted body.

"Fuck, 'm so sorry little one. Didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry." The pit in his stomach only grew deeper and more dreadful as you refused to look at him, balled up into your own frenzy. You heave out tired breaths as you grab onto his hand, moving to rest on his shoulder, signaling that he can touch you.

"Was too much. Just need to cum, daddy. 'M so overwhelmed." You wipe your tears away as you tiredly peck Toji's cheek, melting the worry off his face.

"Daddy will make you feel good, sweets. I'm so sorry, baby." Toji slowly moves his hand from yours to cup your soaked pussy, but feeling you tense, he decides to help his pretty girl more delicately.

"Here, sweet girl, lay down f'me." Toji grunts as he maneuvers satin draped pillows under your hips. "Daddy's gonna take such good care of you, okay?"

Immediately, you feel his tongue flat against your core and you moan out, dejected pussy embracing the strong hits of pleasure.

You buck your hips into Toji's welcoming mouth as he nuzzles his lower face into you. Exhausted but invigorated, your hips find their own rhythm against Toji's mouth and nose. You don't hold back, whines, moans, and whimpers alike rushing from your mouth like a waterfall of praise.

"Mhm mhm, cum f'me pretty baby. You deserve it, such a good girl" Toji doesn't even break from you as he encourages you through your sudden but long anticipated orgasm, mumbling and groaning into your pussy. Your legs force him further down against you as your back hovers off the bed, panting filling the room as you ride your release.

Closing your eyes, your legs drop to either side of Toji's head. Your plump lips are spread, taking in as much air as your lungs will allow as dried tear tracks fade against your pink cheeks. Baby hairs stick to your sticky, sweaty forehead. He chuckles, looking up at your spaced state.

"You alright, doll?" He huffs out, rubbing up and down your outer thigh. You don't respond, simply letting your hand flop on top of his as you nestle yourself into the inviting mattress under you.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

Credit to @pommecita for the divider <3333

[sleep-deprivedracoon]

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

word count: 3680 Summary: Satoru doing his best to get you out of your downward spiral. He failed Suguru but he won't fail you. Author's note: based on this prompt. I think I speak for most of the fandom when I say we all need some extra fluff and love from Gojo after the week we've had with the anime and manga. So this one is for all of us Gojo wives. Ngl, I am literally shaking right now as I dare to post this. I don't know if y'all will like this or if this just flops. CW: depression, food habits, angst, implied relationships, patterns of isolation, fluff, angst to comfort, helplessness, mentions of smoking

Satoru Gojo stood before your door, an unusual sense of foreboding gnawing at the edges of his normally self-assured demeanor. It was a feeling he wasn't accustomed to, one that clashed against the confident façade he typically wore like armor. He couldn't shake the nagging sensation that something was terribly wrong with you, something that went far beyond the physical injuries. It had been weeks since you returned from that mission, and something had changed in you—It was as if something was tearing you apart from the inside.

He'd delved into the mission reports, scouring through the details, looking for any signs of what might have transpired. The mission had been a success, technically flawless, with only a handful of unfortunate bystanders caught in the crossfire. You'd managed to take down a first-grade curse with no fatalities—by all accounts, it should have been considered a triumph. So why had it left you so shattered?

As the door creaked open, revealing you on the other side, his sharp eyes caught the flicker of a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Your smile, once a beacon of light that never failed to brighten his day, now seemed a mere shadow of its former self. It was as though the spark within you had dimmed, leaving behind an empty echo of what used to be.

"Toru," you greeted, your voice a little too forced, a little too brittle.

Gojo pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a desperation he couldn't quite put into words. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that had become second nature to him, a silent declaration of affection. “Hi, sweets.” he murmured, his voice tinged with concern.

As he held you, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, that the ground beneath him was unstable. He hoped beyond hope that he was merely overthinking, that you were stronger than he feared. But deep down, he knew. He knew something was fundamentally wrong.

You gently pulled away, and he followed you into your apartment, his senses immediately assaulted by the disarray that greeted him. Sure, you were a chaotic person, but there was usually an organized chaos to your living space. Books strewn haphazardly on shelves, art supplies scattered on tables, and the comforting scent of incense in the air—all elements of your usual environment. The chaos was familiar, a reflection of your vibrant, unpredictable personality. But this... this was different. There was an air of neglect, a sense that even your usual disorder had lost its usual rhythm. He took in the scene—the scattered papers, the toppled books, the forgotten articles of clothing strewn across the floor. Each item seemed to whisper a tale of neglect; a story of a mind too preoccupied to care for its surroundings. He saw the remnants of a once vibrant spirit, now muted and worn.

He followed you into the kitchen, concern etched into his features. "Have you eaten yet?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

You mumbled a half-hearted "yes," but he wasn't fooled. He opened your fridge to place a few drinks, and his heart sank at the sight. It hadn't been stocked in a while; the shelves almost barren. It was a stark contrast to the usual assortment of ingredients and snacks he was accustomed to stealing. He glanced at you, silently noting the tired lines etching your face, the weariness in your eyes that belied your attempt at a smile

You stood beside him, trying to deflect his concern with a forced smile and a weak excuse. "I've been lazy, just ordering takeout."

He glanced at the trash can, noting its emptiness. He saw right through the lie, but he didn't push it. Instead, he turned his gaze back to you, taking in the disheveled state of your hair, the dullness in your eyes, the weight loss that had left you looking frail. It was a familiar dance—one he had witnessed before, with someone else he had cared for deeply. That smile you offered him, that empty, hollow smile with closed eyes, it hit him like a tidal wave of dread. It reminded Gojo of Suguru after Amanai's death—their once lively friend reduced to a mere shell, hiding behind a facade. The parallels between you and Suguru's descent sent a shiver down his spine.

