Content Warnings: Suggestive content, implied AFAB!reader (from the "get wet")
A/N: I'll do a part two after I finish the Jean Grey ask I got! thinking Deadpool and Human Torch for that one... hmm
Baby, just do the dishes, I'll give you what you, what you want/Considering I have feelings, I'm like, "Why are my clothes still on?":
Scott may have been a busy man but he wasnt under any sort of impression that you'd "pick up" all the housework when the two of you moved in together. As your arms wrapped around his waist he moved to put one hand over yours before remembering he was elbow-deep in suds. Looking over his shoulder to see a love-drunk expression on your face and glazed over eyes. A little insulted that you thought he was that backwards in his thinking and... you were still dating him. He needs to have some sort of conversation about this
Jean loved having with her while doing chores, the domesticity of it warm in her chest, but as you tucked yourself into her side, muttering something about "taking such good care of me". She absolutely doesnt object as you start pressing your face into her neck but she is a bit worried she might've been distant the last few weeks, laying her head on you as she finishes up before
Ororo was fine with doing her part around the household, but she did have a specific distaste for dishes. But with the dishwasher broken and you busy at work, she had started on the dishes from last nights dinner and today's breakfast. She'd gotten into a groove when you got home and saw her doing the thing she dislikes just because you were busy and it had to be done. Ororo prides a bit as you press against her back pressing kisses in thanks. She could get used to this... lets hope maintenence was here tomorrow though.
Anna-Marie huffed and puffed about getting it done but when she finally sauntered over to the sink and started working the look of pure unfiltered attraction from you as you finished cleaning the bookcase was all worth it. She'll make a show out of it too, lifting the plate up slightly so that droplets of water run up her arm as your eyes followed the wet trail. Might try to bargain for a reward (kiss) when she's done.
Remy doesnt shy away from doin what his partner wants, he lives to serve. And if the fastest way to get your hands crawling across his skin is to play house-husband then he is more than willing to comply, he doesnt exactly get how you get hot and bothered from doing the bare minimum but Remy would never turn down an oppurtunity to lavish you in attention (and get some in return)
Assemble a chair from IKEA, I'm like, "AhAhAh"/Offering to do anything, I'm like, "Oh, my god":
Kurt has gotten more handy over the years, keeping his small church in order was a lot of work and outsourcing all the labor just wasnt possible- plus watching your eyes trail over his back and arms while he lifted your new bedframe up the stairs was a pleasure like no other. Shocked that he did it by himself, as he assured you it was his duty as your partner, he doesnt want to ruin the moment though so dont be surprised when he bamfs across the room to receive his payment
Kitty and her endless ability to understand complex (and ridiculous!) instructions was one of the most attractive things about her. Oh her brain was so amazing, it's not your fault her face was in front of it! Which is part of the reason she seems so surprised when she looks up, halfway done fixing your phone to see your eyes glossy and unfocused, flitting across her face and hands. She'll fan her face and tie up her hair for you to have a better view, giggling as you come back to and start praising her.
Logan was buff. He was so, so buff. He knew it, you knew it, and he knew you loved when he showed off- moving your new couch to the other side of the room for the nth time as you keep getting distracted. Muttering out another "no not right" as he laughs and rolls his shoulder, hauling it to another area as you trailed behind, staring at his muscles. At some point he'll forego any sense of 'modesty' and take off his ratty white tank alltogether, enjoying hearing your breath catch in your throat
Warren didn't particularly like this process. He had put something on backwards a bazillion steps ago and was groaning in frustration as he had to redo all his hard work, but oh you loved this process. Watching his face flush in frustration and seeing how he kept doing this one little task for you over and over (accidentally making it harder for himself), he was about to call it quits when he saw your half-lidded eyes and knew there was a very nice end in sight.
Illyana was currently assembling your new dresser drawers, using her body weight to push down on the difficult wood as she secured the screws, as she sat back proudly and turned to you, she was caught off guard when you grabbed her hand and jumped onto the bed.
"that was hot we should make out"
Illyana was not an idiot and she would absolutely be taking you up on that, shoving aside the dresser in her final flaunt of strength before joining you.
Omgg do you have the charlie angels reader draft?!?! If so, could you post it someday? I LOVE charlies angels ✨️✨️.
Heyyy, so, yessss I do have a small one shot I think? I never thought would see the light of day, so I polished it a bit because I am more than happy to share itttt, actually thank you for asking lol <3<3<3
Only Angels fly this high!
Bradley Bradshaw x Charlie's Angel reader!
You were never just Maverick’s daughter.
You were the girl who swept your district's science fair four years straight, the one who could solve a Rubik's cube in under sixty seconds without even looking flustered. You knew every Avenger’s and DC's origin story by heart, had an unshakable love for Aragorn and your textbooks, and could quote Star Wars like scripture.
With your braces gleaming, frizzy ponytails bouncing, and socks that never once matched, you were a walking storm of heart, brilliance, and sunshine. A true geek with a gymnast's poise, a mind too quick to sit still, and a laugh that could fill a room before you even entered it. You were fire and fizz and full of wonder— Pete Maverick Mitchell's daughter, sure, but unmistakably, undeniably you.
When your dad disappeared on those long, classified missions—off saving the world in ways you weren’t allowed to know, you just packed your bag like clockwork and headed to one of two places. Sometimes, it was to your godfather, Uncle Ice, who’d ruffle your hair and tell you, with that steady calm of his, that even though you hardly looked like your dad, you had the same fire in your eyes. The same stubborn spark. The same refusal to back down. He said it like a compliment, like a promise. You loved him deeply, truly. He was a quiet sort of anchor, a man who never needed many words to make you feel seen.
But most of the time, you went to the Bradshaws’.
Carol always welcomed you like one of her own, with a warm smile, a hug that smelled like fresh laundry and vanilla, and a plate of something home-cooked waiting on the table. Over time, their house became your second home, the place where you memorized the sound of their old floorboards and where you felt safest when the sky felt just a little too big.
And then there was Bradley.
Older. Cooler. Already growing into the kind of person you could only dream of becoming. He had this effortless way about him—music in his ears, sun in his smile, the kind of person that made rooms quieter and your heart louder. You followed him around with books hugged to your chest, spilling facts about superheroes and black holes, always hoping he'd listen—and he did.
He never rolled his eyes. Never made you feel silly for talking too much or knowing too many things. He let you tag along, called you “kid” with a grin that somehow didn’t sting, and made you feel like being exactly who you were, loud laugh, wild ideas, frizzy hair and all, was something worth being proud of.
You adored him.
Not in a way that needed anything in return, but in that pure, clumsy way that only happens when someone older and kinder and just out of reach shows you what it feels like to be seen.
When Bradley left for college, you told yourself not to miss him. You tried to tuck the ache away somewhere quiet, somewhere small, behind schoolwork, hobbies, competitions and all the things you used to ramble about to him when he’d pretend not to listen but always did. It wasn’t just that he left; it was that things changed.
You only saw him once after that. At Carol’s funeral. The air that day was thick with loss, the kind you could feel in your throat. You spotted him across the room—older, more tired, a stranger in the shape of someone you used to adore. You exchanged a look. Maybe a nod. Nothing more. Heavy. Wordless.
Calls stopped. Messages faded. And after the falling-out between him and your dad, whatever thread had quietly tied the two of you together just… vanished.
But even as time tugged Bradley further away, you never drifted from your dad. If anything, you clung to him tighter. You sent him everything—snapshots of you mid-flip in your gymnastics uniform, shaky videos of your band performing at school, newspaper articles of your victories, long, rambling letters from chess tournaments detailing every single move like it was a mission report. When you got your college acceptance letter, you didn’t just call him, you sent a copy with a doodle you’d drawn of the two of you in matching aviator sunglasses, grinning like dorks.
Because he wasn’t just your dad. He was your rock. Your anchor. Your hero in a flight suit. And no matter how many people came and went, how many versions of yourself you outgrew, he was always the one constant, the voice on the other end of the line who never once stopped believing in you.
And then… you became something more.
Charlie's Angel.
Not long after you started college out in California, with wide eyes and ambition for your future, you were approached by a curious agency. The Townsend Agency. It wasn’t like anything you expected. There were no job postings or open interviews. Just a whisper, a test, and then a door you didn’t even know was there opened right in front of you.
What followed was a whirlwind training that pushed your body to its limits, missions that tested your mind and your morals, and partnerships that carved something fierce and beautiful into your soul. You weren’t alone in it, either. There were two other girls—no, women—who became your teammates, your family, your sisters in everything but blood. Together, the three of you tackled the impossible. Missions took you all over the world—scaling rooftops, decoding encrypted files on the fly, surviving car chases, shootouts, betrayal. It was thrilling. Dangerous. Meaningful. Just the kind of beautiful chaos you lived for. Like a good Mitchell. You always did love flying close to the sun.
That being said… you still haven’t told your dad.
Not because you didn’t want to. You did… do. You’ve come close a dozen times, standing at the edge of the truth with your phone in hand or your heart in your throat, thinking this is it. But it never felt quite right.
Because how do you tell Maverick, the legendary naval aviator, your fighter pilot of a father, that his little girl became a spy?
Not a doctor or a lawyer or a quiet observer behind a desk. No, you became an Angel, a full-blown, off-the-books, world-saving, chaos-wrangling secret agent. You jump out of planes sometimes without a parachute, trusting only your timing and a teammate’s hand to catch you. You've fought trained mercenaries twice your size in the back alleys of foreign cities. You’ve disarmed bombs with ten seconds left on the clock. Posed as arms dealers, infiltrated corrupt corporations, survived car crashes, scaled a glass building in Dubai with nothing but suction grips and nerves, hotwired a moving car in Paris while dodging sniper fire.
And somehow still walked away—bloody, bruised, but grinning with your sisters.
How do you sit your dad down and say, “Hey, remember how you used to panic when I scraped my knee on the monkey bars? Well, now I carry lockpicks in my heels and can kill a man with a paperclip.”
Your friends tell you to just do it. “He’ll understand,” they say. “He’s military. He gets it, he's done dangerous things all his life."
But you know better.
He was a father first. He always had been, even when he wasn’t physically there, even when he was halfway around the world, flying high above everything. His heart was always anchored to you. You were his little girl, his sunshine, his soft spot in a hard-edged world, who checked your helmet twice before you could ride a bike, who made you text the second you got somewhere, worried when you scraped your knee, when you stayed up too late studying.
He was Maverick. Top Gun. Hero to most. But to you, he was just Dad.
So no, it’s not easy. Not when you know the truth will make his pulse spike and his mind race to every worst-case scenario. Not when you can still picture his face the day you fell off the beam at your gymnastics meet and he looked like the world had ended.
But still… there’s a part of you that hopes—when the moment comes, when you do tell him—he won’t just see the danger. He’ll see the strength, the purpose, the pride.
That somewhere deep down, the Maverick in him will recognize the Angel in you... Today is not that day, though.
Not when you’ve finally managed to visit after months apart—not because you didn’t want to come sooner, but because life had a funny way of keeping you both busy. His schedule was packed with flights and trainings and whatever top-secret projects still pulled at the edges of his life. Yours… well, yours was classified. Let’s just say saving the world tends to mess with your calendar.
