welcome-to-my-ff-hell

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

Love it love it love it love it hchoxgodogdgoxgo

Chapter 6

“Bolin is engaged?” you croaked. Korra simply nodded, as she knew how upset you’d be at this piece of information. Your head was spinning.

“Well he was. Or is? I mean did you see that crazy betrothal necklace?” she asked.

You hadn’t seen the boy since your fight in the shed. In fact, you’d barely seen any of your friends since the wrongful incarceration and sentencing of most of the men from your village. Tonraq and your own father included.

Seeing him wearing the unusual water tribe robes and necklace was a strange sight indeed.

You sighed. “We have bigger problems to worry about,” you finally answered. Korra had promised her father that she wouldn’t do anything rash after the imprisonment, but that was before finding out Unalaq had set this whole thing up. He got Tonraq banished all those years ago, and fixed the trial to the outcome he wanted.

She convinced the team and Varrick to help break the men out of jail while you got things ready. The men weren’t in the cells though; they were on their way North. That's how you ended up here, holding on to the plane for dear life.

“Ready?” Korra asked you, Asami, and Mako. “Jump!”

The four of you lept from the plane and you bent the water to rise and grab you from the air. Korra bent the air bubble around you all as you swam closer to the edge of the ship, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. You and Korra exchanged a look before catapulting the group onto the boat, taking out the opposing benders with ease.

Once you found your fathers and the other imprisoned men, you all made it back onto Varrick’s boat safely. The reunion was bittersweet, with the impending explanation of what had happened.

“So once I knew the truth,” Korra explained, “we couldn’t sit by and do nothing.”

“My own brother betrayed me,” Tonraq said mournfully. “And our entire tribe.”

“What’s our next move?” Your dad asked.

“I’ve been running from my past for too long. It’s time to put my brother in his place,” Tonraq answered.

“You have our support, chief Tonraq.”

“Mine too,” Korra interjected. “I’ll be proud to fight alongside you, Dad.”

“No, Korra.”

“But you said the South doesn’t stand a chance against Unalaq’s forces. I can help!”

“The best way for you to help is by getting the president of the United Republic on our side. The South can give Unalaq a good fight for a while; but we’ll need the United Forces in order to win this war.”

“Alright, I’ll get you all the help you need,” Korra said, leaning to her dad for a hug.

“I’m going to stay,” you finally spoke up. “Help here in any way I can.”

“But honey, it’ll be dangerous,” your father said, grabbing your arm.

“I need to do this, Dad. I can help heal the injured at least and I can fight.”

“That would make me feel a lot better,” Korra said. “Knowing that you’re here, keeping an eye on things for me.”

You smiled weakly. “Then it’s settled. You guys go back to Republic City to get help, and I’ll stay here.”

Korra pulled you into a hug as the men dispersed, giving the two of you some privacy.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Korra asked without breaking the hug.

You sniffled, letting your tears finally fall. “I need to. Our tribe needs all the help it can get. I can’t go back to the city now; not like this. I can’t leave everyone knowing I could be here to help.”

“I get it,” Korra said shakily. She pulled away to look in your eyes. “I’m just going to miss you so much.”

“You’re leaving?” Mako asked as he, Asami, and Bolin had come to join you and Korra on the deck.

“More like staying,” you said with a wobbly laugh.

“But team Avatar! We’re supposed to stick together!” Bolin rambled. He had changed out of his betrothal robes and into his usual clothes. You looked over at him, making eye contact for the first time that day. His green eyes were shimmering with unshed tears.

“It’s not goodbye; it’s just an ‘I’ll see you later’,” you offered. He looked away.

“It’s going to be okay,” Asami said, taking your hand. “Your people need you right now. It’s the best thing you can do. We’ll go back to the city and do everything we can there.”

“Thanks Asami.” You pulled her in for a hug, and soon felt more arms surround the two of you.

“Stay safe,” Mako said, pulling away. He wasn’t the most affectionate person, but you knew he cared for you. You nodded and thanked him as the boat got closer to shore.

“I guess this is it for now.” The men were gathering to hop on a platform of ice back to land. You turned, walking backwards in their direction. “I’ll see you guys soon!”

Asami, Mako, and Korra said their goodbyes and waved as you descended onto the chunk of ice. Bolin had turned away, and started to walk back into the cabin. You felt a twist in your stomach as you waved back to the others.

——

Weeks had gone by with no intel from Korra. The resistance was fading; you and the other healers were stuck night and day in the healing hut with barely any breaks. Exhaustion was gnawing on all of your muscles as you worked on an injured soldier. He gave you a soft smile as his wounds healed under your fingers. You mustered a smile for him as the water from your hands danced into a nearby bowl. A gentle hand touched your shoulder and you turned, seeing Katara’s concern etched on her face.

“I think you should sit down for a little while. I brought you something to eat.” She handed you a container of food as your stomach groaned at the sight; you realized you hadn’t eaten since the day before. You nodded and thanked your mentor before taking a seat in the back room of the hut. A little privacy, some food, and a short rest, then you’d be good as new.

You quickly scarfed down your meal before leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

Something isn’t right, you thought. You could hear a sound coming from the sky nearby, but tried not to dwell on it.

A heavier sound landed on the ground and your eyes snapped open. Your body tensed as you listened harder, ready to defend the troops and healers in the next room. Footsteps approached the door and you jumped to your feet, ready to pounce when necessary.

There was no yelling, though. No sounds of conflict as the door opened and footsteps entered the hut. You started to relax and went to take a seat before your ears perked up again.

“What happened?” Katara asked.

“Her soul is trapped in the spirit world,” Tenzin replied.

Tenzin? Oh no…

You tore the door open to see the airbender holding a seemingly unconscious Jinora, with Kya, Korra, Bumi, and Senna flanking the pair. Tenzin and Katara continued talking but you couldn’t hear; your eyes were glued on the little girl.

The group approached the room you had just found sanctuary in, and you couldn’t do anything but stare as Tenzin set his daughter in the pool of water. Katara quickly got to work as you closed the doors. You weren’t sure if your presence was necessary, but you couldn’t tear yourself away.

Jinora had been like a little sister in so many ways. How had this happened? You picked up that she had been in this state for almost a week. A week.

“She’s very strong to have lasted this long,” Katara said as she worked.

Your trance broke when Korra took your arm and led you out of the room. You walked by the injured people and out the front door. Korra pulled you into a bone crushing hug as the door closed.

“You look like crap,” she whispered. You let out a dry chuckle.

“Gee thanks,” you said, pulling back to look at her. You could see the stress pooled in her eyes. She kept an arm around your shoulder as she led you down the stairs. You greeted your friends with the most genuine smile you could muster.

Korra tried to quickly sum up what went down while they were gone, and you focused all of your attention on her. Bolin side-stepped his way to your other side and when Korra let go of your shoulder, he took over from the other side.

Wow I must really look awful, you thought. If your friends found it necessary to hold you up there was no telling how bad you looked. You hadn’t looked in a mirror in several days, so maybe you really did look like crap. The warmth coming off the boy was intoxicating; you could easily fall asleep if you leaned in to him a little more.

“…Unalaq has the Southern portal surrounded,” Korra told the group. “Harmonic convergence is only a few hours away.”

You perked up at that; you knew it was time to find your energy so you could help. You pulled away from Bolin then and he dropped his arm to his side.

“We know what our mission is,” Korra finished.

“A suicide mission,” Bolin mumbled.

You elbowed him lightly in the ribs when Bumi started talking. He glanced down at you and you glared back.

The boom of Tenzin’s voice snapped your attention back to the problem at hand.

“Hold on, maybe Bumi’s right,” Asami mused. “We don’t have a catapult and hog-monkeys, but we have a flying bison and there’s a plane on Varrick’s ship. Maybe we can attack from above.”

It was decided that you, Asami, Bolin, and Mako would take the plane to create a distraction so Korra, Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin could make their way into the spirit world.

As the plan unfolded more, Bolin peeked at you from the corner of his eye. You could feel him staring so you turned to look back, frustration bouncing around your mind.

“Maybe you should stay behind,” he whispered quietly enough that only you could hear. You rolled your eyes in response.

“I’m serious,” he said, touching your arm. “Maybe it would be best if you stayed back and got some rest.”

You slapped his hand away and answered through gritted teeth. “I am helping whether you like it or not, Bolin.”

He sighed.

The groups were separating and Bolin grabbed at you once again.

“Hey!” You snapped, frustration oozing into your tone.

Bolin didn’t back away though, not this time. In fact he looked back at you; his brows drawn together in his own anger.

“Just listen for a second! I’m only suggesting you stay behind because you look exhausted and I care about you. I don’t want you getting hurt unnecessarily,” he whispered harshly. His brows were still knitted in their fury but his eyes gleamed with concern.

You relaxed in his hold as you held his gaze. His grip on your arm turned to gentle strokes. Bolin looked pained as he examined your face. “I know you’re not going to actually sit this one out,” he started after another moment. “But just… please be careful?”

Your free hand came up from your side and softly landed on his chest. His heart rate was faster than average; likely the anticipation of this upcoming fight. Or maybe…?

You slowly raised up on your toes, assessing this reaction. He was completely still; his eyebrows had shot up and he was staring at your mouth with his own slightly agape. You quietly closed the distance and pressed your lips to his cheek. His arms encompassed your body as you pulled back only slightly. His eyes were searching yours as you raised your own arms to wrap around his neck.

He pulled you into a tight hug then, pressing his body completely to yours. Bolin’s face pressed into your hair and you breathed in his scent.

“I’ll be okay,” you whispered. His grip somehow tightened on you. You closed your eyes then, letting yourself relax into his warm, comforting strength. “I’ll be careful.”

Then, it was time to go.

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

just a little bolin drabble thats been sitting in my drafts <3

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft scratching of your pen against paper and the occasional rustle of documents as you sifted through them. The soft glow of a lamp bathed the room in a warm, golden light, casting long shadows across the walls. Mako had gone to bed hours ago, and you were the only one still awake, pouring over the endless tasks that came with managing a pro-bending team.

The Fire Ferrets had a match in just a few days, and there were still so many loose ends to tie up. You were used to it by now, having taken on the role of unofficial manager for the brothers. You’d known Mako and Bolin since you were all kids, and when they’d started chasing their dreams of becoming pro-bending champions, you’d been there every step of the way, helping however you could.

You rubbed your tired eyes and leaned back in your chair, taking a deep breath. The work never seemed to end, but you didn’t mind. This was your way of helping, of supporting the boys who had become like family to you.

The front door creaked open, and you looked up, surprised to see Bolin slipping inside, his steps quiet as he tried not to wake Mako. His eyes widened when he saw you still up, papers strewn across the table in front of you.

“yn? What are you still doing up?” Bolin whispered, crossing the room to you, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief.

“Just finishing up some last-minute things for the match,” you replied with a tired smile. “I didn’t expect you to be out so late.”

Bolin shook his head, his brows furrowing as he took in the sight of you, clearly exhausted but still working tirelessly for him and his brother. “You’re too kind to us, you know that? You shouldn’t be overworking yourself like this.”

You laughed softly, waving him off. “You two would be lost without me. Besides, nothing you do could drive me away. I love you both too much.”

Bolin’s smile, bright and full of the warmth you adored, faltered ever so slightly, his eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite place. You noticed the shift immediately, concern replacing your playful demeanor.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, setting your pen down. “You look tired. You should get some sleep. You need to stay healthy for the match.”