The weight of helplessness settled like a leaden anchor in Satoru Gojo's chest. He cursed inwardly, the bitter taste of regret mingling with the dread that had consumed him. How was it happening again? Why was it always the ones he cared for the most? The memory of Suguru, his once-vibrant friend reduced to a mere shadow of himself, haunted him. He had failed Suguru, and that failure still weighed heavily on him.

The mantra of his own strength echoed in his mind, a bitter irony. He was the strongest, but in this moment, he felt powerless. Weak. Useless. Helpless. As you stood before him, offering a smile that barely masked the turmoil within, you felt so distant, so far away. It was as though an impenetrable barrier had risen between the two of you.

It had started weeks ago, with your return from that fateful mission. Even then, something had felt off. You had been fatigued, weary, and Gojo had been there for you, trying to help you unwind and recharge. But you barely spoke of the mission, your words guarded, your gaze distant. In the ensuing weeks, he had watched as you withdrew, not just from him, but from their students. He noticed how you declined Nobara’s invites to go shopping, how the playful banter with Megumi had all but disappeared. Even your calls with Yuta who was overseas had become brief, the once-lively conversations now reduced to strained exchanges.

He caught a whiff of smoke around you one evening, a scent that hung in the air like a lingering secret. He knew then, without needing to ask, that you had turned to cigarettes for solace. There were signs, always signs. The subtle shifts in behavior, the hollow looks, the moments of silence that stretched on longer than they should. But he had chosen to give you space, believing that time would allow you to heal and find your way back. It was a mistake, one he deeply regretted now as he saw the signs he had missed piling up.

Gojo's gaze settled on you once more, his heart heavy with concern. You had lost weight, your eyes dulled, your once-lustrous hair now a tangled mess. It was as though a part of you had withered away, leaving behind a hollow shell. The pain in his chest intensified as he realized that he couldn't afford to stand by and watch you slip away. He had to act, to break through the barrier you had unknowingly erected around yourself. But how? That was the question that haunted him as he searched your eyes for a way to reach you, to pull you back from the abyss you seemed to be falling into.

He turned to you, his eyes tracing the weariness etched into your features, the fragility in your frame. "Sweets," he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of concern and determination. "We can't keep going on like this. You don't have to face this alone.”

As Gojo's concerned gaze bore into you, he couldn't help but notice the immediate defensiveness in your body language. Your chuckle, dry and forced, cut through the air like a fragile attempt to push his worries away. "I'm okay, Toru," you insisted, your voice wavering just slightly.

"(Y/n) …" he urged; his voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to pretend with me. I can see that something's eating at you. You can rely on me, you know that, right? I'm here to shoulder whatever burdens you're carrying."

You met his gaze, eyes guarded, and shook your head, a hint of stubbornness in your expression. "Toru, really, I appreciate it, but I'm okay. You're worrying unnecessarily.”

You remained closed off, a wall of resistance that he couldn't breach. Your insistence that everything was fine felt like a dagger to his heart, but he understood that pushing you further at this moment could risk you shutting him out completely and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you to the darkness.

So, he accepted your words, even as they left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Alright, sweets. Just remember, I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

Ordering takeout seemed like the most rational thing to do, a glimmer of normalcy in the midst of the storm. He chose a spicy Chow Mein with Gyoza on the side, knowing it was a combination that never failed to put a smile on your face. As the two of you sat in silence, he couldn't help but notice how you toyed with your food, pushing it around on the plate rather than really eating.

He teased gently, "You know, you're starting to remind me of a kid being forced to eat their vegetables. Come on, at least take a few bites for me."

You glanced up, a faint glimmer of amusement in your eyes, and complied, taking a few bites to prove a point. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. It was through these small steps, he realized, that he needed to slowly guide you back from the darkness that threatened to consume you.

After dinner, he bid you farewell, his footsteps heavy as he walked away from your apartment. Once out of your sight, he clutched his hair in frustration, a tumultuous storm of conflicting emotions swirling within him. He couldn't bear to see you like this, not again. He couldn't let another person he cared for slip into the abyss.

With a determined exhale, he removed his shades and reached for the black blindfold that he rarely wore when it was just the two of you. He tied it securely and looked back at the window to your apartment. In that moment, he vowed to himself that he wouldn't let you slip away. He would fight for you, even if it meant stepping into the darkness alongside you.

-------------

In the days that followed, Gojo remained steadfast in his determination to pull you out of the suffocating depths of depression that had ensnared you. He knew he couldn't do it alone, and admitting that fact was a monumental step for someone as self-reliant as him. It surprised even Shoko, who had known Gojo for years, to witness his newfound vulnerability.

He started with small, manageable gestures, well aware that overwhelming you would only push you further away. Slowly, he began to tidy up your apartment, one step at a time. He organized the scattered papers, straightened the toppled books, and restored a sense of order to the chaos that had overtaken the space. He did it in small iterations, so as to not catch you off guard.  He knew that even the semblance of cleanliness and organization could bring a sense of calm. Another day, he arrived with a bag of groceries, quietly slipping into your kitchen to prepare a meal. At times, he found himself sneaking food into you, taking advantage of moments when your mind wandered elsewhere. He'd feed you, offering fruits and treats while you mindlessly chewed on it, lost in thought. It was a silent promise that he was there to support you, to ensure you took care of yourself.