But now, with a rare stretch of time off, you showed up at his hangar-home like no time had passed at all. He met you at the door with that familiar squint and slow-building smile, arms pulling you into one of those hugs that made you feel twelve again, like the universe could shrink down to just the two of you and still be enough.
You showed off your latest toy—a vintage, growling Mercedes-Benz Heritage, sleek and silver, like something out of a Bond film. He gave it an approving nod, muttered something about it being too pretty to trust you behind the wheel, and you both laughed like no time had passed.
At some point, after he proudly showed you the new project he was working on—an old plane with more history than metal—you insisted on cooking. Said you wanted to treat him. He looked skeptical but stepped aside, letting you take over the tiny kitchen.
The thing is… you might know how to hack into secure government servers blindfolded. You can decode encrypted files while hanging out of a moving vehicle and disarm a bomb with nothing but a bobby pin, chewing gum, and sheer nerve.
But apparently, you still don’t know how long garlic bread is supposed to stay in the oven.
Smoke curled out of the toaster oven like a signal flare, thick and dramatic, as if announcing your failure to the whole Mojave. You stood there, spatula in hand, staring at what used to be garlic bread—but now looked more like a charred fossil.
“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, coughing as you fanned the smoke with a dishtowel, trying to open a window that didn’t want to budge.
So, you stumbled out of the silver trailer—smoke still trailing behind you like you were escaping a failed op—waving the towel above your head, hoping to clear the air.
"Everything is fine, just give me a vacuum and a YouTube tutorial," you coughed, still fanning the smoky air like your life depended on it. The kitchen now smelled less like garlic and more like defeat.
Then you heard it—your name, called out in a voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Warm but deeper. Steady. Older. You froze mid-wave of the dish towel, eyes narrowing as you turned around.
And there he was.
Bradley Bradshaw.
Holy. Shit.
"Bradley!" you gasped, the breath catching somewhere between shock and joy.
Before you could think, you dropped the towel, launched forward, and threw your arms around him. It wasn’t graceful—your elbow clipped his sunglasses, you nearly tripped over your own feet, and there was definitely still flour smeared across your shirt—but none of it mattered. The hug was tight, warm, all the things unsaid wrapped into a single, breathless squeeze.
“Oh, it’s been forever,” you said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at him.
You were grinning wildly, eyes dancing, completely caught up in the joy of the moment. What you didn’t notice—not at first—was how stunned he looked.
He blinked, almost like he wasn’t sure how to catch up.
“Look at you!” you said, poking his chest with mock offense. “You grew a mustache!!!”
Bradley let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of it all.
“And you… grew up,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud—like the realization had just hit him and slipped past his guard.
“Barely,” your dad chimed in from across the hangar, where he was wiping his hands clean with an old rag, smudged with grease from the plane’s engine. His voice cut through the moment like a well-timed punchline.
You turned just in time to see him eyeing the thin trail of smoke still drifting from the open trailer door.
“Please tell me you did not burn down my kitchen,” he said, eyebrows raised, half-exasperated, half-amused.
You held up your hands in surrender, cheeks flushed. “Not entirely! It’s still standing. Just… maybe don’t open the toaster for a while.”
“Great…” Your dad shot you a long-suffering look, then sighed like a man who’d seen combat but still wasn’t prepared for you in the kitchen. Then he turned to Bradley, wiping the last of the grease from his palms. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Yeah… uh, just happened to be nearby,” Bradley said, almost too casually. Then he lifted the takeout bag in his hand. “And—looks like I showed up just in time.”
He gave you a small smile, the kind that was soft around the edges and held a hint of something else—something unreadable and warm.
,You grinned at the bag like it was the Holy Grail. “Ohh, like a psychic… or maybe Lady Fate herself. What you brought and please tell me you brought enough for an unexpected mouth?”
“I did,” Bradley smirked, giving the bag a little shake for dramatic flair. “Thai. From a little spot near the base—place looks like a shack but cooks like heaven. One of those joints where they always forget the utensils, but never mess up the order.”
You gasped like he’d just told you he found buried treasure. “My kind of place. Who needs forks when destiny delivers Pad Thai?”
Bradley chuckled, handing you the bag with a knowing grin. “Hope you still like spicy, because I told them to go easy—and they still said ‘mild’ was more of a suggestion than a promise.”
You peeked inside the bag, the smell already making your mouth water. “Perfect. I like my food with a little danger. Keeps me humble.”
Your dad chimed in from behind you, grabbing plates “You say that now, but let’s see you talk tough after the first bite.”
You shot him a look. “Says the man who thinks pepper is a bold seasoning choice.”
The three of you settled in around the small table—plates spread out, drinks poured, laughter drifting lazily through the warm air. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that bounced between memories, light teasing, and just enough catch-up to fill in the gaps years apart had left.
You asked Bradley about his life, his job—nudging him gently with curiosity, dancing around certain topics with the kind of practiced grace that would’ve made Bosley proud. You didn’t lie—you just knew how to steer. How to let a story breathe without giving away the details underneath.
While delicately munching on a spring roll, you hummed quietly, savoring the flavor, then murmured without thinking, “I’ve been craving them like crazy since I came back from Thailand.”
Bradley, mid-bite, paused and looked up with a mild tilt of his head. “You’ve been to Thailand?”
You froze—not visibly, just a flicker of hesitation behind your eyes. The kind of pause most wouldn’t notice. But Bradley had always paid attention.
Still, your smile was easy as you nodded, grabbing your drink for cover. “Yeah. Work keeps me traveling.”
Bradley leaned back slightly, chopsticks in hand, eyeing you with playful suspicion. “Yeah? What do you do, exactly? Something fancy, I imagine, if that car outside is any indication. Since when do you have that kind of taste, huh?”
You raised a brow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I’ve always had taste.”
He snorted. “Right. Last time I saw you drooling over a car, it was that busted-up ‘Back to the Future’ knockoff you swore was the coolest thing ever. What was it? That rusty little hatchback with spray-painted flames and a bumper sticker that said ‘Flux This’?”
You laughed, nearly choking on your spring roll. “Hey, that car had personality. It was vintage.”
“It was a safety hazard.”
“It was charming!”
Bradley grinned, shaking his head. “You’ve upgraded. I’ll give you that. So, seriously—what do you do now?”
You smiled sweetly, taking another bite of your spring roll with practiced nonchalance.
“I’m a private art conservator,” you said, repeating the same polished line you’d fed your dad years ago—the one you’d carefully crafted to sound just vague and boring enough to kill curiosity.
Bradley blinked. “A what?”
“Art conservator,” you repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I restore paintings and sculptures—help private collectors preserve rare pieces. Lots of travel, lots of delicate work, very serious,”
Bradley glanced at your dad, who didn’t even flinch, too busy digging into his pad see ew like this was Tuesday.
Then he looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Seriously?”
You met his gaze, unblinking. “Dead serious.”
He leaned back in his chair, skeptical. “You? Art conservator? The same girl who once glued googly eyes onto her dad’s Elvis poster because—and I quote—‘It improved the emotional depth’?”
You shrugged, all cool confidence. “Every great artist starts somewhere.”
Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Unreal.”
“Hey,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him. “Don’t knock the hustle. Art is very fragile. Almost as fragile as, say… classified intel of the worlds economy on a microchip hidden in the frame of a nineteenth-century oil painting inside the vaults of the luvre.”
Both Bradley and your dad raised their eyebrows in perfect unison, like a synchronized team of disbelief.
You blinked, then raised your hands. “Kidding, pass the rice please."
Bradley chuckled and reached for the plate, shaking his head as he handed it over.
“See, that’s what I find unreal,” he said, his voice laced with something halfway between nostalgia and awe. “You were always… I don’t know. Too clever and smart for your own good.”
Your dad grunted in agreement, still chewing.
You tilted your head, scooping rice onto your plate with a lazy grin. “Is that your way of saying I was annoying?”
He smirked. “Terribly. But also kind of a genius. I always figured you’d end up running some multibillion-dollar tech company or… I don’t know, sending astronauts to Mars.”
You snorted. “Wow, aim high, why don’t you?”
He leaned his elbows on the table, studying you. “I did. You had that kind of brain, y’know? The kind that never turned off. It always felt like you were thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.”
You paused for just a second, fingers tightening on the chopsticks before you smiled again, softer this time. “Still am, just not in the way most people would guess.”
Bradley narrowed his eyes slightly, playful but curious. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”
You returned to your food, casually scooping rice onto your plate, but you could still feel Bradley’s eyes on you—curious, watching like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know he’d started.
“So,” you said, changing the subject with a too-bright smile, “what about you, Lieutenant Mustache? Still flying? Still breaking hearts?”
Your dad let out a soft snort, clearly enjoying the turn of the conversation.
Bradley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, giving you a look. “I’ll have you know the mustache has become a very powerful asset.”
You raised a brow. “Does it come with a security clearance?”
“Practically,” he said with mock pride. “Still flying, still in uniform… just with slightly more facial hair and responsibility.”
“Terrifying,” you muttered, hiding a grin behind your drink—because in all honesty, that mustache looked damn good on him. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. At least not yet.
There was a beat of silence after that, easy and warm. The kind that settles between people who’ve shared enough history to skip over the awkward parts. Three lives woven through time, scattered and now briefly realigned. It felt like no time had passed at all—and somehow like everything had changed.
Your dad stood with a quiet groan, stretching his back as he grabbed the empty soda cans and crumpled napkins.
“I’ll grab more,” he said casually. “Napkins, too, since someone eats like she’s still thirteen.”
You shot him a look. “Rude.”
“But true,” he replied over his shoulder, disappearing inside the trailer.
And just like that, you and Bradley were alone.
The hangar fell into a soft, ambient quiet—just the hum of the overhead fan, the distant creak of the cooling engine, and the sound of Bradley’s thumb absentmindedly tapping the rim of his drink.
He looked over at you, eyes thoughtful. “So… ‘private art conservator,’ huh?”
You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Still hung up on that?”
“Just trying to picture it,” he said, tone teasing but curious. “You, in gloves, hunched over a painting with a little brush.”
You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the table. “What, you don’t think I’ve got the patience for restoration?”
“I think you’ve got the precision,” he said, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m just not used to you being quiet for long.”
You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that said you’re not the only one who’s changed. “People grow up, Bradshaw.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking down and then back to you again. “Apparently, they do.”
The tension between you wasn’t thick, but it was there, like static. Familiar and new, cautious and curious. It buzzed just beneath the surface, waiting- your phone began to ring.
The sudden sound made you flinch just slightly, dragging you out of the moment. You set your plate down with a reluctant clink and fished the phone from your pocket.
Bosley.
Your eyes flicked to Bradley for half a second—he was watching you, still relaxed but alert, picking up on the shift in your energy. You forced a smile, one hand already tucking the phone to your ear as you stood.
“Gimme a sec,” you said casually, stepping away from the table, from him, from that dangerous almost-moment.
You put the phone to your ear, trying to keep your voice casual. “Hello… Yeah, okay. I’ll be right in.”