Bolin hesitated, his eyes flicking away from yours for a moment before he took a deep breath and looked back at you, something serious in his gaze. “It’s not that.”

You frowned, confused by his sudden change in mood. “What then?”

“It’s… it’s you.”

You blinked, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air between you. “Me? What do you mean? Oh, I mean, it is late. I should probably head home, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No, not that,” Bolin said quickly, shaking his head. He looked almost pained now, his hands fidgeting at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Bolin, what’s going on? You’re starting to worry me,” you said, your voice gentle, trying to coax whatever was bothering him out into the open.

He bit his lip, eyes searching yours as if looking for something- permission, reassurance, anything that would make what he was about to do less terrifying. “Please don’t hate me after this.”

“Hate you? Bolin, I could never hate you-”

Before you could finish, Bolin took a step forward, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his lips to yours in a sudden, desperate kiss.

For a moment, you were too shocked to react, your mind trying to process the fact that Bolin- sweet, kind Bolin- was kissing you. But then, just as quickly as it had begun, he pulled away, his eyes wide with panic as he realized what he’d done.

“Oh no, oh spirits, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have done that- I shouldn’t have- ” Bolin’s words tumbled out, frantic and filled with regret, but before he could spiral any further, you silenced him by leaning in and kissing him back.

This time, the kiss was slow, deliberate, as if you were trying to convey something in the way your lips moved against his. When you finally pulled away, Bolin was staring at you, completely stunned, his mouth slightly open as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“I… I have to go home,” you murmured, the reality of what you’d just done hitting you all at once. You stood up quickly, gathering your things with shaking hands, your mind racing.

“Wait- yn-” Bolin started, but you were already moving towards the door, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Goodnight, Bolin,” you said softly, giving him one last look before you slipped out of the apartment, leaving him standing there, frozen in place, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.

As you walked home, the cool night air brushed against your skin, grounding you as your thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of confusion and excitement. Everything had changed in an instant, and your heart was still racing from the unexpected kiss. You didn’t know what this would mean for you and Bolin, or even for your friendship, but you couldn’t deny the warmth that had settled in your chest. The future felt uncertain, but instead of fear, there was a flicker of hope- a possibility that this unexpected turn might lead to something new, something beautiful. For now, you let that hope carry you through the quiet streets, your mind replaying the moment that had just altered everything.

masterlist

a/n bolin i legit my husband guys i cant😫 this has been sitting in my drafts for so long i just never knew if i wanted to post it or not bc idrk how i feel about it lolz but here yall go lol. idk if any of y'all are lok fans like me but i wanna write more for bolin, and other atla and lok characters

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

Hihihi! I saw your that requests are open and I know you love getting little weird requests so I was wonderinf of you could write the turtles with someone (romantic or platonic) who has powers similar to Doctor Strange or the Scarlet Witch. Before Y/N even got them and at the early stages of having it they used to be so kind and bubbly but now that they've gotten used to it and how it works they're all serious and stressed and not aa bubbly, a complete 360 if you will.

Please and thank you!! ( ・∇・)

Tmnt 2012 x ScarletWitchPower!Reader (Romantic)

Leonardo

Leo understands responsibility, so when he sees how much you’ve changed, he immediately gets it. Power comes with a price, and you’re carrying a lot on your shoulders.

But he misses the old you—the one who would laugh at his lame jokes and tease him when he was being too serious. Now, you’re always serious.

He tries to remind you to take breaks, to breathe, to just be for a moment. “Even warriors need rest” he tells you.

He’s so gentle with you. He doesn’t push too hard, but he makes sure you know he’s there, always offering small touches and quiet reassurances.

If you ever break down, overwhelmed by the weight of your powers, he’s the first to hold you and remind you that you’re not alone.

Raphael

Raph is pissed. Not at you, but at whatever changed you. He remembers how happy and carefree you used to be, and now all he sees is the weight dragging you down.

He doesn’t know how to help, so he does what he does best—he sticks by your side, even when you try to push him away.

“You ain’t gotta do this alone, y’know.” That’s about as sentimental as he gets, but the way he stands between you and danger every time? That says more than words ever could.

If you snap at him in frustration, he just crosses his arms and glares. “Yeah, yeah, take it out on me if ya want. Not gonna change the fact that I ain’t leavin’.”

Expect him to physically pull you away when you’re overworking yourself. “Alright, that’s it—time for a break. Non-negotiable.”

Donatello

Donnie notices the change in you right away, and it worries him more than he lets on. He’s used to analyzing problems and fixing them, but this? He can’t fix this.

He researches everything about your powers, trying to find ways to help you control them, make them easier to bear. He’ll even build devices to help you stabilize them if needed

“You don’t have to bear the weight of the universe alone, Y/N… Let me at least help you carry it.”

He misses the way you used to be—how you’d geek out with him, how you’d joke around without a care in the world. He tries to bring that back in small ways, sneaking little jokes into conversations, nudging you playfully.

He’s so soft about it. He won’t push, but he’ll always be waiting, ready to hold you if you ever let your guard down.

Michelangelo

This breaks Mikey’s heart. He remembers when you used to light up every room you walked into, and now… now you carry this heavy sadness.

He tries everything to bring back even a sliver of the old you—bad jokes, spontaneous pizza runs, even pulling you into dance-offs.

“C’moooon, Y/N, just one little smile? For me?” Cue the biggest puppy eyes ever.

But when he realizes that you’re really struggling, he stops pushing and just sits with you. No expectations, no pressure—just quiet companionship.

He’s the kind of person to remind you that you’re still you, even if you don’t feel like it. “Your powers don’t define you, sunshine. You’re still my Y/N.”

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

Can I request more 2012? I really like your table tease story with Donnie BTW! My request is what do you think would be good turn ons and turn offs for the 2012 turtles.

Turn Ons and Turn Offs (18+)

2012!Turtles x reader

A/N: Of course you can!💚 And I’m happy that you liked it😘💜 These focuses mainly on the spicy stuff, but there’s also some general relationship aspects in there. As you know, not all turn ons has to be strictly sexual💙❤️ 💜🧡 (Btw, thought you all should know I wrote this while listening to Shady Lady by Ani Lorak).

All characters are aged up.

Warning: Talk about sex, and possible break ups. And spelling. My head did a upsi every once in a while.

Leonardo:

Turn Ons:

Your admiration for his leadership skills is evident, and Leonardo is drawn to your determination to better yourself, just like he always tries to better himself. He finds your disciplined nature and eagerness appealing, often finding himself lost in admiration as you dive into whatever you’re passionate about.

Your respect for tradition and loyalty to your friends resonates with his own values. Your ideas of a relationship matches up with his, and both of you found that you had the same goals for your love lives.

When you let him geek out and take an interest in his sci fi series, board games and martial art rants. It made him weak in the knees to have you sit next to him, listening intently to all his words.

Leo likes to view himself as an independent leader with a mind of steel, making the decisions and leading the flock. But, he did like it ALOT when you took control in the bedroom. It gave him a change to relax, and, well, you looked hot as fuck on top of him.

But as much as Leo LOVED it when you took control during intimate times, it made him feel like a true man and a real leader, whenever you looked to him for protection or help. It made you look so small and cute, and he could just eat you on the spot.

Training you. More than once a small training session between you and Leo had turned into a heated makeout.

Calling him Sensei. Leo will lose his shit and become dominant very quickly.

Your eyes. Leo loves to watch your eyes during sex. Both of you made a big deal out of looking into each other’s eyes during your climax.

Teasing. Him or you? It didn't matter. Leo just had a thing for teasing and foreplay, finding it amazing the longer it lasts.

Turn Offs:

If you did not understand his role as a leader and what it meant to him, Leonardo was OFF. Leo is committed to his given role, and he can become frustrated if he senses any disrespect towards their mission or disregard for his orders. That same goes for his partner, if they decided not to see how important it is for Leo.

He values structure and organization, so if you're too spontaneous or disregard the importance of training and preparation, it might put a strain on your relationship. It’s not that Leo doesn’t like a few spontaneous things, but he has a daily routine that he needs to follow.

Leo doesn’t like it when it gets too messy in the bedroom. Sure, he can get into the kinky stuff, and bodily fluids tend to get involved, but it has to be easy to clean. So it’s a big no when it comes to bringing food into the bedroom. Maybe something to drink so you can keep going, but other than a few snacks for movies, no food.

Degradation. Leo likes it when you call each other things; good boy, good girl, Sensei, slut has even been used, but he will never talk down to you. He’s not against talking about how much one of you was loving it, but peeling each other apart with words. Never ask or expect him to call you dumb, stupid or something worse, because he won’t do it.

If you bleed, either from a bite or Leo being a little too rough with you, he shuts the whole thing down. You can say you liked it, but Leo wasn’t having it. Blood meant pain, typically a pain that was way stronger than any pleasure. Leo did not like it, fearing that he was hurting you too much.

Raphael:

Turn Ons:

Your fiery spirit and unwavering determination catch Raphael's attention from the start. He's drawn to your confidence and independence, finding your willingness to stand up for what you believe in incredibly attractive.

Raphael appreciates your straightforwardness and isn't afraid to engage in some friendly banter and teasing with you, loving the challenge you present. Nothing could get Rapg in the mood, like when you returned his comment with an even fiery one, continuing back and forth until one was the ultimate winner. That winner tended to be the dominant one that night (even though Raph tended to take that role from you very quickly), or some very hot brat taming.

 Just like playful banter, playful fighting could rail Raph up so easily, trying his best to keep you pinned to the ground. He found it adorable to watch you struggle against him, and at times he would let you think you had the upper hand, before he pushed you to the ground, smiling mischievously at you, your flustered expression keeping him going every time.

Rough sex is his favorite kind. Though he would never try to intentionally hurt you, he did have a thing for hearing you whimper and plead for him, often turning into a whole game of dirty talk.

Begging has Raph spinning. He could lose his mind, just to the sound of your begging. However, if you really want him to enjoy it, don’t beg straight away. Make him fight for it. That’s the most fun part.

This man LOVES spanking. It is the sound, and the way your flesh jiggles afterwards, and the reddening of your skin, almost matching the color of his bandana. Raph loves watching your ass turn red during doggy style, calling it proof that he has been the one doing this to you.

Sex outside the bedroom? This man will do it anywhere with you. All you have to do is ask, and he will do it.

Turn Offs:

While Raphael admires your independence, he can become frustrated if he feels like you're shutting him out or keeping secrets. He values honesty and loyalty above all else, so if he senses any deceit or manipulation, it could lead to some serious clashes between you two. He can easily become insecure, overthinking very quickly, and make up ideas in his head, based on things you once said. Just talk to him, it makes everything easier.

Raph’s not a fan of overly clingy behavior and needs his space to process his emotions. That does not mean that he doesn’t want you around, but sometimes, when he’s mad at his brothers, he just needs to punch a punching bag first, before he tells you what's going on.

Raph loves to choke you doing sex, but if you choke him, he will pull away. Make sure he’s okay with it before you do it, otherwise he will start gaining some real trust issues when it comes to your intimate activities. He may be open for it one day, but he NEEDS to know it before you get down and dirty.

Stay. AWAY. From. His. ASS. No finger, no nothing. He ain’t doing it. Nope. Nuh-uh. Your butt, hell yeah! But his butt? FORGET IT.

His tail too! Ask first, otherwise, he will get aggressive or just walk away.