Then came the day he dragged you out, insisting that you join him and his students for a shopping excursion. It was an attempt to remind you that there was still joy and fun to be had, even in the midst of the world's worries. He made sure to bring his students along, Yuji and Nobara, who shared a single brain cell with their hairbrained schemes, and Megumi, who often found himself the target of their antics. As you wandered through the bustling market, you couldn't help but be drawn into the silliness that surrounded you. Yuji and Nobara's playful banter, Megumi's exasperation, and the way his students relied on you for the silliest of things slowly began to chip away at the darkness within you. There were moments when you couldn't help but smile, caught up in the absurdity of it all. Watching Yuji and Nobara embark on their ridiculous plans, seeing Megumi squirm in embarrassment, witnessing the camaraderie among his students—it all served as a poignant reminder that life held moments of levity, even in its darkest corners. Gojo reveled in these small victories, each one a testament to your gradual recovery. His approach was slow and deliberate, mixing moments of genuine concern with his signature goofiness.

"Hey, sweets," Gojo said, nudging you playfully as Yuji and Nobara attempted to outdo each other with their ridiculous purchases. "You see what I have to deal with every day? They're a handful. Why do I always end up taking care of brats?” He sighed in exaggeration.

The sound of your giggle was a melody that resonated in the depths of Satoru Gojo's being. He couldn't help but be drawn to the warmth in your laughter, a glimmer of the vibrant spirit that still lived within you. Your fingers brushed against his cheek, a gentle caress that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He leaned into the touch, his heart leaping at the connection.

"You know," you teased, patting his cheek affectionately, "you adopted these brats yourself. You're such a mother hen, Toru."

His lips curled into a playful smirk. "Well, what can I say? I've always had a soft spot for the misfits." He took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. "And I'm glad that this mother hen has you as my favorite rooster to come back to whenever I need a break from these rascals."

Your laughter, though still fragile, filled the room, a welcome sound that eased the weight in his heart. He was getting closer, step by step, to uncovering the vibrant spirit that resided within you.

------------------------

Several days later, the Tokyo Jujutsu High planned a retreat to an Onsen resort in Gunma. The students shared rooms, and Gojo, in his usual annoying fashion, had managed to finagle Yaga into assigning you to share a room with him. After all, you were both teachers and adults—it shouldn't have been a problem.

Gojo sat on the tatami floor of your room, dressed in a yukata, having just returned from the baths. He sipped on cold coffee milk, enjoying the tranquil atmosphere of the traditional inn. When he heard the sliding door open, he looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. You looked ethereal in the Yukata, the fabric draping gracefully over your form. Your hair was still damp from the baths, strands clinging to your skin in a way that made his heart race. There was a newfound fullness to your cheeks, a healthy flush to your complexion that spoke of progress.

In that moment, he realized just how far you had come. The bags under your eyes were still there, but the overall transformation was striking. He clicked his tongue several times, pulling you gently to the tatami floor in front of him. He reached for the towel that hung around your shoulders and scolded you gently, "Sweets, you need to dry your hair properly. You'll catch a cold like this."

His fingers moved through your hair with a soothing touch, the room enveloped in silence save for the rustle of fabric and the soft hum of the night outside. He was meticulous, his actions deliberate as he dried your hair strand by strand. As he continued to pat your hair dry with gentle strokes, he noticed that you were trembling. Frowning, he stopped, his concern growing. And then he heard it—the soft, muffled sniffle that escaped your lips. In an instant, he turned you around to face him, his eyes widening as he saw the tears welling up in your eyes.

Before he could say a word, you began sobbing, your shoulders shaking with the force of your emotions. You buried your face in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you cried. He didn't brush away your tears or offer empty reassurances. Instead, he let you cry, allowing the dam you had built around your emotions to finally break. He could feel the warmth of your tears soaking through his yukata, the shudders that racked your body, and the tremble of your hands as they clung to his robes. It was a raw, vulnerable moment, and he was there to bear witness to it, to share in your pain and offer his silent support. Gojo's touch was gentle, his hand stroking your back in a steady, rhythmic motion. He didn't speak, understanding that this moment was about you and your release. His heart ached with each anguished sob that wracked your body, but he remained a steadfast anchor, giving you the space you needed to let it all out.

As your sobs began to subside, your words spilled out in a torrent of emotion. You spoke of the mission, of how it had torn open old wounds, making you confront shadows from your past. The cursed technique of the first-grade curse had exploited your own memories, forcing you to relive the pain and uncertainty.

Gojo had been privy to your painful past, as you had confided in him long ago. He understood the emotional scars that had marked your journey, and now, he could see why you were descending into darkness.

Your voice trembled as you confessed your fear. You longed to return to the person you used to be, but you were terrified that you had lost yourself in the process. The fear that in losing yourself, you might also lose him gripped at your heart.

Gently, Gojo cupped your cheek, his sky-blue eyes locking onto yours. He removed his shades, allowing you to see the sincerity in his gaze. "No matter what version of yourself you present to me," he said, his voice soft but resolute, "I will love you. Whether you're happy, sad, angry, or anything in between, it doesn't change a thing. If you somehow turned evil, I'd love you. If you don’t want to be a sorcerer anymore, I’d love you. Even if you transformed into a worm, I'd love you. I will love every version of you that has been and that is yet to come, (Y/n). " He couldn't help but inject a touch of his signature playfulness into the moment. "Well, unless you turn into Gakuganji," he added with a mock shudder, "then you might be pushing it. But hey, I'll even love you if you morph into that old fart. Just… just don't test me on that one." He kisses your trembling lips gently. “I don’t think my heart could handle that.”