You hung up, slipped the phone back into your pocket, and took a moment to school your features before turning back around. A practiced smile curved across your lips—effortless, easy. You walked back to the table like you hadn’t just been called back into a secret life.
Bradley was still seated, watching you with mild curiosity, like he knew something wasn’t adding up but didn’t know quite what.
“Everything good?” he asked, tone neutral but eyes searching.
“Yeah,” you said with a shrug that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Work. Something I need to take care of.”
Before he could say more, your dad emerged from the trailer with two cans of soda under one arm and a bundle of napkins in the other.
“Alright, I brought backup—oh.” He paused, catching the shift in your expression, one you always wear when you need to leave impromptu. “You leaving already?”
You gave him an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”
He sighed, handing over a soda anyway. “Figures. You show up after a year, almost burn my kitchen down, steal my spring rolls, then vanish.”
You grinned and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Classic me.”
Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be a stranger and text me ass soon as you get there.”
"Of course and don’t worry I'll come back as soon as I can."
You turned to Bradley, catching his gaze again—still curious, still trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were now.
“Guess I owe you a proper catch-up,” you said softly.
He stood, nodding slowly. “Yeah. You do.”
And just like that, you slid into your sleek silver Mercedes, the engine purring to life beneath your fingertips like it knew exactly where you were going—and why. One last glance in the rearview mirror caught the faintest reflection of your dad watching from the hangar, soda in hand, and Bradley still standing by the table, napkin clutched loosely in his fingers, brow furrowed like he wasn’t quite ready for you to disappear again.
You gave a small wave—half playful, half I’ll be back—then pulled out of the dusty lot, tires crunching against gravel as the sun dipped lower behind you.
Back to the mission.
Back to the life they didn’t know about.
Back to saving the day, as usual.
Y/N: Heyyy hope you enjoyed ittttt. There's something about Top Gun x Charlie's Angels that just scratched my brain just right, y'know? One of my favs movies ever.
description: in which you invite a new lover into your bed
w/c: 5.5k
pairing: bob floyd x f!reader x phoenix
warnings: 18+ only, m/f/f threesome, oral (f receiving), fingering, teasing, nipple play, begging, squirting, unprotected p in v sex, creampie (once again reusing an old fic premise of mine so forgive me if this feels familiar, lol)
🕷️ part of fictober 🕷️
—fictober masterlist | consider supporting me on ko-fi !
Robert Floyd was a man who did not trust easily.
He was an excellent judge of character, always selective about who he allowed to be close to him. A very private person, he did not like sharing personal details with just anyone. They had to earn the right to know details about him.
Selfishly, he also liked keeping an air of mystery, and watching others try to solve that mystery. He got a kick out of watching Hangman try to figure him out. So far, the smug pilot had Bob pegged as an innocent church boy. The type who went to morning service and then went to his Momma’s after church for Sunday dinner.
Bob was more than content to allow Hangman to continue to believe that about him. It gave him great satisfaction to know that Jake hadn’t the slightest clue about what Bob actually got up to in his personal life. He’d let the man keep guessing, knowing he’d be wrong every single time.
However, there was someone Bob trusted enough to allow into his personal life. The only person he trusted to handle that which was most precious to him. No one else was worthy of that, but Natasha Trace.
And the only reason he deemed her worthy was because of you.
There was something about his front seater that mesmerized you. Shyly, you had asked your husband if he would be willing to allow her into your shared bed, just for a night. He had complete freedom to say no, and if he did, you promised that you would respect that, and you wouldn’t bring it up again. But Bob was very open to exploring new things in the bedroom, as you had quickly learned early on in your relationship.
Natasha was the only person in the world he would trust to handle you the way he himself would. She held his life in her hands every single day when they went up in the sky. He knew that he could trust her with his wife, too.
First, he needed to make sure that she was on board with it. Though rigid and disciplined when it came to her job, Natasha was much more relaxed and free spirited outside of work. She was not one to hide the fact that she liked to let loose and enjoy herself.
She was approachable, personable, and open to just about anything. It was why Bob didn’t feel odd about bringing it up to her. He knew she wouldn’t balk, or shy away. Either she would tell him no, plain and simple, or she would eagerly agree. There was no fear of facing judgment from her just for asking about it.
Besides, he had a connection with her that he didn’t have with anyone else on the squad. Second only to Mickey Garcia, Natasha was Bob’s closest friend. He couldn’t imagine asking someone like Bradley to have a threesome. And certainly not someone like Jake. Bob wasn’t into blonde surfer dude types. But that was neither here nor there.
Bringing it up to Natasha was a gradual thing. He didn’t necessarily want to blurt it out over the lunch table, surrounded by his coworkers. That wasn’t appropriate. However, after hours, it was fair game.
Nat certainly caught the hint when you began to subtly flirt with her. A night spent at the Hard Deck was a rare thing, at least for you and Bob. The two of you preferred to stay in most nights, opting for dinner and a movie together, enjoying solitude and each other.
Tonight, though, was different. For mid-autumn, the California weather was pleasant. You’d worn a flouncy sundress, and you were in your element, as beautiful and carefree as ever. Natasha Trace was very observant, and she didn’t miss the way you kept stealing glances at her, or the way you leaned into her, arm brushing against hers as you giggled at something your husband was saying.
She caught Bob’s eye across the table, gaze covert but questioning. He merely nodded at her, eyes glimmering behind the lenses of his glasses.
This wasn’t what she thought it was, was it?
She got her answer later that night, when Bob slipped outside to get some air. Nat caught sight of him through the window, leaning against the railing of the patio, gazing out into the ocean. Her sandals scraped lightly against the wood as she stepped out, wind blowing her chestnut tresses across her shoulders.
“Am I absolutely insane to think this, or is your wife flirting with me, Floyd?” She asked, as she sidled up to him.
His eyes remained fixed upon the churning waters as he nodded. “You’re not insane,” he assured her. “At least…not totally.” His mouth curved into a teasing smile.
Nat hummed thoughtfully. “Whose idea was this?” She asked, well aware of what he was hinting at.
“Hers,” came his honest reply. “She asked me if I’d be willing to invite you into our bed for a night.” He turned his body toward her, looking fully into her eyes, confident and decisive. “I said yes, because you’re the only person I trust to handle her the way I would. But it’s totally up to you. No bad blood if you say no.”
A beat passed, silence settling between the pair, interrupted only by the crashing of waves upon the shore. “So…are we talking threesome here? Will you participate? Or will you just be watching?”
“I’ll be participating, but we’d be putting all the focus on her. This is her fantasy, she wants us to be in control of her.”
“I see.” Nat mulled over the offer, carefully considering it. “Well, Bob, I’d love to go for a romp in the sheets with your wife. Why don’t we have a little sit down and talk about boundaries, kinks, so on and so forth?”
At that, Bob smiled, lashes fluttering. “Oh, she’s gonna be so excited,” he replied. “And, yeah, let’s do that. You should come over for dinner sometime next week, and we can talk things over.”
His front seater nodded, reaching out to shake his hand, sealing the deal. “Sounds like a plan.”
As if on cue, you appeared in the doorway, eyes glimmering with curiosity. Bob’s face lit up at the sight of you, and he strode over to you, arm sliding around your waist, holding you comfortably against his side. “She said yes, honey,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.
Warmth rippled through you, and your eyes widened. “Really?”
Nat slinked up to you, her eyes darkening slightly. “I hear you wanna have a play date,” she murmured, voice low, sultry. “I’d love to play with you, angel.”
Something in the way she said it made your knees go weak, and you had to hold onto your husband to keep yourself upright. Bob hummed in amusement, catching Nat’s eye. “I think she likes that idea,” he teased.
“It appears so,” she agreed, reaching out to tap your nose gently. “Bob invited me over for dinner next week. We can talk things out then, alright?”
“A-alright,” you stammered. And then she was gone, leaving a trace of citrus perfume in her wake.
“You alright, sweetheart?” Bob asked, mouth against the shell of your ear, amusement in his tone. “You seem a little flustered.”
At that, you turned, slapping his chest lightly. “Shut up,” you mumbled, though you couldn’t hide your own smile. Fingers closing around his lapels, you pulled him in, kissing him deeply, messily, tongue delving into his mouth.
Taken by surprise, he quickly relaxed into your touch, body settling warm and solid against your own. “I take it you’re happy?”
“She actually said yes. Like…oh my god. This is actually happening, Bobby.”
“It sure is.”
The following Friday, Natasha arrived at your home for dinner. There was nothing shy or reserved about the way she settled into your home. She owned the space that she took up, confident and unwavering. A woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to voice it.
Dinner long since finished, you sat around your coffee table that night, discussing how the scene was going to play out. Nat even took notes, wanting to be absolutely certain that she didn’t miss anything. She was very aware of the fact that you and Bob were inviting her into your relationship, if only for a night, and she would abide by every boundary you set, out of respect for you both.
In detail, you described how you wanted the scene to go. The two of you allowed her to be privy to the dynamic you shared. Bob, though a switch, was often in control. Submitting to him, allowing him to take that control, was a source of emotional fulfillment for you. You wanted Nat to take on the same sort of role, in which both she and Bob would have control of you.
All the puzzle pieces fell into place, and when Nat left that night, you were at peace, knowing you were in good hands. You’d set a date for the following week, in which the arrangement would finally take place.
Now that the day had arrived, you were thrumming with eagerness, and a little anxiety. But all of that anxiety was put to rest by your husband’s gentle, steady hands, fingers pressing into the taut muscles of your shoulders as he stood behind you, where you lingered in front of the full-length mirror in your shared bedroom, modeling the simple lingerie you had decided to wear.
“Relax, my love,” Bob murmured, nose dragging over the crook of your neck. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight.”
“I know,” you murmured, leaning back against his warmth. “I just can’t believe this is finally happening.” Tilting your head back, you kissed him languidly. “Thank you for making this happen.”
“Mm, anything for my girl,” he whispered softly. “Now, Nat just texted me that she’s a few minutes away. I want you to wait here, and I’ll bring her to you, okay?”
“Okay.” It came out breathless. Your head spun slightly, and as Bob slipped out of the room, you found yourself moving toward the bed, legs unsteady beneath you as you lowered to sit upon the softness of the duvet.
Heat bloomed up your chest, heart rate picking up. This was actually happening. You would soon have a beautiful woman in your bed, alongside your husband, their shared mission to bring you pleasure.
It was dizzying.
When Natasha arrived, she slipped into the bedroom, quiet as a whisper. Dressed in a simple exercise dress, dark hair cascading down her back, she looked so effortlessly beautiful. Relaxed. Poised. In control of her every movement.
Her sweet mouth curved into a smile at the sight of you, seated so nicely on the edge of the bed. “Hey there, pretty girl,” she cooed, and the velvety tone went straight between your thighs.
Bob entered the room, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. “Isn’t she just the sweetest thing you ever did see?” He hummed proudly at his front seater.
“Oh, she is,” Nat agreed, all while you ducked shyly beneath her gaze. “And how precious, she’s getting all shy on us now.”
“Isn’t it adorable? As if she isn’t the one who begged for this,” came Bob’s teasing, as he approached you. His hand, warm and gentle, cupped your cheek. “Are you going to be a good girl for us?”