If you as much as joke about getting down with one of his brothers, his done. Leave. Raph is a pretty insecure guy, so a small joke can easily break him. Don’t do that to the poor guy. He’s trying his best.

You can get your ass spanked and your throat used and choked, but he will never make you bleed. He wants you to enjoy it just as much as him, so as soon as you tell him you don’t like it, he will stop. He will shut the whole thing down, even if you protest, deciding to spend the time cuddling instead.

As much as Raph loves to do nasty things with you, don’t you dare tell anybody. It’s not because he doesn’t want people to know that you two are intimate, but he just doesn't want people all up in his and your very personal business.

Donatello:

Turn Ons:

Donatello is captivated by your intellect and curiosity, often finding himself engrossed in deep conversations with you about science, technology, and the mysteries of the universe.

He's drawn to your creativity and innovative thinking, appreciating your unique perspective on the world. Your passion for learning and exploring new ideas resonates with his own interests, creating a strong intellectual connection between you two.

Donnie is a BIG fan of phone sex. Masturbation together over the phone or sexting when you couldn’t be together. He loved it all. If you’re in the mood, just send him a pic and he is ready. He can fix whatever he was working on another time.

He has a thing for seeing you in his color. A purple shirt, or maybe even surprise him with purple underwear, and he will be ON. Sometimes he will even let you wear his bandana, maybe even wrapping it around you during sex. He just loved the sight.

Donnie LOVES dirty talk. All of it. He can be so sweet and caring on any other occasion, but during sex, he can talk so nasty to you, making you wonder where all that came from. But in truth, he had always been like that. It just took a person he trusted to bring it out of him.

Neither you or Donnie have a set role when it comes to sex. You feel like being submissive? Sure, then he’ll dominate you until your world starts shaking. Or let’s say that you feel like dominating, Donnie will happily be submissive, begging and pleading for you.

Let him watch you. Please! He finds it so hot!

Your purple genius turtle likes to try out news in the bedroom. He has a very open mind when it comes to your sex life, and will pretty much try anything you bring up, and things that has been thinking about for some time.

Turn Offs:

Donnie doesn’t have a lot of sexual turn offs, most of them having something to do with the maintenance of a relationship. But he will NEVER do anything you don’t want him to! Never ever! If you don’t want to, he will throw the idea away, prioritizing your comfort way more.

Donnie values honesty and transparency in a relationship, so if he feels like you're hiding something or being evasive, it can cause some tension between you two.

When it comes to relationships, he's also not a fan of recklessness or impulsiveness, preferring to carefully analyze situations before taking action. He wants to talk to you first, going through all the pros and cons, making sure that both of you are on the same page, and that nothing is left in the unknown. If you disregard safety protocols or act without thinking things through, it could lead to some disagreements.

Donnie is not always available, even though he really wants to be. Since he’s the only one that knows how to fix a toaster, his help is often needed in the lair. Therefore it would really discourage him in the long run, if you didn’t come down to visit him.

Cut him off during his long rambles about the newest thing he was working on, or show a general lack of interest in his work, and Donnie will quickly find himself rethinking the entire relationship. It’s not a lot he’s asking for, and his trying his best to make space for you in his life, so if you can’t give him that, is it even worth it?

Break some of his work on purpose, and he will feel like you have betrayed him.

Michelangelo:

Turn Ons:

Your fun-loving nature and sense of humor immediately click with Mikey's laid-back personality. He's drawn to your adventurous spirit and willingness to join him on spontaneous escapades around the city. Mikey loves your positive attitude and ability to find joy in the simplest of things, often finding himself laughing and smiling more when you're around.

There’s many ways to get Mikey in the mood, one of the easiest ones being just telling him. Whisper in his ear and tell him you’re in the mood, and you’ll find that he too will be in the mood. It doesn’t take much more than that.

Something as simple as cuddling could get him going. Hug him in a certain way that reminded him of how you would press yourself against him, and his mind would go wandering until he couldn’t contain his excitement anymore.

Dress up in something revealing, and Mikey will not be able to keep his hands from himself. Especially something that puts focus on your chest. It will definitely help with this boob man.

There’s no way around it, but Mikey will bring food into the bedroom, and he will find a way to involve it in your acts. Licking syrup off of each other, or maybe eating ice cream from your chest. If Mikey can think of it, he will do it.

Mikey genuinely wants sex to be fun and enjoyable for both of you. It is a light hearted and pleasurable affair, and he will not see any reason to stop before you and him are satisfied… for the time being.

Sneaking around in the lair and in the city above can also really get him going. Mikey can’t help it. The thought of getting caught did some very interesting things to him.

Does Mikey like to be a little submissive sometimes? Yes, yes he does.

Roleplay? YES! This man LOVES it! Anything creative in the bedroom and he is hooked!

Turn Offs:

Mikey is not a fan of negativity or pessimism, preferring to surround himself with positivity and optimism. He understands that not everything is a dance on roses, but if you continuously point out the negative, he can find himself growing quite bored or maybe even tired of the relationship.

If there is one thing Mikey can’t stand, it is when he is forced to put a damper on his imagination and creativity. Tell him no to a good roleplay one too many times, and he will become quite agitated.

Mikey understands that sometimes life gets serious, he does not like it when his sex life has to be serious too. Mikey is not against intense intimacy with eye contact and all that, but let him have fun dammit! Can’t he have fun, then what is the purpose?!

Stick to one position for too long, and Mikey will get bored. And once Mikey is bored, the mood is gone. Keep it interesting, listen to his suggestions and have fun.

Keep Mikey stuck in the bedroom for too long, and he will - you guessed it - get bored. If you won’t sneak around with him, he will feel utterly lost in boredom. It takes a lot to make Mikey rethink a whole relationship, but with everything combined, he may be getting close to that point.

And the worst of them all. Probably the one he would put as the base for a break up; make him feel or call him childish. Now, Mikey wouldn’t care if his brothers called you and Mikey immature and childish, but if you called him that, along with sucking all the fun out of his life, Mikey would call it quits. He wants to have fun with his partner, and if his partner refused to do that, he wouldn’t want to be with them.

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

I love the banter so muuch !!!

Hiii :D would u be willing to make a 2012 leo x fem reader where reader is very dense to leo's obvious crush on her? And everyone else knows it and tries to be his wingman but reader just doesn't get it until he spells it out for her? Ofc if u don't want to you can ignore! I love your work xoxo 💕

We Just Have To Set The Mood (Fluff)

2012!Leonardo x reader

A/N: Finally got around to do this one! I decided to have a little fun and write it from the other’s perspective, just to try something a little different. I had a hard time doing it so Leo actually spelled it out to the reader, so I decided to focus on the wingman aspect of your request. I started to get a little bit of a writer's block towards the end, but I really wanted to get this finished for you💙 Hope you’ll enjoy anyway💙

Warnings: None💙

“Is she blind or something?”, Raph whispered in utter disbelief, watching you and Leo on the couch from his and Donnie’s hiding spot behind a pillar, their eyes following the movements of the two of you as you casually talked. Well, you at least seemed casual. Leo on the other hand looked like a love lost puppy, with practically bright pink hearts for eyes and a dreamy smile smeared over his face, as he listened to you talk. “I mean, look at him. He follows her around like a lost puppy! How has she not noticed?!”

“It’s (Y/N) we’re talking about, Raph”, Donnie reminded his brother. “This is the same girl that literally has been oblivious to Leo’s crush for years now. Have you forgotten the time Leo thought he had asked her out on a date, but then she brought April along, thinking it was a casual get together?”

“Don’t remind me”, Raph mumbled. “He was a sighing mess for two weeks, and he really wanted me to ask about it”.

“Did you ask him about it?”, Donnie questioned, raising a brow muscle.

“Of course not”, Raph said, neither he nor Donnie noticing the orange clad bundle of joy, silently making his way to his brothers from behind. “If I ask about it once, he will expect me to ask about it again another day”.

“What are we talking about?”, Mikey’s voice suddenly sounded behind the two brothers, causing them to do a little jump in surprise. So much for being a ninja, and you can’t even hear your little brother casually walking up behind you.

“Leo and (Y/N)”, Donnie said, sparing Raph from the madness. “They are talking, but (Y/N) is still as oblivious as always”.

“You’re joking”, Mikey said in disbelief, peeking out from his brothers’ hiding spot, to see the scene unfolding on the couch. He could practically hear Leo’s heart beat in his chest as you spoke, his hands fiddling with themselves in an effort to keep himself calm. Damn, he was struck hard.

“How long have they been sitting there?”, Mikey asked.

“An hour or two”, Raph answered. “And nothing has happened, other than Leo looking like an absolute fool”.

“We have to do something”, Mikey said, suddenly sounding like a man on a mission, making Raph’s eyes widen in fear for what his little brother may have had in mind. Donnie on the other hand just seemed sceptical.

“There’s not much we can do”, Donnie said, placing his hands on his hips. “Leo has specifically asked us not to let (Y/N) know, and so far he doesn’t seem like he’s ready to tell her”.

“Nobody has to tell anybody anything”, Mikey smiled, already having an idea in mind. “We just have to set the mood”.

“And how are we supposed to do that?”, Raph asked, crossing his arms, seeming not the least bit convinced by Mikey’s words. “We live in a sewer, for crying out loud”.

With a smile Mikey turned to his brother in red, before wiggling his brow muscles. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way”, was all he said, before slipping out of his brothers’ hiding spot, making his way across the room, heading straight for the kitchen.

Watching in confusion and curiosity, Donnie and Raph’s eyes followed Mikey as he made his way through the living area, past you and Leo. You, only seeming lightly aware of Mikey’s presence in the room, and Leo focused on nothing else but you.

It didn’t take long before Mikey came back from the kitchen, with a pack of chocolate in his hand. With a small skip in his step, Mikey made his way towards the couch, before taking a seat next to Leo on the opposite side of you, causing the older turtle to shoot him an annoyed look. The last thing Leo wanted right now, was for his brothers to ruin what small moments he got to spend alone with you.

“So”, Mikey said, opening the pack of chocolate in his hands. “How are you two doing today?” Out of the corner of his eye, Mikey could see both Raph and Donnie facepalm. But they did not know what Mikey had planned, and therefore Mikey was comfortable in his actions.

“We’re good, Mikey”, you smiled, not noticing the daggers Leo was staring at his youngest brother. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m good”, Mikey smiled, holding up the chocolate. “Just about to enjoy myself a treat”.

“Mikey”, Leo suddenly said, almost in a warning tone, trying to find a reason to get Mikey away from the main living area, so he could be alone with you again. “Didn’t you have that thing to do in your room?”

“What thing?”, Mikey asked, acting like he had no clue what Leo was talking about. But he knew exactly what Leo was trying to do.

“That thing you talked about earlier today”, Leo said, giving his brother a warning look.

“Oh!”, Mikey suddenly exclaimed, acting like Leo had reminded him of something. “You’re right! That thing!”

Mikey quickly got up from the couch, before springing towards his room, and the pillar Raph and Donnie still stood hiding behind. You and Leo giggled at each other, when you saw that Mikey had left his chocolate behind, however neither of you seemed to notice how the orange clad turtle still had the TV remote in his hand as he left.

“How is that going to set the mood?”, Raph whispered in a harsh voice, wondering if Mikey had lost his mind.

“Have faith in me brotha”, Mikey said, dingling the TV remote in front of his face. “I know what I’m doing”.