A small giggle burst from your lips, and you playfully swatted his arm, the sound like a gentle chime amidst your tears. It was a moment of relief, a brief respite from the weight of your emotions. Gojo couldn't help but chuckle in response, his grin boyish and goofy. “I will always love you (Y/n). Even if you lose yourself, I will walk with you to help you rediscover yourself. I am great at helping people find things. These six eyes are here for a reason, you know?”

You gently shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips as you leaned in to kiss Satoru Gojo on his lips, your gratitude and affection evident in the tender gesture. "Thank you," you whispered against his lips, "for being you."

His lips curved into a soft smile as he returned your kiss, savoring the warmth of your affection. "It's been my pleasure, (Y/n)," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. “After all, nobody is best at being Gojo Satoru other than Satoru Gojo himself.” He winks.

You continued, your voice barely above a whisper, "I know what you've been doing, Toru. All these days, you’ve been taking care of me, helping me even if I didn't want to admit it to myself. But I needed it, and I needed you."

Gojo's eyes softened as he gazed at you, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "If the roles were reversed, you would've done a far better and more efficient job," he admitted, a hint of shame coloring his voice. "I should've seen it sooner, (Y/n)."

You silenced him with a gentle finger against his lips, his mock pout making you smile. "Don't blame yourself, Toru," you murmured. "I didn't want you to find out, and it's not your fault. I feel lighter now than I have in days, although I am still struggling to cope.”

In response, Gojo spoke with unwavering determination, "I'll be here beside you, sweets. However you want and in whatever form you need.

“Whatever I need huh?” A wistful smile tugged at your lips. "Maybe turning myself into Gakuganji would help," you mused, a playful glint in your eyes. “won’t it, Toru?”

Gojo groaned dramatically, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. His fingers danced along your sides and ribs, eliciting giggles and laughter from you as you squirmed beneath his touch. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. His fingers attacked your sides and belly, evoking peals of laughter from you. The tatami floor beneath you seemed to come alive with the sounds of your giggles and Gojo's playful laughter. As he tickled you mercilessly, Gojo's thoughts were clear—he would do anything to keep that light in your eyes, to see you smile, even if it meant turning into Gakuganji himself. Anything at all. And with every joyful laugh that filled the room, he knew he was one step closer to bringing you back to him.

Taglist - @hiraethsdesires Note to @hiraethsdesires: thank you, Hira. I thought I'd never be able to get back into writing again. I thought I had lost it. But it felt so nice to dive right into this again. The first character I had ever written for in this blog was Gojo. It feels just right to get back into it with him again.

[snootlestheangel]

Hear Me Out

Guys, just, hear me out: YouTubers/Streamers AU for COD. There was a series of posts on @cod-dump 's blog about what games are banned for the boys and I've just been thinking about this but with Ghost, Gaz, Soap, and Alex where one of them is the actual streamer/gamer dude and the others just almost always play with him (maybe Roach if we went on the path that he's not actually mute, just kinda hates talking)

Retired or discharged for whatever reasons, the 141 are actually kinda happy to be living semi-normal lives. Maybe they're not all entirely civilian now, maybe Price has a position that doesn't require him to be on the field but he's still teaching/being a Captain.

But he's constantly telling the boys to find things to do to keep themselves happy. Especially Gaz and Soap, cause the military is kind of all they know, they've never had to be civilians really as adults.

Ghost is transitioning fine, and he's been a huge help for Soap, but Gaz is still kinda struggling. Eventually something happens and Alex is part of his life, but it's still not really what Gaz needs to feel "normal".

So Soap and Alex convince Gaz to start streaming/recording videos of their gaming sessions. It's a slow start, and Gaz is getting frustrated.

Until one time they play something silly but incredibly rage-inducing. It's a trending game because it's designed to pit you against your friends but is still silly nonetheless. There's one clip in particular that starts trending and becomes the reason Gaz's channel starts to take off.

The clip? Gaz yelling at Soap for something and Soap immediately just cursing him out in straight Scots only for Alex, an American, to scream into his mic as loud as humanly possible "WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETER?!?!" after having been dead silent for the last 2 minutes. Why did he scream this? Not because of Soap's Scots, but because he had secretly just won the round after having lost the entire time they'd been playing.

People eat that shit up! Suddenly everyone's like "damn there's this hella attractive dude that records gameplay with his friends and they're all really funny." Everyone falls in love with Gaz's appearance first, but then they actually hear him and his friends interact and it's just trading insults and stupid jokes, acting like there's no one watching and they're suddenly kids again.

It eventually comes out that Gaz and his friends are all veterans, and despite the air around military not being the best, there's no denying that caring for veterans is a must. People slowly start to support Gaz's channel/streams, and before he knows it, he's actually got quite the following. His whole thing is about "wanting to do something to distract himself and others from the shitty aspects of life with a few laughs and some good games"

Eventually they convince Ghost to start gaming with them. It makes Gaz's popularity grow because now there's this really deep accent in the mix that's completely clueless as to what he's doing like 90% of the time (I just have this gut feeling that '22 Ghost is so fucking awful at video games) that they refer to simply as "Ghost". Suddenly, the chaos Gaz and his friends are known for increases tenfold. Ghost is flirting with all of them, Soap is arguing with him over literal couple things that come with living together, and there's a new element of really dark humor that wasn't there before (there was dark humor, just not this dark)

They're playing The Backrooms one time. They're not even in the game yet, just in the lobby. Gaz is laughing at Alex's tag for the game "MYLEG!" which is a reference to that one fish in Spongebob always yelling "my leg!" after an incident. Gaz is laughing too hard to actually explain to his viewers that, yes, Alex is an amputee. Soap starts making fun of him, as usual, and that's when it happens.