Your mind had already gone a bit fuzzy. “Uh-huh.”
He clicked his tongue. “Words.”
“Yes sir.”
Pleased, he tapped your mouth, and your lips parted to take his thumb against your tongue, suckling softly.
“So well-behaved, too,” Nat murmured in delight.
“Tell me our safe word, honey,” Bob reminded you, slipping his finger from your mouth.
“Cloudburst,” you answered, no room for doubt in your tone.
“That’s right.” He offered a gentle smile, and his hands came up to cup your face as he kissed you. When he pulled away, he was still gazing at you, a look of sincerity blossoming in his eyes as he lowered his voice for only you to hear. "If you want to stop at any time, I want you to say so. Understand?"
"Y-yes," you mustered. But you would be perfectly fine, you knew. No safe word would need to be uttered tonight.
Gently, Bob coaxed your chin up, urging you to watch as Natasha sauntered backward, holding eye contact with you as she slid the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders. Then, the top half of the dress came down, over her breasts, as her body moved with practiced ease, languid and confident. Your breath hitched at the sight of her lithe frame as it was slowly exposed to you. Her supple breasts, her soft skin, the flash of neatly kept dark hair between her pretty thighs.
She watched, eyes narrowed and catlike, as Bob reached behind you, dextrous fingers unhooking your bra. A rush of cool air met your skin as the garment fell away, leaving your top half exposed to the woman before you. Bob stepped away from you, fading slightly into the background as Nat sauntered toward you, never breaking eye contact.
As she bent forward to kiss you, heat thrummed within your body, spreading through your veins. Pliant and eager, you kissed her back, mouth falling open, allowing her to taste you, to drink you in.
Her delicate fingers came up to brush across your warm cheek. "You...are so, so perfect." Her voice swirled through your head, silken and delicate. “I can’t wait to play with you.”
“Lay down for us,” Bob urged. When your gaze flickered to him, you realized he had stripped down to just his boxers, his cock already half hard within the confines. Oh, god. Here you were, moments away from being pleasured by the two most beautiful people you had ever known. It was enough to make you tremble as you inched backward across the bed, not bothering to hide your eagerness.
“Mind if I take her panties off, Bobby? I’m just dying to see her pretty pussy.”
“Go right ahead, Nat,” he obliged.
The woman climbed onto the bed, movements fluid, easy, creeping toward you as if she was about to devour you. And, in reality, she was.
Her elegant fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and she inched them down past your thighs, little by little, until she tossed the thin fabric aside without a care. Hunger clouded her expression as her eyes flickered down between your legs. You were already wet. Visibly so.
“I can’t wait to taste you.” Her mouth was on yours again, body slotted against your own like she’d always belonged there.
She let her hand drop to your right breast, softly cupping it before her fingers brushed over your nipple. You couldn't help the pathetic whimper that bubbled up from your throat as she did so, and you could see the smug satisfaction in her eyes at the sound. While she ducked down to wrap her pretty lips around the hardened bud, eased himself onto the bed, warmth grounding you as he settled in beside you to watch Nat pleasure you.
Both of them pressed against you at once was overwhelming. Her intoxicating citrus scent, paired with the spicy sweetness of his own cologne, acted as an aphrodisiac, almost, and you shivered beneath them, body responding in kind. Soft, open, wet.
Her lips found their way to your neck, sucking at your sensitive skin, teeth nipping, tongue soothing. Bob never left your side, his presence steady, reassuring. I’m right here with you.
You moaned unabashedly, your head lolling against his shoulder as Nat continued her descent of your body, mouth exploring. Her hand wandered, fingertips sliding over soft skin, lower and lower. You clenched around nothing, already anticipating the electricity of her touch at the place where you needed her most.
Goosebumps raised in her wake, shiver running down your spine, a contrast to the warmth surging through you. Fire and ice.
As Nat went lower, Bobby focused on your upper half, mouthing at your pulse point, fingers playing with your nipples. The heightened stimulation was almost too much to bear.
Communicating silently, Nat caught his eye. With a nod, they both moved, Bob’s mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, while Nat’s wrapped around the other. You gasped, back arching at the new sensation.
Your husband’s fingers were at your slick pussy, nudging the digits inside. As he did so, Nat pressed her fingertips lightly against your clit, and you saw white.
“Oh!” You cried out, jolting beneath them.
“See? She loves it,” Nat cooed. “Such a good girl.”
Speaking about you like you weren’t even there. It was so hot, and it sent you clenching around Bob’s thick fingers.
“I know. So sensitive, too,” he mumbled in delight against your breast.
"P-please." You had no idea what you were even asking for. All you knew was that you were dripping all over Bob’s fingers, and you needed more.
"What is it, angel?" Nat purred in your ear.
"I..." Your voice betrayed you, mouth unable to form words. A pathetic little mewl was all that followed.
“Aw, poor thing.” Bob nipped at your jaw. “I think she wants someone’s mouth on her.”
“I wonder whose she wants?” Nat questioned.
You managed to squeak out a response. “Yours. Pl-please.”
“Aw, such good manners. You want me to eat your pretty pussy?”
“Mhm.”
Her teeth scraped lightly over the shell of your ear. “Say it.”
“I w-want you to eat my pussy.” You sounded pathetic. The two lovers above you were loving every minute of it.
"I think we should take care of our girl, what do you think?" Nat looked up at Bob for confirmation, and he nodded.
“We've teased her enough."
The pair moved with ease, their fluidity in the sky translating to their ability to work together in the bedroom. Communication was easy, simple. Together, they arranged you how they wanted.
Once you were settled, your back resting against the warmth of Bob’s chest, his velvet cadence reached your ear. "Miss Nat here is gonna to eat your pretty little pussy until you come all over her face, alright?”
All you could do was nod, eyes hardly able to focus as Nat settled between your legs. As she began kissing and nipping along your inner thighs, a new wave of heat spread through you, more intense than the last.
Bob’s arms were strong and steady around you, holding you close as you shivered.
As Nat continued to leave kisses against your skin, she drew closer to where you needed her most. Teasing, her mouth hovered over where you were dripping for her, clenching around nothing. When she blew lightly over your clit, your hips pushed up toward her face, searching.
"Ah-ah. Manners, angel. What do you say?"
"Please."
"Please what?"
Your heart fluttered in your chest at her tone, and the way she was looking at you. "Please eat my pussy. I need it so bad. It hurts."
“Aw, you hear that, Bobby? She said it hurts.”
“Poor thing,” Bob cooed. “I think you should help her feel better.”
“I was just gonna suggest that.”
You opened your mouth to beg her to stop teasing, but she cut you off by diving forward, hot mouth connecting with your aching cunt. You cried out, jolting against your husband, a shock of pleasure vibrating through you, driving you to throw your head back, mouth parted.
You were already overwhelmed. Her mouth was so warm and wet, her touch was so delicate, yet deliberate. She lapped and sucked at your clit, and spread her tongue over the expanse of your center, tasting you fully. When her fingers slid into you, you couldn't help the loud that ripped itself from your throat.
“You’re loving every second of this, aren’t you?” Bob spoke against the shell of your ear, breath hot against your skin.
"Y-yes!” You wailed. “Feels–ah!–incredible!”
Encouraged, Nat sped up her movements, slender fingers slipping inside you, brushing against that spot within you that made you tighten and gush around her, surely soaking her pretty mouth as it worked against you.
All the while, Bob brought his own fingers to your mouth, tapping your lips. "Open," he instructed, and you did so. When his pointer and index fingers were pressed into the wet heat of your mouth, he said, "Get ‘em nice and wet for me, honey."
Once you'd obeyed, drool soaking the digits, he brought his hand to your chest, circling each nipple with his wet fingers. You gasped, and Bob leaned over to blow across each pebbled bud. Goosebumps creeped along your skin, and you whined, entirely overwhelmed. You were ashamed of how close you were already. But the two beautiful people invading your every sense, bringing you to new heights of pleasure, had you plummeting towards the edge at an alarming rate.
Bob held you, kissed you neck, whispered in your ear, praised you for being such a good girl. Nat curled her fingers faster, deeper still. You were making a mess of yourself, arousal soaking her fingers, dripping down onto the sheets beneath you. Bob's hand squeezed at your breasts, teeth dragging against your pulse point.
Tears welled up in your eyes. It was too much and not enough, all at once. Thighs trembling, heart racing, you knew you were nearly done for.
"Mm," the feminine purr reached your ears. "Your little pussy is getting so tight, are you going to come for me?"
You couldn't answer, you could only cry out, wailing out your pleasure. Shuddering almost violently in your husband’s arms, you were losing yourself. Sensing your overwhelm, Bob soothed you. "Breathe," he reminded you, "deep breaths, baby. You're okay."
You sobbed, breathless and deep, grabbing for something, anything, to anchor you. Nat took one of your hands, and Bob took the other. Then, she brought her mouth back to where you were gushing, pulsing, lips closing around your puffy clit.
Mouth open, incoherent sounds left your throat, drool dripping over your lips. All inhibitions had left your body, leaving you to succumb to the primality of it all. A delicious, white-hot sensation thrummed inside you, a coil ready to come unravelled. You clenched so tightly around her fingers that she could hardly move them, but she pushed through, knowing you were so close, just a little more and you’d tip over the edge.
Back arching, chest heaving, you cried, "I-I'm...I...oh, fuck!" and she knew you were right there.
In the end, it was Bob who pushed you over the edge.
"That's it, honey," he breathed against your neck, "come all over her pretty face."
With one final sob, you let go, tensing up just before the mind-numbing, earth-shattering pleasure enveloped you in a searing, pulsing wave. You sobbed, deep and loud, convulsing in Bob's arms, bucking against Nat's mouth. She continued, mouth still moving, fingers undulating within you, coaxing you through it all until you were pushing her face away with trembling hands. She pulled away, emerging from between your legs, trailing her hot, wet mouth along your abdomen before she came to hover over you.
When she kissed you, it was hot and open-mouthed, tongue laving against yours, letting you taste yourself. "Good girl," she praised. “Did so well for us.”
“Mm, the best girl,” Bob agreed, tone deep and gravely. Even in your hazy, blissed out state, you could feel him, cock hard against your lower back. Your cunt pulsed around nothing, aching to be filled again.
When he kissed you, it was deep, gentle, loving. And as he shifted out from behind you, his hands came up to cup your face. “Think you can handle my cock?”
“Uh-huh.” Eager. Needy. Desperate. “But I wa-wanna taste her pussy while you’re inside me.”
Bob met Nat’s gaze. “What d’ya say? Think our pretty girl deserves a taste?”
“Oh, yes,” she sighed. “She can have whatever she wants.”
You watched as she moved to sit where Bob had just been moments earlier, her thighs, strong and lean, spreading to reveal what soft, pink slick that was her delicate pussy. It was gorgeous, inviting, and your mouth watered at the sight.
Bob arranged you as necessary, face down, hovering between Nat’s thighs, while he tugged your hips back, so he could take you from behind. As he began to nudge the thick head of his cock inside you, Nat guided you forward, fingers parting her folds, allowing you easy access. Whimpering lowly, you flattened your tongue against her, licking a stripe along her folds. There was a slight sweetness beneath the tang of her, an addicting taste that drove you to go at it with renewed fervor.