Frowning with confusion, Donnie and Raph watched as Mikey made his way over to the light switch, before turning it off. That caused a small startled sound from you, followed by small laughs from both you and Leo, saying something along the lines of it probably just behind his brothers pulling a prank of sorts. Much to both Raph and Donnie’s surprise, Leo suddenly seemed much less nervous, his laugh actually sounding somewhat confident.

With a big smile plastered over his face, Mikey made his way back to the pillar, giving his brothers a wink. “Now watch this”. With the TV remote in hand, Mikey pressed the on button, then sudden light from the TV filled you and Leo’s field of view, causing the two of you to jump in surprise, followed by the two of you laughing once more from your sudden shock.

“Now”, Mikey said, crossing his arms. “We just let the magic play out”.

“What magic?”, Raph asked, still not convinced.

“I think he’s talking about that magic”, Donnie said, pointing to you and Leo who had scooted closer to each other, so you had an easier time sharing the chocolate.

“I don’t believe it”, Raph mumbled, mouth open in disbelief, as you suddenly, for once looked at Leo with a hint of what he had been looking at you with.

“What is playing anyway?”, Donnie asked, honestly impressed with what he saw.

“Just that romantic series everyone is talking about”, Mikey said. “There’s a marathon tonight, so those two will have plenty of time to figure things out”.

“B- but”, Raph stammered, still not truly able to believe what was going on. “How did you know it would work? How did you know that was playing tonight?”

Mikey shrugged his shoulders with a small smile. “I got my secrets”.

“Secrets my shell”, Raph snarred. “How did you know?”

“Guys…”, Donnie said, trying to get his brothers’ attention so they could see how the scene on the couch was evolving.

“I can’t tell you all of my secrets”, Mikey said with a shrug, enjoying how it seemed to annoy Raph.

“You little-”.

“Guys!”, Donnie whispered more harshly, finally gaining the arguing turtles attention. “Look!”, he said, pointing towards you and Leo, who now sat on the couch with your arms loosely draped around each other, and your lips connected in a soft and sweet kiss.

Raph blinked at the sight, before turning to look at Mikey, who stood with a big smile. “I told you we just had to set the mood”. 

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

Tmnt 2012 x Injured!Reader (Romantic)

During a mission in the Kraang laboratory, you and the Turtles are ambushed. The Turtles are quickly neutralized and trapped under a strong transparent dome, while the enemies shift their focus to you. Despite this, you manage to fight back and nearly win. However, just before being destroyed, the last Kraang fires at a lever behind you, activating an unknown mechanism. A few seconds later, a grinding noise echoes through the lab, and a massive metal harpoon pierces you through.

You deliver the final blow, and the Kraang bot crashes onto the metallic floor with a shower of sparks. That’s it. It seems like it’s over. Your ears ring from the tension, your heart pounds loudly in your chest, and your breathing is heavy. You straighten up, scanning your surroundings—the Turtles are still trapped under that damn dome, but you’re almost there.

“(Y/N), hurry!” a voice breaks through the ringing in your ears.

You nod and take a step forward… but suddenly, something clicks in the distance.

A faint, barely audible sound.

Your eyes instinctively shift downward—to where the disabled Kraang bot lies. Its body smokes, its limbs motionless, but something inside is still working. Even broken, it managed to make one last move. One last shot.

Click.

Behind you, a mechanical noise rumbles to life, like an old engine starting up.

For a moment, the entire lab seems to freeze.

Silence.

You blink.

“(Y/N)! WATCH OUT!”

The grinding of metal.

You don’t even have time to turn before something cold, tearing, unnaturally heavy pierces through your side. For a brief second, your brain refuses to register the pain. But then it crashes over you like a wave, as if it wasn’t just a harpoon, but an entire truck that hit you. Instinctively, you clutch at the wound, but all you feel is the warm, sticky liquid spreading across your palm.

You fall to your knees, not screaming, but letting out a strangled sound. Your lungs constrict, as if all the air has been knocked out of them. You try to inhale—and only now do you realize that the harpoon is lodged inside. Every movement sends sharp, needle-like pain stabbing through your body.

“(Y/N)!”

A voice… someone is calling you. You try to focus your vision and see it—the dome. The Turtles. They’re pounding against it, their faces a mix of panic and horror.

And then you hear footsteps.

Your gaze frantically sweeps across the room. Kraang. More of them.

Shit.

You force yourself to stand. Every cell in your body protests, dark spots dance before your eyes, but you don’t stop. You lunge forward, staggering like a puppet with its strings cut. It’s doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is reaching the panel.

Your hands are shaking, blood drips down your fingers, but you press the buttons. First. Second. Third.

Nothing.

“Shit!” the word escapes your lips, and without thinking, you start slamming your fists against the damn panel. Breaking it. Crack. Crunch. Blood mixes with metal dust, but you keep going, even as your fingers go numb.

And then—click.

A jolt. The screech of machinery.

The dome lifts.

Blurred figures rush forward. You feel hands grabbing you, holding on tighter than necessary, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t see their faces, don’t hear their voices, but for some reason… you feel at peace.

You smile.

And then—darkness.

Their reaction:

Leonardo

Every second of that scene is burned into his memory. He didn’t just see it—he lived it with you. His mind was desperately searching for a way out, but his body remained trapped, powerless. Leo remembers the way your face twisted in pain, the color of your blood on the metal, the sound of the harpoon pulling back. And it haunts him.

When the dome lifted, he was the first to lunge forward. He didn’t care if there were still Kraang left. His only goal was to catch you, to stop you from falling, from hitting your head, from… disappearing. His hands were tense yet painfully gentle, as if one wrong move could break you.

His face in that moment—completely blank. He didn’t scream. He didn’t show emotion. He just acted. Only later, when you were safe, his fists clench so tightly. That’s when it hit him—he had almost lost you.

After that, he became even stricter with tactics. If before he could allow himself to adapt on the fly, now every step was calculated. He always made sure you stayed close, always repeated every possible escape route before a mission. Sometimes he even triple-checked the gear—just to make sure nothing could go wrong.

But the fear never left. He didn’t show it, but after the incident, he would constantly glance at you, even when things were calm. Especially when things were calm. On rare nights when sleep refused to come, he found himself back in that lab, asking the same question over and over: ‘What if I had reacted faster?’

In battle, he instinctively shields you. Even if the attack is still far away, he’s already between you and the enemy, ready to take the hit. It’s not up for discussion.

He only let himself relax when you finally started recovering. One day, you caught him holding your gaze a little longer than usual. There was no commander’s discipline, no calculated thought behind it. Just silence. Just the unspoken question: “Are you really okay?”

But even after you fully healed, he still couldn’t forget. No matter how hard he tried. No matter how much he told himself things were different now. It had happened once—so it could happen again. And he would never let that happen.

Raphael

His first reaction was a scream. Loud, furious, raw. When he saw the harpoon pierce through you, he didn’t just yell—he roared. He slammed his fists against the dome with enough force to send pain shooting through his knuckles, but he didn’t care. He screamed your name like it could somehow force you to wake up.

He kept pounding on the barrier. Over and over. When you got up and ran for the control panel, he only hit harder. At some point, he struck so hard that his own fingers cracked—but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t just stand there and watch.

The second the dome disappeared, he was the first to reach you. No hesitation. He got to you before anyone else, dropped to his knees, and pressed down on the wound with both hands to stop the bleeding. Blood dripped between his fingers, slid across his joints, but he only pushed harder—like sheer force alone could keep you here.

If anyone had gotten too close in that moment, he would’ve killed them. Raphael had always been hotheaded, but that day, his rage reached its breaking point. Every remaining Kraang became nothing more than a target. If anything had tried to get in his way, he would’ve torn it apart.

When you woke up safe, he didn’t leave. He sat there in silence, just watching you. Watching your chest rise and fall. Watching the color return to your face. Only when he was sure—completely sure—you were conscious, he abruptly stand and walk out. He needed to release what was left of his rage. He destroyed every training dummy in sight.

After that, he became even more aggressive. In battle, he hit harder, moved rougher, snapped faster. A fear had settled inside him—a fear he couldn’t express in any other way but anger.

But along with that, he became your shield. Even if he wasn’t aware of it himself, he always kept you in his line of sight. If you fought nearby, he covered you without a word. If he had to move away, he still knew exactly where you were. And if an enemy ever aimed for you—they were already dead.

And most importantly—he never let you take risks again. No matter how much you argued, no matter how much you insisted you were fine, he would always step in front of you. He would always snarl “You almost died once, I’m not letting it happen again!” He wasn’t giving you a choice. He wouldn’t let it happen. Not to you.

Donatello

When the harpoon pierced through you, his world collapsed. For a second, nothing else mattered—only you and that damned harpoon. Donnie had never been the type to succumb to panic, but in that moment, he felt it in full force. Every part of him screamed

“No, no, no! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

He knew you weren’t supposed to move. With a wound like that—it was impossible. But you moved. You forced your body to keep going despite the pain, and he saw how agonizing it was. His heart clenched when you took that first step.

When you collapsed, he was already there. He didn’t even remember how he got to you so fast. Maybe faster than Leo himself. His hands were shaking, but his fingers worked with precision, applying pressure to the wound, checking your pulse. He was mumbling something—maybe words meant to soothe, maybe medical terms. Maybe just your name over and over, terrified you would disappear.

Even if you were unconscious, he kept talking to you. Maybe he begged you to hold on. Maybe he promised you’d be okay. Maybe he just kept whispering, “Please, please, not now…” while he desperately tried to stop the bleeding.

Later, when you were finally safe, he couldn’t erase that moment from his mind. The image played on a loop: you standing at the console, the sound of the shot, the screech of metal, the blood. He couldn’t sleep because the second he closed his eyes—he saw it all over again.

He became even more attentive. Maybe even too much. He checked on you more than necessary, asked too many questions: “Does it still hurt? Are you sure you’re okay?” And if you tried to brush him off, he’d just show up later with medicine “just in case.”

Every time you did something remotely risky, he froze for a second. Even if you were fully healed, even if there was no danger, his heart still clenched. Because he remembered. And because he could no longer imagine his life without you.

Michelangelo

At first, he didn’t understand what had happened. It was too fast—your victory, the shot, the click of the mechanism… He didn’t even see the harpoon right away. But he saw your face. And that was the worst part.

Then, his heart dropped. Because you weren’t just hurt—you could actually die. The thought hit him like lightning, knocking the air from his lungs. “No, no, no—this isn’t real, right?” He wanted to believe this could be rewound, that this wasn’t happening.

When you collapsed, he snapped. He forgot about everything else, even the fact that the dome was still there. He just screamed your name, slammed his fists against the barrier, begged you to hold on. His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

When he finally got to you, he froze. The wound—too deep. The blood—too much. He wasn’t a doctor, he wasn’t a tactician, he wasn’t anything useful. He just wanted you to be okay. And the only thing he could do was grab your hand and whisper, over and over:

“You can’t leave me…You can’t.”

Later, when you woke up, he never left your side. Even when you got better, even when you could move and talk again. He brought you food, kept you entertained, told stupid jokes—anything to avoid seeing that fear in your eyes again.

But when he was alone, he broke. The laughter, the jokes, the easygoing mask—it was for you. But at night, he’d wake up drenched in sweat, gasping, because he’d dreamt of that lab again. Heard the screech of metal, saw your face the moment the harpoon struck. Sometimes, it wasn’t even a dream—sometimes, he just sat in the dark, replaying it in his mind.