Alex: "I'll take my leg off and hit you with it, Soap, I swear to god." Soap: "I forgot you were already missing one for a second there and got real concerned." Alex: "No, Soap, I planned on removing my other leg. The one that's still attached, yeah. Just like a lil *pop noise*, ya know?" Gaz: *wheezing so hard he almost throws up*

Then they're playing this silly monster/cryptid hunter game called "A Day Out" and there's skeletons every now and then on the map. Gaz walks up to one and just starts freaking out, saying Ghost's name over and over.

Ghost, freaked out: What?? Gaz, pointing at the skeleton: Look, it's you! *cackling* Ghost, after a concerning long pause: *quietly* Nah, I'm not gonna say that Alex: SAY IT COWARD Ghost: No, that's my brother *Gaz making the most horrified face as he tries not to laugh* *Alex and Soap are losing their shit* Gaz: NAH THAT'S NOT OKAY

That clip posts and the internet looses it. I see this being the actual first video Ghost is in, so for this to be the first thing the viewers get of him, it's safe to say he's a hit. It's also never explained that Ghost does have a deceased brother, so there's just an acceptance of Ghost's skeleton brother.

There's several times where they've all gotten together and played silly games like Mario Kart when there's a bunch of them. There's the sober one and there's the drunk one, where there's so many different languages being hurled as curses at each other, Gaz gives up on captioning ANY of it.

OOOOooooooooohhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!! WHAT IF! Roach becomes his editor once he gets popular enough so he can spend more time playing games, solo ones when the others are working.

For a while, everyone's going crazy wanting to see what the others all look like, and sometimes (cause we're assuming the world they live in now during all this is a lot better), they're joined by Rudy or Alejandro, or both in one rare instance. Sometimes, for old times's sake, during the drunk gaming sessions, they'll call Laswell only for her to scold them. There are times they'll bully Roach who always, as the editor, changes their words from the insults to compliments. Or he definitely trolls Gaz a lot with some of the editing, and it's all around just a good time. Hence why everyone wants to know what they look like.

Then it's around the holidays after about 2 and a half years of Gaz's channel being as popular as it is. He posts a single picture on his socials with a group of people and the caption: "Love seeing the boys over the holidays."

It's such a nice photo; Alex with an arm wrapped around Gaz's shoulders, Soap and Ghost on his other side with Roach between Soap and Gaz.

And the internet has once again gone crazy. Why? Cause not only are these dudes fucking hilarious, but they're hot and taken.

Except, as they all end up teasing him about, Roach is very much still single XD

I have been watching too much YouTube lately, can y'all tell?? Haha anyways back to my hole I shall crawl

[fairuzfan]

hello!! I don't know if this is appropriate (pls do not feel obligated to answer) but i was wondering what were ur thoughts on the israeli grass-roots movement Standing Together. I first found out abt them through a tumblr post that shared this substack article (https://theconnector.substack.com/p/if-its-not-helping-then-shut-the). the article immediately put an extremely bad taste in my mouth towards the movement and its founders, but i dont know if i'm being overly-critical of them.

Hey thanks for sending this in. No worries, it's totally ok. I was actually debating whether or not to publish this, mostly because I was afraid this would distract from Gaza, but I decided that it's imperative to stop normalizers from squeezing their way into the movement. Remember, the demands of the Palestinian people begin and end with liberation. Everything else is irrelevant and pointless to the cause.

So first off — I don't think you're being overly-critical of them at all. The first red flag of both this article and the group themselves is that they often exchange "Palestinian" with "Arab" and "Israeli" with "Jewish." That right off the bat shows me they have no respect for Palestinians and see Jewish people and Palestinians as mutually exclusive categories. I've spoken on this blog before about how racist it is to assume no Palestinian is Jewish and vice versa and this group really illustrates the forced division they imagine within their own goals and wording.

The article itself is quite anti-Palestinian in its erasure — it talks about avoiding words like "genocide," and "apartheid," and "ethnic cleansing" because "they are serious people trying to actually get something done." I really don't understand why not using those words makes you a serious person. If anything, it erases a description of how to define what it happening to Palestinians.

The whole redefinition of "peace" in this article and group is just calmness. These people are not advocating for peace in which families are reunited and land is given back — they are advocating for a muted version of the status quo of the current political system, just with less obviously fanatical governments. Peace cannot be attained when the people directly affected cannot have a say in defining it. They won't even say the word "apartheid." It's not some scholarly word with no meaning — it has actual consequences and effects on people (click). Palestinians are tried in military court. Their movement is monitored and restricted. It means that there are different legal systems for different people (click)! If you reject that this exists, then you're not interested in making the lives of Palestinians better — you're only interested in making your own life more comfortable.

As soon as you remove our ability to say words like "genocide" and "apartheid", you remove our ability to determine what happens specifically to Palestinians based on racism. By only saying "Palestinians are getting killed" an Israeli can come in and say "well so am I, by Hamas! Let's work together to end the killing" when it ignores that this is a systematic effort to completely wipe out all trace of Palestinians from the world.