The moan she let out made your head spin, the weight of it sending a pulse through your core. As you began to swirl your tongue around her pretty little clit, Bob groaned deeply, inching his hips forward, hardness sliding into you little by little.
He sighed in utter bliss as he bottomed out, and you whined against Natasha, the sound of it muffled in her cunt. Bob allowed you a moment to adjust to him before he began to move. Drawing back, pushing forth, he began with slow, careful thrusts. Thick and insistent, his cock filled you to the brim, the stretch almost overwhelming, stealing the breath from your lungs.
Every sense was overcome by your lovers. The taste of her, the stretch of him, it was all-encompassing. You could hardly handle it. As Bob set his rhythm, you focused on pleasuring the woman above you.
Soft and breathless, she coaxed you on. "Good girl. Just like that, you’re so perfect.:
Bob moved faster now. Harder, deeper, the head of his cock brushing against that sensitive little spot within you. At this angle, bent forward, it seemed to only intensify the feeling of fullness. With each push and pull, you clenched around him, as if your pussy didn’t want to let him go. For leverage, his hands moved to grip your hips, holding you in place as he moved.
Pretty and sweet, Nat was gushing around your fingers, even as your mown pussy dripped down your thighs.
Hands guiding you, she held your face against her while she ground against your mouth, chest heaving, head thrown back, chasing pleasure. The eroticism caused you to tremble. The feeling of being filled, while tasting someone else, was indescribable.
Bob growled above you, thrusting deeply, roughly, jarring you to your very core. Your cries were muffled, and you almost struggled to keep your rhythm to bring Nat to her end. But you kept up the pace, despite the intensity surging through you, wanting to bring her to her peak, as she had done for you.
She continued to praise you, eyes finding your own as she took in the sight of your face buried between her thighs, devouring her. "Faster," she breathed, “harder."
You complied, fingers moving faster still, mouth suckling at her clit. You could tell she was close by the way her muscles tightened around you, and the way she trembled, nearly losing control.
You relished in the way she shook, in the sound of her pretty whines, the soft moans of your name. It didn't take much longer to push her over the edge, and she came against your mouth, evidence of her release spurting hot and wet against your tongue. You remained there, lapping at her center, tasting all she had to give.
Her legs twitched around your head as she came down, and with a whine of overstimulation, she gently pushed your face away.
“Good girl,” she gasped, “so fucking good.”
Bob had slowed his movements, allowing you a moment to process everything. His mouth was at your ear, tone breathless.
“Gonna turn you over now,” he murmured. He caught Nat’s gaze, and she nodded, despite herself. Now, it was his turn to finish what they’d both started
Before you could utter a reply, Bob eased his still hard cock out of you, careful hands easing you onto your back, where you settled into the softness of the bed, Nat’s warmth at your side as she pressed herself against you, cradling you close as your husband found his place between your legs again.
When he slipped inside you once more, your cry was swallowed by Nat’s waiting mouth as she kissed you slowly, sweetly, lovingly. Then, she rested her head against your temple as she gazed down at the place where you and Bob’s bodies met.
The way your anatomy stretched around his thickness was a sight to behold, and she praised you for taking it so well. “Look at you. Can’t believe your pussy’s able to take all of him,” she lulled.
Fingers swirling over your nipples, she continued. “Want you to tell me how good his cock feels.”
Heat buzzing through you, head spinning, you could hardly utter a reply. All that came out were broken, incoherent half-sentences. “Fe-feels so g–ah!–”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t describe it if you tried. How could you? So thick and deep, stretching you deliciously. It was utterly indescribable.
With her fingers playing with your breasts, and her mouth at your neck, you were losing yourself. Eyes rolling back in your head, whimpering pathetically, you babbled nonsensically.
Bob's hand came down between your legs, fingers pressing into your clit. "I want you to come again for me," he gritted out, "soak my cock."
You locked eyes with him, and the intensity on his face sent you writhing on the end of his dick, a strangled cry tearing itself from your throat as your body went taut, muscles tense, on the precipice of release.
All the while, Nat spoke soothingly against your skin. “Go on, angel. Wanna watch you squirt all over him.”
That did you in.
It ebbed through you in searing waves. Warmth and stardust glimmered through your veins as you sobbed, convulsing against your lover, beneath your husband, pleasure stricken. Your vision left you for a moment, engulfed in white. In fact, you might have even lost conscious for a brief second, because when you returned to yourself, if was to the feeling of your husband’s pulsing cock within you, flooding you with his pearlescent release.
Natasha’s voice was soft against your ear. “Oh, look at you. You did so well. Took it like such a good girl.”
Bob remained inside you for a moment longer, returning to himself as he kissed your cheeks, your nose, your mouth. You could only lay there, still trembling, as he eased out of you. Hands moved over heated flesh. Not his hands, familiar and strong, but Nat's - soft and dainty.
She held you close in Bob’s absence, shushing your whimper of protest. “He’s coming back, angel. Just went to get something to clean you up with.”
When Bob returned, moments later, he soothed you with a kiss. “I’m here. Let us take care of you.”
Sleepy, soft, pliant, you remained sprawled against the mattress, allowing your lovers to reverently clean you up. Bob was careful and delicate as he wiped your most sensitive parts with a soft, damp cloth. You relished in the care, feeling entirely too blissed out to do anything else but let them bestow care upon you. You were adorned in kisses, gentle touches, words of praise.
When Bob was finished cleaning you, it was Natasha who took the reins while he went to pull on a pair of clean boxers.
"Sit up for me," Nat guided, and as you did, she wrapped one of your fluffy blankets around you so you wouldn’t catch a chill. "Do you need some water?"
"Y-yes."
Communicating silently once again, Bob was already handing her one of the mini water bottles he kept tucked into his nightstand drawer, specifically for aftercare. Nat cracked open the lid, and guided you to drink from the bottle, quenching your thirst.
Bob was joining you on the bed once more, settling in beside you as you finished the water. He was warm and solid as you snuggled into him, melting into his arms while Nat set the water bottle aside.
“How you feelin’, honey?” He asked you.
You giggled, sleepy and content. “Really good. Had a lot of fun.” Your head came to rest upon his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” You reached for Nat, and she joined you, leaving you sandwiched between her and Bob. “Hope we get to do this again soon, sometime.”
Sleep had begun to overtake you as Bob and Nat exchanged looks. “I think that can be arranged,” he murmured, lips gentle against your forehead.
“Yeah,” Nat agreed, “I think it can.”
“Yay,” came your sleepy mumble.
Bob couldn’t help but smile in amusement. “Rest now, baby. We can talk about it more later.”
But you were already fast asleep, cradled in the arms of two people who made you feel safe as could be.
Hi!! Could you do hcs for some of the main AA trilogy characters (of your choice any are fine!!) reactions to their s/os profile being presented to them like how you can do in the games pretty please!
TAKE THAT! aa characters being presented with your profile!
fluff, use of y/n, they/them for y/n, blue text for phoenix are inner thoughts (like in game), probably ooc im so sorry lmao
a/n: this idea is sooooo cute im so inlove with it !!! im probably going to do versions of this with the apollo justice trilogy and tgaa games because this was fun, please enjoy!
PHOENIX WRIGHT
"Y/N? That's my partner, they usually come down to help me out around the office, cleaning, sorting files and bringing me lunch when I forgot.."
"Aren't they adorable? I mean look at that face, I really got lucky.."
"...Why on earth are they looking at me like that?"
"Wait-- You're not supposed to agree with me! People just say that to compliment their partners, this is the part where you tell me how perfect we are for each other or something.."
"This is why I don't talk about my love life at work..."
MILES EDGEWORTH
"Wright? Where on earth did you find a picture of my significant other?- Nevermind that, why exactly are you showing me this?"
"This is my spouse, yes. We've been married for around 3 years and I'm very proud of the fact. If you're looking for them, they aren't here, I make sure they stay far away from my work."
"You seemed shocked to know that I'm married. I'm actually.. sort of offended."
Phoenix catches him sighing as he gazes at the photo later on.
MAYA FEY
"Hey Nick! Where'd you find this picture of Y/N? Have you been spying on me? Rude."
"This is my lovely partner! Look look! Aren't they so cute? We make a cute couple, don't we? And they're so funny too, and they buy me burgers whenever I want them."
"And they're so smart as well, like--" She goes on for ages rambling about you.
"Don't be jealous Nick, your time for young love has long since passed, but maybe if you try hard enough you can find someone just as amazing as my partner."
MIA FEY
"This is Y/N L/N, my partner. They're a lawyer too, if you could believe it. But they don't handle cases like I do, I think I prefer it that way."
"They're always worrying about how much I'm working, and I can't help but feel bad sometimes. But just knowing they're waiting for me at the end of the day gives me the strength to push through trials."
"Did you show me this to get me emotional before the trial Phoenix? Come on, let's focus, I can chat to you about my spouse later, okay."
DICK GUMSHOE
"Oh, that reminds me! I gotta introduce you all to Y/N, you'd have a blast, pal."
"All the guys at the firm love them, one time they insisted on cooking hot dogs for us after I told them about that stressful De Killer case, and even weeks after most of the guys were asking me for seconds!"
"Yeah- Clear your calendar, Mr Wright, I'll even invite Mr Edgeworth too. I'm going to make sure everyone knows that my partner just so happens to be the best in the world."
FRANZISKA VON KARMA
Instead of your profile, I imagine Franziska would just have a painted portrait of you in her office, something grand and extravagant. Phoenix is investigating in there and clicks on it.
"You fool! You'll ruin the frame if you touch it like that! Who even let you in here, where is that scruffy detective, hm? I told him to keep all spiky haired lawyers out."
"Well, if you're curious, I may as well tell you. This is my partner. Beautiful, aren't they? Do not look so surprised, Wright, I can get along with people, just not you and your... entourage."
"They will be a Von Karma one day, once I marry them. They always tell me that I have nothing to prove to them.. that I can continue to be myself to make them happy. And that's why they're better than you, much more mature. Hmph!"
GODOT
"Funny, isn't it, Trite? For a guy who prefers his coffee to be bitter and harsh, to be so in love with someone sweet and caring."
"Y/N shines brighter than any star in the sky and that's a fact."
"Wondering why I'm dating them? Well that's for me to know and for you to ponder. But don't start crushing on them, or then I might just have to actually take you down. In court. Of course."
"Now give me that, they have nothing to do with this case, so you won't be needing any info on them anymore."
Rouge & Gambit, Invis & Mr. Fan, Phoenix & Cyclops x chronic! reader
Throuple scenario
When times get rough, always project your problems onto characters ❤️
Masterlist
CW// mostly focused on joint pain, throuples, being taken care of
To say these two take care of you well is the understatement of the century. Both Anne and Remy are strong willed, and determined to make sure you are comfortable at all times.