He became hyper-aware of you. He’d notice even the smallest changes—if you were tired, if you winced, if you flinched at a loud sound. If you needed a break, he’d insist on one. If you looked even remotely uncomfortable, he was already there.

And now, he’s terrified to lose you. Even for a second. On missions, he never leaves your side. He still cracks jokes, still plays the fool—but underneath it all, he’s watching every move you make. Because he knows if it happens again—if he loses you—he will blame himself for the rest of his days

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

✎ㅤ. . .ㅤ𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺.

₊˚⊹ ㅤa collection of character analysis/headcanon questions to learn more about your character and your partners'! writing/headcanon prompts requested by anonymous. feel free to edit these as you see fit.

[ 🖐️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ? [ ☂️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they crave touch or fear it ? [ 🎐 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a sound, like a song or voice, that they associate with peace ? [ 🕊️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen did they feel the safest ? [ 💤 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they sleep ? curled up, sprawled, holding onto something ? [ 🦇 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a fear they never talk about ? [ 🔒 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a secret they’ve sworn never to tell ? [ 🪢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they broke a promise ? [ 🫳 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they feel they owe, but never paid back ? [ 💼 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do they always carry with them ? [ 🧨 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the quickest way to set them off, even if they hide it well ? [ ⛓️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does guilt feel like to them ? [ 💢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho have they never forgiven and never will ? [ 🩸 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there something or someone that, if lost, would break them ? [ 🌧️ ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a pain they refuse to heal from ? [ 🪞 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen have they looked at their reflection and hated what they saw ? [ 📿 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat superstition or ritual do they cling to ? [ 🌊 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they cried ? [ 🐾 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo animals like them instinctively ? [ 🪶 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they laugh ? [ 🫀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho taught them what love is ? did it hurt ? [ 💭 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they believe they’re worthy of being loved ? [ 🎀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is their main love language ? [ 🔦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they search for ? [ 📜 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a story they love sharing with others ? [ 🌒 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a dream or goal they have given up on ? [ 🕯️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat memory do they replay when they’re alone ? [ 🌪️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the one choice they regret (not) making ? [ 🧩 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s a truth about themselves they refuse to admit ? [ 🍻 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of drunk are they ? [ ✉️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of letter would they write but never send ? [ 🗡️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a scar that they have but never talk about ? [ 🕸️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a favourite lie they like to hear ? [ 🪦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat would they want on their gravestone but never admit aloud ? [ 🎱 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of future do they crave, and who’s in it ? [ 🌀 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a recurring dream or nightmare ? [ 🍃 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they feel like they belong ? [ ⚓ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does “home” mean to them ? [ 🧭 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhere would they go if they could disappear tomorrow ?

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

price is a man who doesn’t want his wife to lift a finger. doesn’t want her to cook or clean. literally thinks she’s too pretty to do anything but just relax and be happy.

but ends up with a wife who insist on waking up with him every morning at 4:30 am to pack him a lunch. then before he’s even out the door she has music playing to start cleaning around the house.

he grumbles, wanting to be the one who takes care of her but secretly loves the fact that he finally has someone who is looking out for him.

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

John gets home after a difficult, long deployment and, when he embraces you, he looks down when he hears a grumble. It's animalistic, a warning. And, when he looks down at the ground, just beside you, is a cat.

"You got a cat?"

He sensed your apprehension in telling him the truth as you look at him with beady eyes. "I know you've always said you prefer dogs," you began, hand rubbing against his shoulder, "but she's been coming in the garden for months and I've been feeding her... the company's nice!"

He looked down at the fur-ball, humming, "so long as you take care of her, love, I'm not fussed."

And so, that was how life persisted. You took care of everything to do with the cat until, on one sleepless night, while sitting on the sofa, the cat climbed up and settled against his chest. Immediately, his body was tense, hand hovering above the creature as thought to move it.

And then he heard it.

It was a purring.

And, him being the hypocrite he was, melted as he settled his hand against the top of the cat, gently stroking it. "You're a beauty, aren't ya?" he mumbled to the cat, "this stays between me and you though; you tell her, I'll put a bullet in you."

Unfortunately, he had not quite mastered the art of being subtle around you, for, the next time the pair of you went food shopping, he pulled a box of cat toys off the shelf and put them in the basket without even asking your opinion on them.

When he caught you grinning, he asked, "what?"

With a smile on your face, you shook you head and said, "nothing," whilst looking at the cat toys in the trolly, "it's nothing."

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 2 | masterlist

-

Sweat beads on your brow as summer approaches its zenith. Its hottest point. You splurge on an iced caramel latte from the gas station on the way over and pick one up for John as well. Your arm is already stretched out when he opens the front door to let you in, offering it to him. 

“I, uh…thought you might want one as well,” you explain, stuttering through your words. Crumbling under his amused expression. 

You crave it though. His approval. That fond smile that seems reserved especially for you. The rare murmured good girl, his hand sometimes coming down to ruffle your hair. Even the memory of it makes your breath get lodged in your throat. You covet every crumb of it.

He takes the iced latte from you though before heading out for the day. Gift received. Even squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he shuts the door behind him, and you manage to keep from swooning until you hear his car pull out of the driveway. 

You stand by the window with the baby pressed to your chest for so little that you can’t blame when a little fist tugs at your hair. 

“Sorry, lovie,” you whisper into his fuzzy hair. Inhale deeply. 

It’s not as though you’re starved for things to do. Were John’s son a few years older, you might have your work cut out for you, but there’s still plenty to do around the house even when you put the baby down for his morning nap. You save the vacuuming for when baby is awake and you’re not in danger of hearing him suddenly start crying through the baby monitor, but you dust and fold laundry and start the dishwasher and take the recycling out and by the time the baby is ready for lunch, you’ve already broken a light sweat. 

Let no one tell you that babysitting is a walk in the park.

That being said, you do put the baby in his stroller for a walk in the park after lunch. 

The park isn’t terribly far from John’s house, so coupled with the short path around the park and the walk back, you’ll get a good amount of steps in today without risking the baby being late for his mid afternoon nap. 

It’s hard to not have an accidental, forbidden thought. Something like I wonder if anyone thinks I’m the baby’s mom when you push the stroller past a group of moms gathered together near the jungle gym, their kids sprinting on wobbly legs and climbing like dexterous little wildlings. 

Those thoughts are dangerous though, best kept under wraps. Clandestine. Because once you start having those thoughts, they never really go away; they just get relegated to a part of your brain that switches on when the lights go off and you think about what it must have been like to carry a baby in your stomach for nine months. 

You’re in danger, girl, a small voice in your head warns you. It’s hard to hear her clearly these days. 

John comes earlier for once, around midday. It takes you by surprise. You jump when the door opens, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot and, in that same second, a wave of terror and rage washes over you, your heart already racing at the thought of someone breaking in while it’s just you and the baby home. You spring to your feet, hands already trembling by your sides, and then his familiar shape walks into the room, boots still on and all.

He pauses when he sees your shoulders slump with relief. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, heart still racing. “I thought you were…” Your voice trails off towards the end because you don’t know how to say it without sounding silly. 

His eyes cut to the baby in the bouncy chair behind you, your body still stood protectively in front of him, and then they soften. 

“No, that’s on me—should’ve given you a ring before I left,” he says, a light apology in his voice. He throws his keys into the bowl in the foyer before stalking towards you. You stare up at him wide eyed, only blinking when he ruffles your hair before bypassing you to go pick up his son. 

“How’s my baby?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the baby’s milksoft cheek, and your heart spins and cartwheels in your chest. All sorts of tricks that keep you rooted in place, unable to manage a single word. “You been good today?”

I’ve been good, you almost croak out, the words on the tip of your tongue. You swallow. Force them back down. You’re not his baby. 

Another dinner invitation that you can’t turn down. Not because it wouldn’t be polite but because you couldn’t muster up the will to refuse even if you really did have plans. Lucky that you don’t. 

When he puts the baby down to sleep for the night, you linger by the door, sure you’re a platitude or two away from being shown out for the night. John calls your name from the kitchen though, drawing you deeper into the house again. 

“Go put something on,” he instructs when you idle under the archway of the door. With his back to you, you can’t make out the expression on his face, leaving you no choice but to gawp at the undulation of his shoulder muscles as he washes out the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. “You want something to drink?”

“Just, uh—” you rasp, clearing your throat. “Just juice, thanks.”

You can’t settle on anything to stream, nothing perking your interests; or maybe you’re just too antsy to make an informed decision on what to watch right now. 

There are other things to worry about. Like John moving around in the other room or the way your denim shorts ride up when you sit down, bunching up at the crotch. You make an attempt to lift your hips and pull them back down as much as you can, but you panic and abort your plan when John comes into the room, embarrassed at the thought of being caught readjusting yourself. 

The cushion under you bounces slightly when John drops himself down onto the couch beside you, the motion making your shorts ride up even more. You wince when the seam presses tight against your clit, on the edge of mildly painful and turning you on. 

“Here, sweetheart,” he says, putting his own drink down on the coffee table before handing you your glass of juice. 

“Thanks,” you bleat, taking a sip almost instantly to mask the look on your face, afraid he’ll read the panic there and press for details. 

He sits closer than usual, as he always does these days. It’s not something you ever discuss. It just seems to happen. Slowly, like ice sheets drifting over water. One day you’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch and the next he’s all up in your space, thigh to thigh with you while the living room goes dark and the TV glows, the reflection throbbing against the glass. An ever-flickering light that illuminates the side of his head when you peer up at him.

Your tongue rests against the roof of her mouth, dry; sparing.

With his arm resting on the back of the couch over your shoulder, the scent of him is almost smothering. Each inhale makes your head spin. If you were to tilt your head to the side, you’d be level with his armpit, his scent strongest there, and that thought spins in your head like a merry-go-round until someone in the movie you’re supposed to be watching shouts, dragging your attention back to it. 

“Christ, these are little, huh?” John grunts, suddenly reaching over to pinch the frayed ends of your shorts between his fingers. “This what the kids these days are wearing?” 

You don’t know how to respond to that. Your body’s so hot that you feel like you’re swimming in heat, sweat prickling at your hairline and on the back of your neck. 

“I-it’s hot out,” you stutter, your whole body suddenly hot. With how high your shorts have ridden up, his fingers are precariously close to your core, just a hairsbreadth from skimming up your inner thigh and brushing against your folds, now plump and sensitive. 

You wonder if he can make out the outline of your pussy from underneath your shorts. They hug into the seam of your legs, pinching the skin of your inner thighs. You don’t dare glance down. 

He hums, pulling his hand away and you stare wide eyed at the television in front of you when you shift and the glide between your legs tells you just how wet you are. Sitting on the couch next to your boss twice your age with a wet pussy. 

You lean forward to try and readjust, masking the movement by reaching blindly for your glass on the coffee table at the same time. You must pick up the wrong glass by accident though because when you go to lift it to your lips, John’s hand stops you, fingers curling around yours and easily tugging the glass away from your mouth. 

“No, baby, that’s mine; bit young for a drink, aren’t you?” John chuckles, eyes squinting with his smile. 

“I’m legal,” you frown, pouting. 

He acts like that sometimes; like he doesn’t keep track of how old you are. 

“All right, but only a sip, got it?” he cautions, handing you the glass. 

You don’t know why you take it. You would’ve been better admitting to your mistake and putting the glass back down. 

He chuckles when you wince on your sip, nearly spitting it up. Horrifically embarrassing because it’s not like you’ve never had a drink before. You’ve gone out for drinks plenty of times with friends. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, taking the glass from you and flicking his knuckle against your bottom lip as he does. “That’s what I thought.”