It's like saying, "Don't say you have arthritis, say your joints hurt. And well, that happens to everyone, so let's just find a way to stop all our joints from hurting!" Then you work with people who fundamentally don't understand your pain and symptoms, oversimplifying your situation to the point of malicious universality. Sure, everyone's joints hurt, but my joints are hurting because my immune system is attacking them, not because of old age. You can't help my arthritis the same way you can wear a heat/cold patch to sooth your joints — there are other problems you're ignoring that all work together to cause me systematic pain and might cause bigger problems in the future if left untreated properly.

Similar symptoms don't mean similar causes and ignoring that is fundamentally ignoring the root issue and attempting to trivialize Palestinian's suffering. As soon as you take away the words to describe our situation, it doesn't sound so bad, does it?

Now, basically, the... weirdest part of the article is this excerpt:

People like him in Israel are very aware of how the left here is talking about them, and it’s not helping. “You can call me a colonizer or a settler,” he declared, “but I’m not going anywhere. And neither are the Palestinians.” When people chant, “Palestine will be free,” he said, “we Israelis hear, ‘without you.’ In the same way that a lot of Palestinians hear the ministers in Bibi’s government speak and think they want to do the same thing to them.” The problem as they both see it is that we are caught between two polar opposites. “Hamas believes in Greater Palestine,” Green said. “And on the other side we have people who believe in the idea of Greater Israel.” Indeed, that concept is in the charter of Netanyahu’s Likud Party. “Both sides have very problematic governing bodies,” he added. And the status quo of maintaining the occupation and managing the conflict has been exploded now.

Well, first off, Hamas is not the only one who believes in "Greater Palestine." Palestinians around the globe have been fighting for that since 1948. Second off, it's quite odd that you would center yourself in the wake of the ongoing slaughter of 10,000 people, with no end in sight. Right now, I would assume you'd be advocating for an end to the mass killings first and foremost, but you seem to be more worried about your right to stolen land.

Third, this completely erases the violence done to Palestinians the past 75+ years in favor for a "peace" that will only allow citizens of Israel comfort in their lives. Sure Palestinian citizens of Israel might have more comfortable lives, maybe (although I doubt it). But what about Gaza, which has been ravaged by Israel? What about the people in the Occupied Territories, whose economy depends on Israel, which controls it? What about the millions of refugees around the world who can't so much as see the place where they grew up because they've been exiled? The colonization of Palestine by Israel is not so old — there are people STILL ALIVE who participated in the massacres of Palestinians in 1948 and 1967 and walk around without facing any real consequences for that. My great-grandmother had seen both and she only passed away a couple of years ago. Where is the "peace" for her? Where is the "peace" for millions like her who still dream of going back to their childhood home?

This group AND the article tries to cloud your view into illustrating two opposing groups with equal power. They aren't. Palestinians, unfortunately, endure systematic oppression both within Gaza and throughout Palestine. Each and every time they try to resist peacefully, they've been shot, abducted, or imprisoned. The Great March of Return is one such example. BDS is also an example, yet that has constantly been outlawed by American governments. There have been a plethora of Palestinian artists, writers, and filmmakers who have been silenced or killed for advocating for a Free Palestine. Most recently, this included Heba Abu-Nada who was an award winning poet and writer who was martyred on October 20th after getting shelled by an Israeli missile. Ghassan Kanafani also was assassinated last century. The list goes on. Palestinians have no hope of "changing the system from within" because that internal change will always depend on the mercy of the Israelis that pretend to ally themselves with the Palestinians. Someone in Gaza cannot leave their refugee camp and go back to their ancestral home because no one in this group is advocating for that — and remember, the right of return is an essential part of the demands of the Palestinian people and we cannot ignore that for a forced "peace" that favors calmness over actual justice.

Now as we examine the group themselves, here is their mission statement/goal:

Standing Together is a progressive grassroots movement mobilizing Jewish and Palestinian citizens of Israel against the occupation and for peace, equality, and social justice. We know that the majority have far more in common than that which sets us apart and only a tiny minority benefits from the status quo. The future that we want-peace and independence for Israelis and Palestinians, full equality for everyone in this land, and true social, economic, and environmental justice — is possible. To achieve this future, we must stand together as a united front: Jewish and Palestinian, secular and religious, Mizrahi and Ashkenazi, rural and urban, and people of all genders and sexual orientations. As the largest Jewish-Arab grassroots movement in Israel, we are committed to creating an alternative to our existing reality and building the political strength to make this transformation possible.

Yet again, they are separating "Palestinian" and "Jewish," reinforcing this dichotomy that's so harmful. AND they're interchanging "Palestinian" and "Arab," which erases the diversity within Palestinian society. A group that makes the distinction between "Palestinian" and "Jewish" shows that they are not interested in the restitution of Palestinians but rather solidifying their own position within society by emphasizing a false dichotomy between "Palestinians" and "Jews" with no potential for overlap.

They mention "true justice" but "true justice" doesn't exist if there are no reparations towards the people who have been exiled and displaced, murdered, and tortured the past 75+ years. Justice is not an abstract concept — it is adhering to the demands of the people most impacted by systematic oppression, which is the Palestinians.

Looking at their leadership, there are only a couple of Palestinians with the vast majority of them being non-Palestinian. Sorry, but I'm wholly uninterested in "peace" and "equality" movements that are not made up of majority Palestinians. It's only common sense that you would expect such a movement to be led by Palestinians themselves — but this group seems to use Sally Abed as a token Palestinian who furthers their narrative of wanting "peace" in Israeli society. And even looking at their action items, you can see they make a point about emphasizing safety for the *Israeli* citizens above all else, stating that their far right government does nothing to serve the citizens of Israel. They claim it will also bring safety for Gazans, but how? You can advocate for a change in the government, yes, but if the people in Gaza are subject to getting their rights taken away based on the whims of whoever happens to be in power then no amount of "internal" activism in Israeli society will help them. They will always be at the mercy of the people who have a vested interest in erasing the people of Gaza and the West Bank so that they may take over their land.