Anne usually takes care of anything physical. If you have trouble getting up or down stairs for whatever reason, she'll gently pick you up and walk them for you. There's been a few embarrassing times where she's found you sitting in the middle of the stairs, totally dejected because you overestimated yourself for the day- but she's nothing but comforting, letting you know she thought it was great you got as far as you did, and that she's happy to help the rest of the way. If you don't want to be carried, she'll let you lean on her and guide you instead, going at your pace the entire time.
Remy handles other things like chores. He's more than happy to cook a warm meal for you, and even more happy to sit in bed and eat with you. If your hands shake, don't worry, he's got scarily steady ones that will help you. He helps with chores that take it out of you, happy to sit on the floor side by side as the two of you fold laundry and probably watch a TV show- something like real housewives. If you can't get around to doing something he's on the job, no need to apologize for it, what's an extra load of dishes anyways?
Both of them carry around any medication you might take, be that an injection or pills, they are READY.
Every step of the way they are nothing but encouraging. They are pillars of support ready to catch you at all if you fall, to hold you up as you regain balance and stand high once more.
They coddle, but not as much. Well, Susan doesn't coddle as much, Reed definitely does.
Reed is someone who feels like if he isn't helping every second of the day then he isn't useful, so to say he's a bit of a helicopter is laughable. Of course, he doesn't ever want you to feel as though you're incapable of doing things on your own, it's just that why bother doing something and possibly hurting yourself when he can easily do it. He doesn't realize how bad of an ideology that is, and has been scolded on multiple occasions by basically everyone in his life that has common sense.
Susan is always there for you, but she's more there for encouragement. She'll sit in bed and rub her hands against your back, encouraging you to get up and giving you any medications you take. She's always got her hand in yours, but she doesn't let you know it's because she's worried all the time.
Both of them enjoy seeing you be independent, getting up and working on your own. It gives them a sense of pride that you're pushing through, that you're brave enough to try things that might be physically taxing and push through even when your bones start to hurt like hell.
Of course, the Baxter building is completely formatted to accommodate you. Elevators, ramps, hell even one of those wall chairs that move up and down stairs that Johnny probably uses more than you is there. All of it was meticulously done by Reed, even when Susan told him to tone it down a little, he just can't help it.
On rough days, they both wrap their arms around you and squeeze you tight, pressing kisses against your face. They claim they're squeezing the bad day out of you, wringing you dry like a towel, except instead of water it's the bad vibes from the day. Whether it's scientifically real or not is questionable, but if Reed says it's scientifically proven to work who are you to question?
Both of them are worry warts. Big, fat, worriers. They try and be nonchalant but it's hard to hide how much they care for you, how much they want to be there and help.
Scott is the more hands on one. He'll let you grab his arm and lean on him like a life support as you do stuff, helps you do chores like drying the dishes after you hand wash them and changing out the laundry- because it's such a tedious task. It's never a burden to him to help you, and he always jokes that if he had it his way your feet would never have to touch the ground again, that he'd carry you everywhere you want to go without a single complaint. Take advantage of that, and make him do just that, please he wants to be helpful so bad.
Jean is more on the silent side, sort of off to the side work you don't even realize needed to happen. She's helping make the x-mansion more accommodating, preparing things you don't even realize would be tedious to do like pre-chopping ingredients for meals. She's the type to always cut your apple slices for you, to peel your orange without you ever having to ask, and she does it without a single word. You don't even have to ask, she's already there and ready to help.
Neither are very vocal in their worry of offers to help, they're just... There. Hands resting encouragingly on your back and waiting for you to ask for anything. They would give you the world, should you ask.
Bonus, but these two run a bit on the hotter side and it is HEAVENLY. Their combined warmth during the night is to die for, their arms wrapped around you so you're perfectly sandwiched in-between them, it settles into your bones and for the night you aren't left staring at the ceiling being unable to sleep due to the uncomfortable buzzing in your head.
She’s on top of you, her hips moving in a languid rhythm against yours.
Your head is spinning with the way her clit catches against yours with every pass of her core on yours, your juices are mixing together, folds coming into place at every thrust. She looks ethereal above you. Her long brown hair is cascading down her shoulders, falling prettily onto her breasts, which bounce to the rhythm of her fucking you.
“You look so pretty for me, baby,” she moans out, her syrupy voice seeping into your brain, melting it from the inside out.
Whining out at her praise, you lock your legs around her waist, desperate to keep her there.
“You feel so fucking, Nat, you’re fucking me so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you cry out, rendered absolutely helpless by the pleasure she is providing you.
“‘M not pretty girl, I’m not stopping,” she coos, brushing some hair off your sweaty forehead, “‘m not, ‘m gonna make you feel so so good…”
The room is filled with both of your heavy breathing, along with the obscene sound of Natasha’s pussy rubbing against yours.
“You hear that ? How fucking wet you are for me ?” She asks through a moan, a smug grin pulling at her lips, “you’re making a mess all over the bed, sweet thing.”
You were about to retort something about how she was contributing to the mess but your quick wit dies on your tongue when her clit rolls particularly hard against yours.
“Oh fuck, Nat,” you exhale in an blissed breath.
“Yeah that’s it,” her hips find a new fervor, quickening her rhythm, “say my name, baby, let your neighbors know who’s fucking you this good.”
She leans in, catching one of your nipples in her mouth and a guttural and downright pornographic moan leaves you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel your walls flutter around nothing, the pressure on your clit feels nothing short of heavenly and you can feel your orgasm starting to creep up on you. Your hand trade in her hair, gripping a handful of it and pulling so she lets go of your abused nipple, forcing her to look at you.
“Make me cum, Nat, please,” you cup her face, capturing her lips into a pleading kiss, quite literally begging into her mouth, “please make me cum, I need it so bad.”
The smile that overtakes her face is sinfully predatory, she pulls you in for another kiss, her tongue languidly licking over your bottom lip before dancing with yours and exploring the confines of your mouth.
“I will, sweetheart, I will, I’m gonna take care of you, don’t worry…” she soothes your frantic pleading.
She straightens back up, towering over where you are comfortably laying on your pillows while she continues to fuck your fluttering pussy. Natasha looks akin to a goddess like that, looking down at you with her lust blown eyes, her core smearing the mix of both your slick all over you. A wanton moan escapes your throat when Natasha’s hands grip the back of your knees, pushing your legs forward and widening them a bit more, leaving your weeping cunt completely exposed to her loving assault.
“Nat, oh my god, that feels so good !” You cry out when her hips suddenly switch their thrusting motion for a circular one.
Her clit dances with yours, circulating it passionately.
“Look at how beautiful your little clit is, all swollen and twitching just for me… are you close, baby ? Gonna cum for me and scream my name ?”
You nod frantically, unable to voice out with coherent words the sheer amount of pleasure flowing through your veins at the moment. And sometimes you wondered how the hell she could string together sentences when she was fucking you like that.
Natasha presses down harder on you, accelerating her circular motion, “oh yeah,” she moans out and her sounds are only fueling the rubber band that’s on the verge of snapping in your lower stomach, “that feels really good, you feel amazing, pretty girl, your pussy is perfect, you’re perfect— ah fuck…”
You can tell by the way she is rambling that she is close as well, and you marvel at how her hips are capable of keeping that delicious cadence. You beckon her down so your hands are able to cup her beautiful breasts, the weight of them is heavenly in your hands and the shiver that shakes her spine when your thumbs pass over her nipples has you clenching down hard.
“Cum with me, please, baby ?” You plead, desperate to fall over the edge with her.
This time, Natasha is only capable of nodding, her eyes half lidded by the pleasure.
Your breathing is already frenetic when Natasha’s pace quickens, eager to bring you both to orgasms, and it only takes another pass of her clit against yours for the rubber band to finally snap.
The moan that rips from your throat echoes loudly in the room as your head is thrown back against your pillows, the sensation is overwhelming, locking your every muscle into place as you are rendered completely helpless to the waves of white hot pleasure overtaking your body. And through the mind fog your orgasm is inflicting upon you, you hear Natasha letting out a whimper as her hips stutter and you even feel the strong pulse of her clit against your sensitive one as she rides out her high, feeling some of her hot slick dripping down on you and contributing to the wet puddle beneath your ass.
When you finally come back down, both of you are breathless, flushed and absolutely spent.
“Wanna go again ?” Natasha grins down at you, affectionately nudging her nose with yours, “you can be on top this time.”
Or so you thought.
Author’s note : I’m trying out the Drabble style, to post some quick little things to avoid the useless rambling I do in longer fics, I hope you guys will like it !! First time writing for Natasha, I’m very excited !! And if that was a little too “freaky”, please let me know, I'm still experimenting with writing smut so yeah don't hesitate to let me know if that was not it
Also my deepest apologies if the smut is bad or inaccurate, I’ve never had sex with a woman so…👀
“ stupid primus, stop picking on me ” transformers concubus au
cybertronian darling! x yan! transformers
nsfw (× dubious consent—nonconsensual in some parts)/valveplug/18+!
mtmte/idw
𖹭 brainstorm, tailgate, tarn
concubus! yan! brainstorm has never needed his concubus abilities to get him anywhere in life. still, they're an undeniable asset. make the product. get the money. wipe the buyer's memory if he thinks they'll snitch on him. he doesn't have any qualms about unabashedly taking what he wants from life forms. whether that be information or transfluid. he is also diffident of tender intimacy.
you were another mark. he was hurt, relatively so, and you helped. he was going to seduce (use) you, but something stopped him. your touch wasn't selfish. you risked your spark to help him. so he may as well humor you a little. use your resources, then wipe your pretty processor, as he's done to so many others.
he does. don't get it twisted.
but he comes back and is your savior now after getting you out of an impossible situation. your confused expression is so cute. it's almost like the one you make when you overload. he slips things into the conversation that are giveaways. this new mech knows things about you that he shouldn't. if you ever get too wise, he'll lull you into complacency again.
he tells himself that all he's doing is settling a score—a debt you forced him to have by virtue of being you.
however, his servos grab at you needily, intent on not letting go until he's had his fill. your soft touch is what he craves. it's what he'll erase everything else in your life but him for. he's never wanted like this. like a malfunctioning machine that needs one more turn to get its final cog in and working. he wonders if this is how his victims feel. more importantly, if you feel his way towards him.
you become his travel companion. and his favorite test subject. at the very least, the inventions he tests on you are for your pleasure, not pain (most of the time.) he has to keep you in line somehow. making you a perfect subby masochist is how he does it. keeping most of your memories intact has proved more useful to him, so he'd rather not continue to tweak your circuits.
he's the best of the best. he has no reason to be nervous about accidentally erasing the part of you that he's (in love with)—that he finds advantageous.
there's nothing better than entering his lab and finding you being fragged silly by something he created with his two talented servos. nothing could ever be as good as the real thing, his spike, but your arousal helps him concentrate, and the paranoid part of him enjoys stockpiling the pabulum you create for him.
concubus! yan! tailgate is as delusional as they get. he thinks his natural charm and attractive aura means everyone loves him no matter what. he's never had trouble making friends or attracting berthmates. he has had trouble not being taken advantage of, but that's a minority of his experiences. so with all that, you must love him! every glance and fleeting touch is a reminder that you're his sparkmate. it isn't that he purposefully bumps into you or is always engaging with you to inhance your attraction to him. no... tailgate would never... okay, yeah. he does.