And it happens again and again. Head resting on his shoulder when you drift off on the couch before he shakes you awake. In the grocery store, he comes up behind you while you’re pushing the cart and puts his arms around to steer you down another aisle, his broad chest pressed against your back. 

You hold your tongue. Bite off and chew the words. Because it’s nothing; it’s innocent. You’ve known from the get-go that John is more of a man of action than words. If anything, you’re the one reading too much into things. Little touch-starved girl from the bad side of town. It’s not his fault that you preen when he praises you; that you bunt your head against his hand when he ruffles your hair. Every drop of affection soaked up, savoured. Nourishing your heart and your soul. So lonely, so wanting. All those years holed up on your own, no warm body in the bed beside you. 

Then John Price waltzed in and you expected to keep everything sealed up tight in your chest.

So it’s no wonder you gorge yourself on his touch and hope he doesn’t notice the way you lean into it. The rabbit-quick beat of your heart. Your want simmering under your skin, a disgusting, base thing desperate for gentleness. 

You wonder if he sees the same thing when he looks at you.

In the heat of summer, John invites you to join him and the baby for a weekend at the beach in Portugal.

You only say yes because it’s the dog days of summer. At the beach, there’ll be umbrellas to sit under and beer coolers of cold drinks and the ice cold Atlantic to swim in. Plus, you’ve had little opportunity in your life to travel—you’ve barely stepped foot in France, never mind Portugal. But John has friends with a house in the Algarve that have graciously offered him the week, so who are you to say no to such a thoughtful gesture? 

The only reason you consider not going is because you can’t shake the sense of foreboding. 

“Baby, can you get my back?” John asks when you arrive at the beach the first day of your trip, and when you turn back to him, you have to act quick to catch the sunscreen lobbed your way. 

That’s how you find yourself kneeling in the sand behind him, rubbing sunscreen on his back. His shoulders flex under your hands, and you can feel the muscle bunching and relaxing with each swipe across his shoulder blades. The worst is when you get to his low back. John’s groans are obscenely loud, guttural rumblings from the back of his throat. Ravenous. 

“Okay, that’s everything,” you chirp, rubbing the excess off on your thighs. 

“Good,” John says, twisting around. “Now it’s your turn.”

Your eyes widen.

“Wait—I don’t need to—”

You don’t know quite how he manages it, but a couple minutes later, you find yourself lying flat on your stomach on your beach towel, John squirting a good amount of sunscreen onto the middle of your back. All you get as a warning is the sunscreen bottle tossed to the ground beside your head before two big hands come down to your back to massage the cream into your skin. 

There’s nowhere for you to go when John throws a leg over your hips to straddle you. He holds the majority of his weight off you, but despite his best efforts, you can still feel his dick against your ass, his loose swim shorts doing nothing to hold him in place. 

He doesn’t ask for permission before undoing the knot holding your bikini top together, one quick pull and then the garment loosens around your chest. You can feel the fabric pool around you on the towel. 

“John, you—” you start, almost coming up onto your elbows before realizing that your top won’t be coming with you if you do. 

“Just gotta make sure I get your whole back, baby,” he reassures you, both hands gliding up your back to curve around your shoulders before dragging back down. “Won’t be more than a minute.”

It’s no use calling him out on the lie because there’s nothing you could do even if you did.

With hands as big as his, his fingers can’t help brushing the sides of your tits every time he smooths his hands down your back. You bite your lip nearly raw to keep from letting your moans escape, toes curling in the sand underneath you and thank god John is facing the other way or else your arousal would be clear as day to him. The gusset of your bathing suit is already damp and you haven’t even gotten in the water yet. 

His hands drag up and down your back, lathering the lotion into your skin, massaging it into the muscle. Each pass of his hands making your eyes roll back, breath coming out in choppy pants. Tweaking when the palms of his hands easily encompass your shoulders, nearly tickling under your arms.

“There we go. All done,” he announces, jolting you out of the lustful fog you’d slipped into during his ministrations. 

“All good?” you ask, a touch breathy. 

“Mhm,” John rumbles, smoothing a hand up your back one last time, just to double check. Only clenching your fists until the skin around your knuckles tighten keeps you from shuddering at his touch. “Lemme just—” 

Your throat constricts when you feel him reknot the back of your bikini top, fingers quick and deft for their size. He’s tied knots before. It’s better not to let that thought sink in too deep. 

Turning over onto your back takes a near insuperable amount of energy, the rest wrung from your body by the hands now preoccupied with readjusting his shorts. 

“You alright if I take him for a swim?” John asks, holding his squirming son against his bare chest. 

You wave him off, a hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun. 

You can’t help but stare at his ass as he walks away, practically mesmerised. In the water, he wades up to his knees with his son still cradled in one arm. The ocean water laps at his shins, dappled with light, low waves in the distance scintillating at their peaks. The ends of his swim shorts cling to his legs as the water leaches into the fabric. 

Trying to keep your eyes off him is a losing game, not when John’s clad in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, broad shoulders and chest on display, and now your hands tingle with the memory of how they felt rubbing suntan lotion over his skin. His trunks are pulled taut around thick thigh muscles, just barely loose enough to keep from being indecent. 

The panic returns when you catch some nearby women ogling him, one angling her body towards him like she’s considering walking over, and that’s when your heart beats too fast and you stumble to your feet, leaving your beach towel and umbrella behind to go join John in the water. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets when you’re only a few steps away, shivering when the cold water touches your feet. “Missed us, did ya?”

He reels you in with his free arm, pulling you into his side before transferring the baby into the cradle of your arms. Doesn’t even flinch when your breast is pressed against his side, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. As if your cheek wasn’t nearly flush with the pelt of dark hair growing in whorls on his chest, your eye level with a dark, flat nipple. 

The girls hovering nearby scrunch their noses up when they notice you snuggled up against John’s chest. Assuming you must be someone special for him to be holding you that way; like a girlfriend or a wife—

You choke off the rest of that thought before it can take root. 

The rest of the trip is no better. You’re a right mess made worse by the cloying heat and the forced proximity. At the restaurant, John pulls your chair out for you and then sits right beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair while he talks, cologne clotting the air around you. He’s popular wherever he goes—easy candour and winsome smile able to make anyone, from the servers to the other patrons, want to get to know him better. 

All you can do is bask in the radiance; a sun in the middle of any room. 

Back at the house, you sleep in the other room, only a single, flimsy wall between your room and John’s. The walls are so thin that you can hear every groan and snore and snuffle, head ringing with his sounds until you fall asleep and they permeate your dreams instead. 

At seven in the morning, you wake to the sound of him rolling over in his bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight, and taking himself in hand. The sound of flesh against flesh; the groans bitten off too late for you not to catch them, sweat beading on your hairline as you stare at the white wall and picture John on the other side, big chest panting with his breaths as he tugs on his cock. You listen until his final groan, fingers petting at your clit until you have no choice but to turn your head into your pillow to muffle your sobs. 

As best as you try to put it out of mind, you can’t meet his eyes at breakfast. 

You flinch when the same hand that he must’ve used to jerk himself off comes down onto the top of your head when John goes to refill his mug of coffee. “Sleep well last night?” he asks, deep voice still coated in sleep. 

“Not bad,” you whisper. 

Shivering when he drops his hand to the junction between your shoulder and your neck and gives it a squeeze.

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

Holy shit🫣 I love it

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 1 | masterlist

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“I’m not looking for a babysitter that can only come by every now and then,” he says sternly and pauses for emphasis, brows furrowing to convey the seriousness of the situation. “I’ve got a busy schedule and his mom isn’t in the picture. I need a real commitment.”

You sit across from him wringing your hands under the kitchen table, wondering again what it is you’re doing here. Babysitting has never been your schtick; you’re somewhere in between too old to do it as a casual gig for extra cash and too young and inexperienced to be considered for a full-time position. 

Yet, it seems like that’s what he’s looking for, based on the information he’s told you and your general impression from having been in his house for less than twenty minutes. The house is a mess—toys strewn across the baby’s bedroom and the living room, dishes crusted with day old food sitting in the sink, the bookshelf in his study covered in a fine layer of dust that tells you that this man spends so little time in his own house that it’s become something of a requiem to single fatherhood. 

“So, a nanny?” you ask.

He hems and haws over that for a bit. “Bit too fancy for my tastes, but that’s more like it. It won’t just be watching the baby—I need someone who can help out around the house as well. ‘Used to run a tight ship before him, but cleaning’s not been my highest priority these days. Sure you’ve picked up on that.” He says the last part wryly, lips curling up into a crooked grin under his mustache. 

“Well…” You trail off while glancing at the mess in the living room out of the corner of your eye, toys and blocks scattered over the playmat. Your own smile is sheepish. 

“I work odd hours, so I’ll be gone a lot; you’ll probably have a few late nights here, but I pay well. Think that’s something you can handle?”

A polite refusal sits on the tip of your tongue until you swallow it back, suddenly conscious again of the dwindling funds in your bank account. It’s not that you don’t think you could handle the job. You’ve babysat before (only preteens, you correct yourself internally, but surely there are some transferable skills there). And, eclipsing all of your arguments in favour of walking out the door right now, is the very salient and pressing need for an actual income. 

“You’re military, you said?” you croak out instead.

He nods, hums. “Bit of a glorified desk job these days. They don’t put the old timers out in the field. Still, keeps me busy.”

You frown at that. “You’re not that old.”

That gets him to cock an eyebrow. “Love, I’m over twice your age, easy. I’m plenty old for a first time father on top of that; should’ve already been an old hand at this, but I’ve been married to the job for too long.”

You don’t ask if the baby was an accident or how it came to be that he chose to raise the baby on his own rather than try to work something out with the mother or give him up altogether. It seems uncouth. Rude. It’s none of your business and, more to the point, hardly relevant to the job. It’s just your own insatiable need to pry and know every little detail raising its head to sniff the air. 

“Well, I think—” You chew on your words and then backtrack. “—I can handle the job. I live nearby, so I can be here whenever you need me. If you need references, I can—”

“No need,” he cuts you off, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m a good judge of character. If you wanna help put the baby to bed, we can talk salary and I’ll go over my schedule this week with you.”

The chair scrapes against the tile floor when he stands up, pushing it out from under him. Standing, he towers over you, a big, fit man despite his protests to the contrary. Hardly out of his prime. You’d put him at forty-five at the latest, and still a work horse of a man at that; broad like a draft horse, like he flips tires and runs marathons for fun. When you push out your chair and stand as well, you’re still forced to look up at him. 

“Sure can, Mister…—?” You realize with a slight start that you only remember his first name, though it hardly feels appropriate to call him by that given the fact that he’s about to become your boss. Already is your boss. 

“Price. But John works just fine,” he corrects, his smile warm, almost paternalistic. 

You ignore the flash of heat up your spine and the way your belly constricts when he reaches across the table to shake your hand. His big, calloused palm dwarfs yours, fingers easily overlapping. You might as well be shaking a mitt. 

“Well, thanks for the job, John,” you say with a smile of your own, ignoring the way yours strains at the end, anxiety already gnawing a hole through the lining of your stomach that your stomach acid will now most certainly leak through. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.”

His words seem like a bellwether for something that you can’t yet articulate or even anticipate. Regardless, they make you swallow reflexively when you start salivating out of nowhere. You should probably quit on the spot actually, just out of principle alone, but again you remember the gut-churning sensation of checking your bank balance in the middle of the grocery store the other day before putting half of the contents of your cart back onto the shelf beside you. 