Please remember, the civil rights movement of the 60s and the BLM Movement of this century were led by and FOR Black people of the United States because they were the ones making the demands for a change in their circumstances. Because at the end of the day, the people who are the most oppressed deserve the right to decide how their future appears and should not be dictated by the oppressor in any way.

This group tries to make a separation between the "Israeli people" and the "Israeli government." Right away, I have to laugh. They act as if the colonization of Palestine is too old for anyone to remember its origins — no. I had family living in Palestine as recently as '67. Maybe *this* generation didn't choose to settle in Palestine, but the previous generation did. And the generations before that. Before 1948, Israel didn't even exist. Hell, before a couple hundred years ago, BORDERS didn't exist. Not to mention, mandatory conscription means that most civilians will have been directly part of the suppressing forces, making them liable for the material effects of colonization. Why are people so resistant to the idea of undoing colonialism and its effects? I cannot think of any other reason than because they have a vested interest in keeping those borders up, in emphasizing nationality because they're one of the groups of people that is benefited from the establishment of a "Jewish State."

So in that, unless you call for an end to the idea of the "Jewish State" in Palestine, then I cannot think of you as a sincere advocate for Palestinian rights — this group especially plays at normalization of a muted version of the status quo rather than actual justice and reparations. The "Israeli advocates" within this group will benefit first and foremost in their own activism — therefore it's hard for me to view them in a positive light.

All activism for Palestinians should center around giving Palestinians reparations, as well as giving reparations to all indigenous victims of colonization. I think this group only tries to muddy the waters to make people forget what they're fighting for. I honestly do not understand why liberation scares you, if it means that no nation-state will have complete and total power over you and your family.

"Free Palestine" is an anti-colonial movement. Such a thing is possible — but you have to try to make it possible. Those against the unending liberation of all people are one of those who have the most to benefit from the continuation of colonization.

Right now, your main concern should be the people of Gaza and the people of the West Bank, and ensuring their safety and longevity in the face on continued erasure. "Peace" is all well and good but who exactly gets to define that? Who gets to benefit most from it? Unless you can unequivocally answer "ALL Palestinians," then you're not an ally — you're only interested in helping yourselves.

Remember — the fact that we even had to fight for our rights is itself an injustice. At the very least, ask the people who are most affected what they want before you listen to Israelis who have a vested interest in keeping the state of Israel alive.

[esamastation]

Some Magnus Archives fanfic ideas....

1, The Archivist was never a Beholding adjacent position - there's nothing about the Eye that demands it's servants to record their knowledge. Instead, the Archivist was an ancient, general purpose collector of fears, always meant to gather and immortalise them in stories. Jonah Magnus (like many avatars of many different Powers before him) just hijacked the concept for his own uses and now everyone assumes it's how things are supposed to be.

1.2, All Leitners are written by Archivists. After consuming enough stories about specific Fears, an Archivist has to get them out, expelling all the gathered fear and coagulating it into single point - traditionally, in books. Aka, unbeknownst to him, Jon's recordings work a little like Leitners.

1.3, Simon Fairchild is the only one old enough to remember a time when an Archivist had no special connecting to the Beholding.

1.4, A time travelling Jon resorts to drastic measures to make sure he can't be used for the Watcher's Crown again, and permanently mutes himself - and gains for his troubles an obsessive compulsion to write eldritch books.

2, Post ep. 200 Jon and Martin end up somewhere else - back in time, alternate reality, in another fandom, whatever. Jon is still the Archivist and he still has the urge to archive, to listen and to record. But knowing what they do now, both are of the opinion that using tape recorders is a Big No. Aka, Jon ends up using vinyl records instead (and thus courting the Spiral instead of the Web??)

3, Jon asks a very important question I really wished he had: why does Gerry, with all the experience and knowledge he has, get eye tattoos on all his joints? Do they do something? What do they do?? Which then leads Jon down a very different sort of path of Being Marked By Horrors. Aka, Jon starts getting magical tattoos to balance and counteract the various Dread Influences on his life. Aka, Tattooed Jon Being A Distraction To Everyone and Also Mucking Up Elias' Plans By Having A Closed Eye Tattooed On His Forehead Maybe???

3.2 Better yet, this becomes a Trend in the Archives and everyone outside the Archives comes to the conclusion that the place is ran by some sort of delinquent gang of tattooed hooligans. Tattooed Martin for the soul, anyone?

4, Jonah/Elias Sees everything there is to see and figures it all out long before Jon and Martin make it back to London. Total extinction of human race looms not in unfathomable distance but less than hundred years in the future, and it turns out that in absence of human free will, the Fears grow... quite boring and repetitive, really. Jonah wanted Immortality to See It All, and this... isn't it. So, time for a retry. Aka, Jonah time travel.

4.2, Jon, Martin and Jonah all end up back in time after episode 200, and immediately Jon and Martin scramble to stop Jonah - not realising that he's already changed his mind about the Watcher's Crown, and is, in his own way, on their side.

5, Mr. Spider's door is flung open and the Archivist stumbles out, right in front of traumatised little Jon Sims. Aka, Eldritch Eye Monster tries to raise his own younger self to make better decisions than he did and probably only makes things worse.

6. All the above.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: A Haunting.

Pairing: Yandere!Bruce Wayne x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 1.2k.