he quite often accidentally gets you horny and makes you overload behind your panel. he just doesn't think to control his abilities when you're around. it's instinctive so it must mean it's good, yeah? besides, he's giving you pleasure! there's no need to be embarrassed. he'd love nothing more than to have you slide back your interface panel so he could clean you up himself. he's really good with his glossa and servos! everyone tells him that.
he's insanely possessive when other concubus are present. their charm tries to lead you away from his, even if it isn't purposeful. it leads to him nagging you for your attention, pulling at any limbs he can get a hold of to lead you away from them. he'll resort to his most devastating ability if you refuse to listen (about anything): pouting. it's impossible to focus when he starts doing so.
he immediately perks up when you finally give in and return your affections to him.
for obvious reasons your interactions with rodimus are limited. tailgate's possessiveness may be warranted around him. rodimus has been known to attract plenty of cybertronians that are already bonded and in monogamous relationships. so if he isn't even bonded to you yet (officially), you're super vulnerable to the prime's sex appeal!
after getting diagnosed with cybercrosis, he's super-duper attached to you. he's firm in his belief that he'll transfer over what's left in his spark right before he goes offline so you can become a concubus. even if he isn't thrilled at the idea of you having other romantic relationships outside of him, and maybe cyclonus, he knows it'll be for your own good. that way you'll always have him in you.
what he didn't expect is that cyclonus and you refused to let him fade away. he's never felt so loved. he was so adamant on making sure you could handle his death, seeing as how the fatality rate was a hundred percent, that he didn't think the both of you would work together non-stop to save him. by doing that, you unknowingly accepted his concubus bond. oopsies.
it isn't as if you should be upset or anything! he knew you'd come around eventually. you must have been planning it because what's more romantic than to save his life and bond yourself to him?
concubus! yan! tarn has always prided himself on his self-restraint. megatron made him the mech he is today, tamed his concubus nature and made him into something that was to be feared, not preyed upon. yet all training is muted when he laid his optics on you. he almost activated his outlier ability so he could seize everybody's spark but yours. then he could take you in peace. your frame trembling as he threatened you to give in. he didn't. he held his composure, but all he could envision was guzzling down your transfluid like a starving concubus.
perhaps that isn't far from the truth. his work doesn't permit him to play with his food, so he receives it pre-packaged. it's nothing like fresh supply, straight from the source.
tarn is nothing if not devoted. the decepticons have always come first. now you have to be part of the cause because that's the only way he can reconcile his feelings without betraying megatron or depriving himself of you.
it goes one of two ways.
if you're his superior, then he's your new lapdog. yes, he is ultimately loyal to megatron, but a leash can trade servos while the collar stays the same. his outlier ability is used on you sparingly, unless he's given permission otherwise, but he can't help but revel in momentarily breaking your composure. that flush on your faceplate combined with the arousal wafting off of you is irresistible. it makes him wet enough that he has to press his legs together, paranoid that lubricant will escape his sealed panel.
knowing he can make your spark hum gets him off. the one being he can explore his abilities with. he learns that he can do more than make a spark quiver or self-destruct. he can influence one's frame responses through their spark. he's learned what frequency makes you horny.
being tugged around while knowing that he isn't at risk of being offlined is equally tantalizing. you're someone he can blindly trust, right below megatron. you say "kill," and he executes your will unflinchingly. it's brutal in an attempt to impress you. he can't afford mistakes when he's working to feed off you.
he always sets the mood with music before taking your frame. he's always precise in his movements, careful in deciphering your wants and needs without you voicing them. you're a finely tuned instrument that he masterfully plays. each sound of yours is a note for him to savor as he plucks another string to hear it again.
when he hasn't quite earned you, he ends up humping you, mask off, as he promises that he'll listen to your every command before he releases.
if you're beneath him, an autobot, or a lowly traitor, then you may as well name him your purgatory. you will be trapped by his voice and servos till either of your sparks is snuffed out.
he waited till you were alone to capture you. you may be someone he is bound to offline, but he can push your name down the list as he makes use of you. a captive fresh supply of transfluid.
you are no longer what you were. you are subsistence.
he causes you dolor, then feasts on you till your frame gives out. he often invades your recharging processor, never letting you overload. whenever you've displeased him, he edges you until he finds that you're sufficiently apologetic. if that doesn't please him, then making your spark tremor in your chassis is sure to.
if you are good, very good, then he may move you to a chained-up state in either his office or habsuite. you will be in quite a compromising position for easy access. he expects you to speak only when spoken to. if you manage to behave and take his abuse well, then perhaps he'll think about giving you a privilege or two. you may be able to walk around or attend DJD meetings, chained up and muzzled, obviously. don't think that makes you any safer from him. he'll punish you in the hallway or in front of his entire crew so you know not to misuse what you have so graciously been given.
no one else acknowledges you, unless on the rare occasion tarn instructs them to. they are discouraged from even making optic contact with you, much less conversing. on the occasion, nickel tends to you. don't attempt to gain her pity. you may as well be a supply of energon she's making sure doesn't spoil—and, well, you are.
he has marked you since your first capture and will play with the idea of bonding you to him. it will happen. it isn't a privilege you've earned yet.
he is sure that you'll never escape. any traitors that would attempt to aid you in any way can be quickly taken care of. he's well connected, so you wouldn't be able to run far. others knowing that you're marked by him will make your chances of escaping and staying out exceptionally slim.
he never lets you forget who you belong to. you are a thing of pleasure. something that he needs to live. and you thrive off of his commands, especially one little word—overload.
transformers prime
𖹭 soundwave
concubus! yan! soundwave isn't a transformer that you'd believe to hold such a power. he doesn't seek connection. he controls, stalks, and takes. that's what makes him so menacing. you only realize he's obsessed with you after he has you in his grasp. a grasp that will never loosen, because he knows what happens to things that leave his optic sight.
he has always kept his concubus nature a tightly held secret: living off of others getting off to him, taking their essence, erasing their memories of him, and keeping tabs in case he has to seek them out again. despite all of the advantages of being a concubus, he sees the alienation in how he survives to be his biggest weakness.
if all other beings seek to dominate your kind, you must dominate them first.
he chooses you not because of your status or ability. he chooses you because you align with the compatibility algorithm he created. one would be quick to overlook you without a second thought, but soundwave is monitoring you more heavily than anyone else inside the decepticon ranks, besides starscream, but that's an unfortunate necessity.
he has entire banks of data stored pertaining to you, meticulously cataloged and encrypted so heavily that it'd take millions of years for the smartest cybertronian hacker to infiltrate them, only to see them erase themselves as if the data was nothing more than a mirage.
you become his main food source, with shockwave being secondary—seeing as how he managed to create a mutual agreement in the slim chance that innumerable factors come into play and you cannot satiate him for an amount of time.
he orders you to him under false pretenses. then explains what will happen and how you will comply. you wouldn't want him to release all the files he has on you, especially the ones that could indicate treason, or when you pleasured yourself. he takes stock of your entire frame in an isolated place, not for your comfort but for his protection. no passerby need be privy to this.
he uses his data cables to open your valve. he measures your spike and tests its dexterity. your intake is probed, so is your aft, your entire frame really—but your most sensitive parts are given extra attention. he lists your fertility and willingness as factors too. all the while he's recording the entire thing, taking snapshots so he can review them later.
he can sense you becoming aroused. as well as your shame because you don't think of him as a sexual being. he's also your superior, and here you are trying not to pant or drip lubricant. it's normal. you should know that. but he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't taking his time, perhaps to an irresponsible extent, just to get you riled up. only to leave you aching and ready but alone so he can record your reactions and take any samples you leave. yes, he has tasted your transfluid before. you aren't always thorough in cleaning up your messes; a sloppiness that shouldn't be tolerated but happens to be convenient for him.
the room he monitors from now requires multiple forms of identification instead of a code and a quick scan. this is because he quite often has your frame in use. the fuller you are of him, the better he performs. any data cables not in use are buried inside you. he's had specialized ports installed on your frame just for him. if you aren't being penetrated in multiplicity, then soundwave must be incredibly busy. you become an extension of him, almost like one of his cassettes. you know pleasure, refueling, and rest, but not much else. clear thought would allow you to scheme. you are much more useful to him blissfully submissive. if he could mould you to his frame, he would.
concubus! yan! diver is the reason stories of sirens exist, partially. as much as he yearned for a cybertronian sparkmate, he had to settle for surviving on organics. unlike any concubus aquatic pretender destron counterparts, diver never harmed those he lulled into the ocean. he worshipped the humans he seduced, mindful of their fleshy nature.
he has to admit that his hunger was never fully satiated, even when he interfaced with his fellow cybertron pretenders. his spark yearned for something more. hundreds of thousands of years on earth, and he didn't know what until he met you. you were part of an in-space unit and, at chromedome's request, came to help the cybertrons on earth defeat the destrons. if seeing you for the first time and feeling buzzed off your e.m. field wasn't enough, learning that your alt-mode functioned best in the water was all he needed to confirm that you were made to be his.
throughout his time on earth, he's preserved their oceans. now all he can think about is how much he wants to defile you in one of them.
his easy-going personality is easy to be disarmed by. he isn't isolating you from the others. he just needs a lot of help, and you're a new pair of servos that can do just that. he often forgets that you can still sense his human frame's reaction to you, even if it's somewhat muted. he plays it off as normal biology. you don't know organics, so who are you to argue? him drooling after staring at you for too long is just a quirk of his. he truly doesn't mean to come off as creepy. it's just that he hasn't seen his own kind habitually in their root mode for such a long time.
he insists that you work with him at the ocean research institute of california. you both can dispel water-related problems together!
he will info dump for hours on end to you about the sea and its creatures. it always ends up with him in his root mode, rutting against you while he struggles to think of words to form on his glossa. he won't stop unless you tell him to, so he keeps babbling and overloading and getting high off you. he's a big whiner when he gets lost in you. he's popped his voice box more than once because of it.
sunbathing with him almost always ends up with him spooning you, slipping his spike into you, or your spike into his valve. he loses it if both his array parts are being used at the same time.
other times he'll coax you into the ocean. he only gives when he interfaces with you in the ocean. he'll go as far as to have a conversation with you where he wants you restrained so he can do as he likes.
fisting and stretching are his other two favorite pastimes. he always makes sure you're adequately prepped. he also finds that the transfluid you produce when being stretched tastes the yummiest. seeing your valve being able to take his entire servo will make him overload while his panel is still sealed. managing to get cybertronian sex toys onto earth to stretch you is—not easy, to say the least. but his status as a concubus makes it much easier. even if he somehow has to come up with a lie that he isn't going to be using them on you, the new cybertron on earth, who is also his comrade and who he is definitely not supposed to be fragging.
concubus! yan! lander is the epitome of pleasure. he was taken aback by humanity's capacity for it. the freedom in it that humans have been able to find, even during war, which is something he could not relate to until he learned from them.
his concubus allure extends far past his species. his human form is irresistible, leading to him constantly attracting lovers when not busy with battle. all of this still felt moot at the end of the day. like many other concubus know, no species can quench their hunger quite like their own. his hunger is far greater than other concubuses he's known, which makes it all the more torturous.