You follow him into the playroom instead, where a fuzzy headed infant gasps up at his daddy, blinking big lovestruck eyes up at him. Your own heart feels like a melted caramel in your chest when John picks his son up, eyes crinkling with affection. The baby is so tiny in his arms.

Any thought of being a good person evaporates from your mind. As if you ever had a chance. 

You don’t know how he found you. Through a friend of a friend of a friend’s dad’s coworker, maybe. Word of mouth. Watercooler conversation and a heaping cup of gossip.

“Did you hear the Captain’s looking for a babysitter?”

“For what? To bang?”

“No, dipshit. He knocked some broad up and she left him with the baby.”

“No kidding. The Captain?”

“Didn’t I just fuckin’ say that?”

“Price, you mean? Captain Price?”

“Are you fuckin’ deaf? Yeah—Price.”

“Christ. Godspeed to him. A baby. Goddamn.”

“Give it a rest, it happens all the time. That’s why you always wrap it up. Anyway, you know of anyone that’d be up for it?”

And then somehow, your name gets mentioned. Much to your relief. Job opportunities don’t knock on your door all that often, and when John finally gets around to telling you your hourly rate, you almost burst into hysterical giggles in front of him. It’s more than you expected. More than you deserve, if you’re being honest. You’re retroactively grateful that he didn’t ask you to name your rate because you wouldn’t have dared propose something anywhere close to what he offers.

It’s a straightforward gig. John doesn’t work the typical nine-to-five, so you show up at the times he made you write down on that first day in his living room after your interview and you leave whenever he comes home. The first week is fairly true to the schedule he laid out for you. He’s only late by around half an hour one evening, but that was another condition that he made you well aware of prior to giving you the job. 

You know better than to put up a fuss. You’re already learning on the job as it is; with your anxiety at a ten at all times, you appreciate the extra half hour to keep googling baby-specific information. What to do during tummy time. The benefits of baby massage. How to change a diaper. You’re learning all sorts of things these days.

To your credit, he could’ve done worse. The day after John hires you, you sign up for an intensive babysitting course over the weekend and read the online manual front to back. Your CPR certificate is still valid, but you book a refresher course as well just to be on the safe side. It’s a bit unbearable to watch the funds drain out of your account before you’ve even had a chance to earn your first paycheck, but it’s worth it for the burgeoning confidence that you bring on your first day.

Babies are fun to be around, you realize, much to your own delight. Babysitting—or rather, nannying, but John still introduces you to the neighbours as his babysitter, plus nannying requires a host of additional accreditations that you simply just do not have—might not have been a job that you ever expected yourself to like, but you find yourself kind of morose at the end of each day when you have to say goodbye to baby, and even going so far as to turn in early when you get home so you’ll be ready bright and early the next morning.

Babies also smell better than anything you’ve ever smelt in your life. You could huff the top of this little guy’s head morning, noon, and night. Milky and clean; it barely takes a few days to become addicted to the smell of his little head. When he’s cradled in your arms, you can’t help but press your nose to the top of his head and take a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. It’s some good shit. 

You keep a journal filled with notes to relay to John when he comes home at the end of the night and keep your phone close to you during babytime to film any important moments that John might’ve otherwise missed. 

“He started babbling today,” you tell John the second he walks through the door, the video already pulled up on your phone. You haven’t felt this excited in ages. “Look.” 

He’s still in his fatigues and everything, but he humours you and takes the baby when you pass him over, cooing and tickling his belly until the baby squeals and babbles again for him. 

“See?” you gush, mooning over him. You don’t have the presence of mind to be self-conscious in the moment. 

“Yeah,” John remarks, lifting his son up to blow a raspberry into his belly and grinning at his ensuing peals of laughter. “Ain’t that something.”

If the smile in his voice has anything to do with you, you don’t pick up on it.

On top of everything, John turns out to be a really good boss. Despite his gruff, intimidating exterior, he’s remarkably kind and patient with you. He doesn’t nag you for missing a spot when cleaning the bathroom. He doesn’t scold you the day your car breaks down and you’re forced to take the nearest bus to his place, tacking on an extra twenty minutes to your commute, even though that means that he’s invariably late for work. When you accidentally use scouring powder on the inside of his Le Creuset Dutch oven and scratch off the enamel, he gently talks you out of a sobbing fit, seemingly unbothered by the state of his scratched up crockery.

He shrugs when you bring it up. “It’s got a lifetime warranty anyway. I’ll bring it into the shop over the weekend. No use getting upset about it.”

Unflappable. That’s the word for it. It’s like as long as he’s able to come home to the baby and you in one piece, nothing else matters, and that sense of calm permeates the whole house; for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to walk on eggshells around someone. 

Your only qualm—and it’s hardly even a qualm, to be honest, more of just an observation—is that John is more of a physical person than you are. 

When he wants to move you, he does—two big hands clamped around your waist and only a fraction of his strength to move you away from the stove so he can take over cooking while you check on the baby, your mouth hanging open, aghast. Fuming at his nerve. The gall of him to manhandle you. 

You don’t hold it against him though. You haven’t spent much time around groups of men, but you’ve seen military movies before and it seems like the status quo for men to grab and push each other around. If anything, he’s gentle with you. 

It’s just that—and again, John’s the first adult man you’ve spent any one-on-one time with, what with it just being the two of you and the baby in his house, so your frame of reference is microscopic—you’re not completely sure whether it’s appropriate for your boss to be so touchy. 

You don’t mean to insinuate that he’s being inappropriate. It’s just that—and again you have to catch yourself before you go making assertions about people because John is honestly such a nice man and he’s done nothing but treat you fairly and made you feel safe and welcome, but…—sometimes he insists on you staying over for dinner after he comes home from work and doesn’t take no for an answer.

You’re never in any rush to leave. There’s not exactly anything waiting for you in your dingy little apartment. So when he asks you to stay, you have no good reason to refuse. It’s nice to get a free meal as well. With the way John gives you unfettered access to the fridge and pantry, you hardly need to buy groceries at all these days. You feel a little guilty about that, but you know what it’s like to go hungry.

Maybe that’s why you stay for supper the first time he asks a couple weeks into you working for him. You’re subconsciously mortified that you’ll eat his food when he’s not gone but not when he offers it to you.

At least dinner feels like something you’ve been given rather than just taking, taking, taking. 

Not to mention you’ve developed something of a rapport. There’s always something to talk about with John: the baby, his work, a show you watched on TV after putting the baby down for a nap, the new big Tesco four blocks from your place, his late teens before joining the military (“back when you weren’t even a thought in your mum’s head,” he jokes, cutting into his steak and something in your brain pops and fritzes out like the static between radio stations). 

The first few suppers are sporadic and never long enough to make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In all honesty, they’re the few bright spots in an otherwise dull life. Outside of your job and the infrequent dinners, you’re estranged from your family and you’ve only got a few close friends in town that you see maybe once or twice a month. Nothing to write home about. Some Friday nights, the yoga studio near your flat has a five pound community class that you pop in for, but those are infrequent too. 

Then there’s the odd night where he shoos you into the living room to put on a movie while he cleans up after dinner. You stare absentmindedly at his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves and then jump when you find him staring at you expectantly over his shoulder.

“Go put something on,” John tells you, a warning look in his eye. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Sorry,” you whisper before slipping off into the living room.

You can’t relax on the couch while you wait. You flinch when he finally joins you, sitting down on the other side of the couch suddenly. You hadn’t even heard him coming; he’s light on his feet for such a big man. 

The buddy cop comedy you picked barely distracts you from the fact that your boss is sitting on the other side of the couch. You spend the whole two hour run time so nervous that you’re afraid you’ll buzz right out of your skin. 

For absolutely no reason, of course, because all John does is make light conversation with you throughout the movie. Conversation that you respond to in curt, choked whispers. When he walks you to the door after the movie, all you can focus on is how utterly embarrassed you are for being so weird.

Your dreams that night come frantic and heady. Humid under the blanket. The phantom feeling of a body heavier than yours weighing down one side of the couch and you sliding towards it gradually, unable to even cling onto the arm of the couch to keep from falling into his lap. 

Then hands on your belly, cupping and holding. Thick fingers with hairy knuckles. A warm, tobacco smell wafting under your nose, sweet like tonka bean and smoke. Nothing you can do to keep them from travelling down your stomach and thighs and spreading your legs wide, big hands curving around your inner thighs until—

You wake up panting, fingers pressed against your clit in your sleep. It takes nothing to bring yourself over the edge, dark blue eyes swimming on the precipice of your conscious mind. 

“Sleep well?” John asks you the next morning when you show up on his doorstep, handing you the baby before you’ve even said so much as a word. You hold the baby to your chest like a makeshift shield. Anything to put some distance between you and the man who has now taken to starring in your dreams. 

“Not bad,” you squeak. 

You flinch when he guides you in with a hand on your back and shuts the door behind you. Your cunt pulses when his fingers press firm against the small of your back, hand bigger than you remembered from your dream.

As if you were ever going to end up anywhere but here.

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

Level up your writing skills in English - Stories in Past Tense

A guide for those whose first language is not English

When speaking about past, the main and most used tense is past simple, which in turn is -ed and 2nd form changing, e.g. arrived, watched, saw, went, etc. What is important to remember is that not all words in English are formed by simply adding -ed at the end. So, what you need is to double check word’s past form. You could just google it in case you forget.

Now, let’s talk about when and how we’re going to use them as well as a few more:

I worked/We slept - to show actions that happened one after another, usually the main tense to tell the story as the things just happened in the past and that’s it (e.g. they woke up and went to school; my friend saw a squirrel on the tree).

She’s dancing/They’re swimming - looks familiar, but ‘s and ‘re in this case are was and were, so don’t worry - use it to show and describe the background of the scene (e.g. the sun was shining; the birds were singing) OR when you have 2 actions in the past happening at the same time and 1 of them is longer than the other (e.g. I was playing XBOX when my mum came (my mum came when I was playing - 2 actions at the same time, mum came at the moment I was playing)).

You’d been/He’d been - when you have 2 actions and it’s important to show that one of them happened before the other - usually used with the words after/before (e.g. I had eaten my lunch before I did my homework (I ate my lunch first, then I did my homework)).

Speaking of other past forms, there’s no am/is/are or will - as well as can/must - in past. We don’t use them to tell the story in the past. You should use was/were, would, could, had to, might, etc. If you struggle, don’t hesitate to look up in the dictionary. It will save your writing.

Also, there’s no today, tomorrow, this week, etc. in past tense stories. All you write about has already happened, so you should use yesterday, a minute ago, last night, last week, in 1987, etc.

And rules above do not apply to the dialogues as well:

“I’m so tired,” he said.

That’s all I could remember for now, but if you have any questions - feel free to ask anytime. Let me know if it was helpful, thanks <3

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

Level up your writing skills in English - Dialogue Punctuation

A guide for those whose first language is not English (pro tips at the end)

Well, this is maybe the most that the new authors struggle with. As any other language, English also has its own rules for dialogues and I bet you could find them on the net as well, but if you want it short - here I am.

First things first, we use ‘’ and “” for dialogues in English and never ‘—‘ or ‘–‘ or spaces or just ‘start new line’. We need to indicate the people are speaking. ‘’ - for thoughts and “” - for speaking.

‘I was dancing with him.’ - I understand it’s in the character’s head.