TW: Implied Stalking, Nonconsensual Touching, and Obsessive Behavior.

It was following you again.

A flickering shadow, skirting along the edges of rooftops and the wired frames of fire escapes, constantly slipping in and out of the corner of your vision. You’d seen it last night, too, falling from your balcony when you finally managed to tear yourself away from your laptop, and the night before that, on your way to grab something from the only corner store that was still open by the time you could force yourself to leave your apartment. You thought you’d be able to make it home uninterrupted tonight, but you weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like Gotham had ever been a particularly kind place to the people who just wanted to survive.

You caught something shifting in your peripheral, but kept yourself from snapping in its direction. It was better not to pay attention, to keep your eyes down and your hood pulled up and focus on getting home, into the relative safe-space that was your shitty apartment in your shitty building in your shitty neighborhood. It was better to concentrate on cutting corners than the two, identical pinpricks burying themselves in the nape of your neck. It was better to breathe, to try to keep a hold on your own pulse rather than pay any attention to the steady, muted footsteps trailing behind you. It was better to—

You cut into a narrow alleyway, took a few steps, and immediately ran into a dead-end.

Fuck.

You took a wrong turn.

The footsteps were closer, now, on cement rather than hollow steel. You spun on your heels, pressing your back into the brick wall that’d smothered your escape route, but that only managed to make you feel smaller, more cornered as you tried to make out any features of the dark, looming shape slowly approaching you. You tried to remember which villains were active in this area, if there was a curfew that you’d chosen to ignore, but your thoughts went blank as the dim light flowing in from the main street caught on the silver of brass knuckles and serrated throwing knives, as a pitch-black cape slid off of a shoulder too stiff not to be armored, and…

You let out a breath of a laugh. “Oh my god,” You mumbled, shaking your head. Batman, as odd as it felt to refer to him as that, didn’t seem perturbed, only coming to a stop in front of you. “You scared the hell out of me, Batman, sir. I wouldn’t have been so freaked out if I knew it was you.”

“I… apologize for that.” You’d never heard him speak, before. His voice was raspier than you thought it’d be – a lot deeper, too. Compared to the other local vigilantes you’d run into (particularly, Nightwing’s hyper-cheeriness or Orphan’s total silence), it wasn’t completely unpleasant. “I didn’t—” He seemed to interrupt himself, to trip over his words. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve called him nervous. “I’ve seen you walking alone, before. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“Is anything safe in Gotham?” You laughed. He didn’t. Rubbing the back of your neck, you forced yourself to shut your mouth, swallow your humiliation, and go on in a way that wouldn't embarrass you in front of the city's greatest protector. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t do anything to add to your workload. My boss is sort of a sadist, though. Believe it or not, this was the earliest I could get out.”

He didn’t respond to that, not immediately. He scanned over you, instead, his eyes drifting from your face to your wrinkled post-shift hoodie and back again. He raised his hand, and you kept yourself from pulling away as gloved fingertips ghosted over your jaw. You’d almost forgotten about the small bandage plastered over your eye until he brushed against it – a result of a short-lived bar fight that’d gotten out of hand while you were behind the counter. It’d stopped bleeding in a few seconds, but better safe than sorry, right?

“Oh, that’s nothing you have to worry about.” You tried to smile, to shrug, but he was already cupping your face, tilting your head to the side with more force than he seemed to realize he was using. It was obviously a reflex; one he’d probably earned from years of protecting injured civilians. Your personal space, and the bruise his grip would leave on your jaw, were insignificant, in comparison. “Just a minor incident at work. It’s not a big deal, I promise.”

For whatever reason, that didn’t seem to satisfy him. “You should be more careful. A dive bar with a reputation like that isn’t a good place to spend your time.”

…huh.

You were starting to think he might’ve been better as a shadow.

“I don’t remember—”

“You should move, too.” You were really, really starting to prefer his shadow. “Your neighbor, three doors to the left – you know he’s wanted for arson in another city, don’t you? It’s dangerous for you to be so close to such an unstable person.”

It occurred to you, for possibly the first time since he’d initially shown himself, that you were in a dark alley, in the middle of the night, totally unarmed and totally trapped by a man who seemed to know you better than you knew him. You tried to remind yourself that it wasn’t just any man – it was Batman, but that name brought you less reassurance than it had, a few minutes ago.

“Uh, Batman, sir,” You started, suddenly struggling just to spit something out. “I… I really think I should be getting home.”

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve said he was smiling. “Of course. I’ll take you back to your apartment.” And then, after a short pause. “To make sure you don’t get hurt, again.”

His hand dropped from your cheek to your wrist. He began to pull you forward, but you dug your heels into the cement, jerking yourself out of his hold. His reaction was immediate, instinctual – a sharpened glare, a deepened scowl, only fazed by your clumsy attempts to stumble around him, to back towards the main road without letting your stiff grin falter. “I’m alright, I—” You cut yourself off, biting down on the side of your tongue. “I just don’t think that’d be such a good idea.”

He took a step towards you. You took one back. “So, you don’t want a superhero escort?”

“It’s late, and I—”

“You’re willingly putting yourself in danger.” You spared a glance over your shoulder. “You asking me to let you put yourself in harm’s—”

“Please.” You shrunk into yourself, shutting your eyes. “Please, sir, I just want to go home.”

You felt his gaze burning into you, for a few seconds.

But, when you found the courage to open your eyes again, he was gone.

His absence might’ve been more comforting, if you hadn’t still been able to see that little, flickering shadow in the corner of your eye.