“I was dancing with him.” - I understand the character says it out loud.

The next part is punctuation. I know, a lot of you maybe struggle with all these commas and no commas at the end, at the beginning, dialogue tags and stuff, but, believe me, it’s not as hard as it seems. So, what is important to remember is that we use commas with things that we do with our mouth or verbally and full stops with actions.

“It was quite interesting,” she said.

Look, comma is inside the “” and ‘said’ is something she does with her mouth or verbally.

“It was not so easy.” She moved closer to the table.

Look, full stops is inside the “” and ‘she’ is written in the capital, because ‘she moved closer to the table’ is not something she could do with her mouth or verbally.

Also, do not forget to start each character’s speaking from the new line, so it doesn’t look like a mess.

“I came here from the north.” He put his gloves on the table.

“Me too,” she agreed.

Look, 2 characters speaking, each of them having their own line. Also, notice that the first one is doing action, which is why there’s a full stop at the end, and the second one is agreeing - which is something we could do with our mouth or verbally and - which is why we have comma at the end.

The other thing to remember is that ‘…’ is not interrupting. It’s about the words slowly fading as the character speaks. If you want to show that the person was interrupted - use ‘—‘.

“I wasn’t sure whether to go…” Jake answered.

Look, there’s no comma or full stop at the end of “” and I understand that Jake’s voice becomes quieter and quieter as he speaks, showing that he’s really unsure of what to do next.

“I wasn’t sure wheth—“

“I will tell you!” she shouted.

Look, there’s no comma or full stop at the end of “” and I understand that the character is interrupted. Also, take a look at the second line: there’s an exclamation mark inside “”, but she is written with the small letter - yes, because shouted is something you do with your mouth or verbally.

One more thing: if your sentence finished with ! or ? there’s no need to add a full stop or comma at the end or after “”, ‘’.

That’s it for beginners. Practice with those above to sharpen your writing skills. Yes, you may think it’s too easy and want more, but believe me - I’m also using the rules above and rarely use the rules I’m gonna tell next in my own writing. Make small things look good first and then go to bigger things.

Well, my fellows, who are professionals in writing dialogues and the tips above were like a baby talk to you, fasten your seatbelts, you’re gonna find out some more tricks (I hope).

Okay, first things first, ‘’ and “” could be interchangeable. If you want to write thoughts in “” - you’re welcome, but don’t forget your choice for the rest of the story, so the readers are not messed up with what’s thought and what’s word:

“I was dreaming,” he thought.

And

‘I was dreaming,’ he thought.

Are both fine.

Next, using dialogue tags or actions before the words themselves:

Jake answered quietly, “What if I got it wrong?”

She pressed her hand to his chest. “It can’t be.”

It’s also okay. Just mind the punctuation: commas are for dialogue tags (mouth or verbally) and full stops for actions.

Depending on what you choose for your story, we use ‘’ inside “” and “” inside ‘’:

“I was surprised by ‘his’ behavior,” she stated.

If you have prolonged dialogue tag or action with dialogue tag, the tag should always come directly to the sentence (it’s easier to avoid any extra punctuation drama):

He answered quietly, smiling, “Of course.”

Julie laughed and asked, “What’s that?”

“I want this,” she replied, walking down the street.

There’s a difference when the words are interrupted by dialogue tag or action:

“We’d rather,” Jake said and lifted his arm, “win this auction.”

“I’ll never”—she pressed her finger to his chest—“let you do this!”

But personally I never use this rule, cause it’s just hard to punctuate and I believe that non-English readers may find it too hard to understand.

Well, that’s all for now, thanks for reading and I hope that was useful! <3

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

Early morning shenanigans

cw: somnophilia-adjacent

3:07 a.m.

You feel him before you hear him. Broad chest pressed into your back, thigh nudging between yours under the sheets. His hand slides across your waist, firm, certain.

“Turn over.”

It’s low. Rough. Not a question.

You blink, still dazed with sleep. “Simon—what—?”

“To your side, sweetheart.” His voice is deeper than usual, coated in something hot and lazy and fucking dangerous. “Need you like this.”

You roll without thinking. Your body always listens to him first. The second your thigh hikes forward and your spine curves, he’s already there fitting behind you, bare skin against bare skin, cock thick and hard, sliding between your legs like he’s been grinding against you for hours.

“Fuck,” he groans, like the heat of you ruins him. His hand slips between your thighs, fingers stroking through the slick mess between them. “You were already wet for me, weren’t you?”

You whimper, caught between sleep and need, pushing back into him without shame. “Simon—”

“Shh.” His mouth is at your ear now. Teeth scrape. Tongue soothes. “S’just me, yeah? Let me fuck you slow.”

He doesn’t give you time to beg. Just tilts your hips and presses in—slow, steady, all of him. The stretch makes your breath stutter. You clutch the pillow as his hand comes to your throat, soft but heavy, holding you there while his cock sinks deeper.

“That’s it. There she is.” He’s fucking you like he missed you. Like you weren’t already in his arms. The sounds are obscene in the quiet, slick and wet, the soft drag of his cock inside you, the creak of the mattress with every slow grind of his hips. The bed creaks with each grind of his hips, your soaked cunt dragging him back in every time he pulls out.

His hand drags up, cups your jaw, tilts your face back toward his mouth.

“Love you like this,” he breathes. “Warm, soft, still dreamin’.”

You come like that. Half-asleep and full of him, biting down on a moan while he holds you through it, hips rolling, mouth at your throat. And he doesn’t stop until he’s buried deep, groaning against your skin like it splits him open.

You fall asleep with him still inside you, cock softening slow, arms wrapped around your body.

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

price x task force 141 member!reader

You come back from the op filthy, bruised, and running on fumes. But you hit every mark. Made every shot count. Covered Ghost’s six. Got Gaz out of that alley when the ambush hit. Price saw everything.

He doesn’t say much in front of the others. Just a hand on your shoulder, heavy and warm, squeezing once. A silent: Proud of you, love.

But back at the safehouse—door locked—he shows you.

He’s already got a bath running. Hot water. Epsom salts. His big hands guide you in, making you hiss when the heat licks over your aching muscles. Price kneels behind the tub, still fully dressed, sleeves rolled up. He starts with your hair—slowly washing it, nails scraping lightly against your scalp until your eyes roll back. You can feel him getting hard just watching you melt under his touch, but he’s patient. Tonight isn’t about him.

"Took care of my team today. Time I take care of you." His voice is rough, soft at the edges. The way he talks when it's just you.

He washes every inch of you—palms sliding over your arms, down your chest, across your thighs. He lingers between your legs, fingertips ghosting over your folds, but doesn’t take it further. Not yet.

"Such a good girl for me," he murmurs against your ear when he helps you out and wraps you in a towel. "Never miss. Never fuck up. Always my sharpest shooter."

By the time he carries you to bed—literally carries, like you weigh nothing—you’re half drunk on the praise alone. And then Price spoils you.

Lays you out naked on the sheets, spread soft and open, while he eats you until you’re crying. No teasing tonight—just filthy, wet, sloppy head with his beard rubbing raw against your thighs and his tongue driving you insane. He groans every time you come, like it’s his orgasm too, like tasting you is better than fucking.

"That’s it, love. Again—give me another. C’mon, my girl can take one more, yeah? S’what you deserve."

When he finally slides inside you, it's deep and slow. No rush. Just long, dragging strokes while his hands frame your face, his forehead pressed to yours. He praises you with every breath—filthy, sweet, raw.

"Never doubted you. So fuckin’ proud. Best thing that’s ever happened to me." "Look at you—takin' me so well, yeah? My perfect girl." "Nobody else gets this. Only me. Only mine."

You come undone in his arms, again and again, until you forget where you end and he begins. And when he finally follows—deep, filling you up warm—he doesn’t pull out. He just holds you close, whispering rough promises against your temple.

"Always gonna take care of you, love. Always."

And when you fall asleep, boneless and wrecked but glowing inside, it’s with his hand still on your belly and the ghost of his praise still echoing in your ears.

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

Captain Price doesn’t really discuss his private life, but you’ve decided that he must secretly be married. You have no evidence, except look at him, how could he not have some beautiful wife tucked away in an idyllic, rustic cottage in the countryside.

That’s the image you try to keep in mind when it’s late at night and you’re alone with John in his office. Otherwise, you’ll conjure visions of him spreading you out on top of his desk, and you are no homewrecker.

Admittedly, you haven’t been doing a great job of battling against the various temptations he throws your way. Once John starts leaning in close and casually touching you and speaking directly into your ear, all logic leaves your brain and you just indulge. Lately, he’s been dropping a few “sweetheart”’s into his conversations with you, which has got you spinning. The sanctity of marriage means something to you, though. You resolve to set some professional boundaries and stick to them.

It’s a good thing too because a week later, you finally get your first real confirmation of his secret wife. Your whole body seizes up when you overhear John confiding to his men that the missus seems to be upset with him. Pivoting in place, you scuttle back the way you came from before he realizes you’re there. You’re so embarrassed now that it’s truly been established that you’ve been flirting with a married man. After that, you avoid ever being alone with him and can barely look him in the eye, but it's for the best.

The captain seems to have a different opinion on the way you’ve settled this matter, though.

He’s got you cornered in his office, literally, with an arm pressed against the wall above you. John starts to speak of how he wants to be clear about his intentions, and you’ve got to stop him before you kiss his wonderful face that’s creeping closer and closer to yours.

“Captain Price, what about your wife?!” you blurt out, keeping your hands glued to your sides and to yourself.

John pauses, but he looks more amused than guilty. “Is that what all this has been about?” he asks with a chuckle. You get about five words into your practiced speech on how infidelity is unacceptable to you on any level when he drops a bomb on your whole scenario. “I’m not married.”

You’re floored with this new information, eyes wide and mouth agape. “W-what? But I heard you tell the others about your missus and–”

“I was referring to you, sweetheart,” he declares. Your jaw snaps shut at the interruption, and your face heats up as you start processing what this all means. “Glad we're on the same page when it comes to loyalty, though.”

You’re mortified, of course, but at least you’ve hit rock bottom with your dignity already, so it’s not much more of a stretch to next very timidly and quietly request that he place you on top of his desk. John happily obliges. Anything for his little missus.

He’ll make a Mrs. Price out of you yet.

[welcome-to-my-ff-hell]

10 Traits That Make a Character Secretly Dangerous

❥ Disarming Humor. They’re the life of the party. Everyone’s laughing. No one’s noticing how much they aren’tsaying.

❥ Laser-Sharp Observation. They see everything. Who’s nervous. Who’s lying. Who would be easiest to break. And they don’t miss.

❥ Unsettling Calm. Even in chaos, they stay still. Smiling. Thinking. Calculating.

❥ Weaponized Empathy. They know how to make people trust them. Because they know exactly what people want to hear.

❥ Compartmentalization. They can do something brutal, then eat lunch like nothing happened.

❥ Controlling Niceness. The kind of kindness that’s sharp-edged. You feel guilty for not loving them.

❥ Mirroring Behavior. They become whatever the person in front of them needs. It's not flattery. It’s survival—or manipulation.

❥ Selective Vulnerability. They know how to spill just enough pain to make you drop your guard.

❥ History of “Bad Luck”. Ex-friends, ex-lovers, ex-colleagues… they all left under “unfortunate” circumstances. But the pattern says otherwise.

❥ Unshakeable Confidence in Their Morality. They don’t think they’re the villain. That makes them scarier.