then he met you. a pretender who was only supposed to transport materials to them. he knew that he had to have you. he convinced command that your abilities would be far better suited on earth. they need backup anyway. you so easily slide into his amative hold. he so graciously helps acquaint you with your organic body, explaining to you the more carnal reasons as to why it's reacting the way it is around him.
no need to be shy.
he often invites you to his penthouse in new york city. he isn't subtle about his attraction to you but doesn't push it unless you show interest. he takes you nice and slow in front of one of his many windows, hoping someone out there will look up and make out your silhouettes. there is no shame in it. after you've been thoroughly fucked, he takes great care of you, pouring one of his vintage wines and offering you a glass.
he's determined to know all your forms intimately, especially your root one. there's nothing better than squeezing his valve around your spike or burying it into you as he holds your frame against his. there's so much earth to show you and plenty of places to frag.
you're often subjected to questions about your sexual preferences casually. he states that he's just curious. you both know he intends to turn those curiosities into servos-on experience. he never brings it up in polite company, unless murmuring them to you so you fluster. your embarrassed e.m. field is so irresistible. only when he's the cause of it.
he never really had an interest in bonding until he connected with you. marking? oh, absolutely, and he definitely leaves plenty of marks on you. still, the sentimentality of such a long process. having a conjunx. only you seem to fit into that role. you keep him from hungering, so much so that he'd bet he spends more time fragging you in every position than in active combat. his favorite position will always be elevated lotus.
considering he is the physically strongest out of the autobot pretenders, he's well experienced at keeping you in your place and mechhandling you. taming you is even better. controlling your pleasure drives him wild. submit and let him do what he needs. he may influence you to if you're hesitant. he knows you need it. you're apprehensive, but he'll prove all your skepticism extraneous.
training sessions with him often get hot and heavy. he insists they be private. he does actually attempt to train. you teach him things he didn't know. it's just that you smell so good—look so appealing. sparring with you feels inherently erotic.
trust him. he's better with his body in bed than on the battlefield. you've already experienced that. him being an engineer helps with wire play, which he is also quite fond of. he wants to tinker with your frame just a bit without your knowledge. to make you more sensitive.
you may become bonded to him and not even realize it until he explains it to you. he's so stimulating in presence that you don't realize the new things you're feeling are because of the bond. perhaps he purposefully made it that way. he can't take the chance to let his sparkmate escape. if you knew what truly goes on in his processor, you would've run while you still had the chance.
concubus! yan! metalhawk would choose you over humanity, which is his greatest shame but also his greatest pride. a cybertronian that strikes his spark deeper than the beauty of humanity...
you truly must be a blessing unto him. he's convinced.
a fellow pretender no less, put under his leadership by an off-earth cybertron commander. he isn't sure whether he wants to frag you in your human form or cybertronian form first. in the beginning, he only feels guilt. he should take his time to know you before daydreaming about all the ways he could lovingly take you, drinking from what you produce for him.
shuta immediately picks up on his crush and teases him relentlessly about it. the news spreads to the other headmaster juniors, and now they're playing matchmaker between you and him. you don't understand human dating rituals, thankfully, so for the most part, he can avoid the truth around you.
the other pretenders are more wary of metalhawk's sudden attachment to you. they know he's a concubus. they're in the middle of a great rise in evil. they can't afford their leader to be distracted by his biology.
he partners you with the other pretenders because he can't stop himself from trying to court you while you're in his presence. he needs to nuzzle onto you, taste your e.m. field and organic skin. he craves your metal frame against his, frotting against you, eating you out and sucking you off for so long that your transfluid is dribbling out of his intake.
it's more than that too. he wants to spikewarm while you speak about your past and what you want in your future. he craves the deepest and most depraved things hidden in your processor. all the while he whispers about how much he loves you, how you belong to him and he to you, the fact that he'll never let you go. if you pleaded with him, he would, and that terrifies him. the thought that you could abandon him on a whim.
his persuasive energy will invade your senses more frequently. he swears he doesn't mean it to! he needs it to be your choice, but his nature demands results instead of foolhardy patience.
he'd cut off his own wings if he began to need to trap you. he'd mutilate his frame till there was no lust left if it meant keeping your amity intact.
he just can't stop doubting, even when you let him touch you. when you say you need him to frag you, he momentarily hesitates. his confident exterior cracks to reveal a spark that doesn't know if your attraction is true or a product of his concubus influence.
when you touch him—crave him—he forgets until you're gone his doubts. he never takes more than you give. he gives so much more than he takes, or would ever take. his affections have been withheld for so long. you're the catalyst he's able to release them through.
you soon learn that he has a tiny breeding kink. something he has never allowed himself to indulge in due to the circumstances he lives in. he's seen so much life begin that he can't help but want to produce it as well. his servos always grasp your abdomen and chassis when he takes you. his processor imagines you slowly growing big and round from the sparks you're growing inside you. how he would protect and provide for you. your frame would never ache because he'd always be there to ease it.
you're the reason he so recklessly gives over his leadership to ginrai. someone more focused on the cause needs to lead. it gives him more time with you.
there's more time to explore the unique things his frame can do to you and you to it. he'll always prematurely overload if you play with his wings. thanks to his shining arrow technique, he's been able to harness that energy into setting it course through your frame, making you more horny and stimulated. he can't help but give a little jolt to your valve's nodes; seeing your faceplate contort in pleasure makes him leaky in all the right places. his digits sparking against your spike never cease to have you heavily venting, frame trembling. the transfluid you produce from those ministrations is more filling as well, not that he has a particular preference. it all comes from you.
concubus! yan! phoenix may be the pretender team's communications officer, but he still struggles to confess his infatuation for you. he has always been left in the background: a valued team member but not one that has the spotlight. humans look over him in favor of lander's sex appeal or metalhawk's charisma; even diver has this weird charm that gets him dates. phoenix is always the one night that you can never remember the name of. all you remember is that he gave you an orgasm that you'll never get again.
he's stuck on the german airstrip, which is really isolating. there are very few humans that are honestly turned on by him rambling about code-breaking.
he spent such a long time on earth that he forgot there were other options. non-pretender cybertronian options. when he first heard your vocalizer over the comms, he was pleasantly surprised. learning you were joining their team as a headmaster was a double pleasant surprise. you being interested in his ramblings was triple the pleasantness. knowing that you were going to be stationed near him was four times too much for him to handle.
he daydreamed about your e.m. field and frame while awaiting your arrival. he almost forgot his manners, struggling to keep his hands to himself. slipping into his cybertronian form, your transtector is bigger than he is. that's insanely attractive. but he wants to feel the cybertronian inside it even more.
knowing your original frame is small enough to be able to frag his human form has him feeling hot in the middle of a german winter.
he may seem gruff but really isn't as soon as he opens his mouth. he does his best to impress you. he wants to please you in any way he can. he needs to get you. you're the signal he needs to catch.
when he looks at you, his organic throat runs dry. he coughs and blushes, eyes anywhere but on you. he can talk with you on general things, but anything about love gets him tongue-tied. he better speaks through his actions. he wants to frag you well and good, but no, that insecure part of him doesn't want to be another one-night stand. even if it means you'd never forget the orgasms he gave you.
he's determined to get you to fall in love with him before he frags you. easier said than done. you so effortlessly get him hard. he doesn't think he's ever had to self-service more. against his better judgment, he'll do it in places where you could find him. part of him just wants you to see it and come onto him so he can readily accept and make you weep in ecstasy with his words alone. when he gets going, he can drag multiple overloads out of someone with just his voice.
he's not quiet either when he self-services or frags. if you hear him and give him space, like most would do, he'll know. he can feel it. it hurts. it hurts because you're being polite when he wishes you wouldn't. he needs you to take charge of him so he can take charge of you.
a conversation could fix this relationship or break it. he's not willing to take the risk. he'll make sure you're isolated as much as possible. you only have him, and he's the best thing you could have.
transformers: victory
𖹭 deathsaurus, star saber
concubus! yan! deathsaurus takes what he wants but isn't a brute about it. he saw you and knew he needed to have you at least once. as his loyal soldier, you certainly wouldn't deny him such a thing. deathsaurus marks all of his prey, so every single destron will know deathsaurus fed from you. it inspires awe as well as jealousy. the few other concubus within the destron ranks will also seek you out as a meal. if you are good enough for their supreme commander, then you must really taste good. deathsaurus doesn't share, but that doesn't stop greedy servos from grabbing at you.
it was supposed to be a one-off, lust-fueled, fragging session that left him stuffed. instead, he began to crave more. seeing his soldiers attempt to get you under their allure disgusted him so deeply that he had their sparks carved out and turned into new accessories for his breast animals. he'll ask you if you like them, daring you to question where they came from. at least that takes care of one of your problems as well as one of his...
he seeks you out again, this time in a more public place: a common room. he whispers dirty things into your audials and reassures you that it's fine if anyone sees. he's buried deep into you by the time leozack comes up to him, probably with another bumbling plan that will end in an energon-splattered failure. the second-in-command is undeniably aroused, which only causes deathsaurus to smirk and revel. he calls him off, enjoying the way your valve clenches around one of his spikes in embarrassed prurience.
as so many things come in threes, like his spikes, it's your third time together that seals your fate as his consort. it wasn't planned. he was needy but too prideful to express so. he held a meeting and demanded certain mechs attend. you were late. you weren't, technically. everyone just arrives early. but that isn't an excuse. he doesn't tolerate disrespect of his orders. so he orders his breast animals to drag you to the throne room. you faintly smell of another destron, traces of their e.m. field lingering on yours.
in that moment he required you, so he could seal your bond with him. so you'd never be late again. a step further. you'd never be away from his side unless he allowed it, which would be rarer than the cybertrons besting the destrons. he ordered you up to his throne, on your knees before him. he had you suck off each of his spikes in front of all those that were ordered to attend. he had you slide your interface panel back so his pede could press into your array components.
you were so wet and pressurized for him in front of so many troops. truly vent-taking.
he commands them all to leave when he finally takes you. he asks you if you're truly loyal to him. if this is the path you'll choose. he could've chosen anyone to bond with, but he chose you. he would've felt his spark fracture if you had said no. he would've just sent you off, leaving you marked as his occasional meal, eventually being led on a suicide mission because you would've been a liability that he couldn't entirely account for.
luckily, you accepted. and he soothed any worries you had about the others not respecting you after they saw you in such a degrading position. it was, but it wasn't. you get to touch him—please him. you get to be with him.
he wants you to feel ashamed because you displeased him, not because lower soldiers saw you do so. you now hold power over all of them. only as much as he allows, but still.
you're his consort now.
you get to take his multiple spikes, fill his two valves, and perhaps even spark up his gestation chambers.
is that not an honor only you get? rhetorical, of course it is.
you never want as his consort. perhaps ache for freedom and recharge for your overly-fragged frame, but not much else. no matter the times star saber and the cybertrons attempt to save you from "deathsaurus's influence," you'll always stay with the destrons and valiantly fight against the cybertrons until your last intake. you know the truth about him. the crushing grip of his claws will never be enough to offline you, because you help give him life and the strength to conquer the universe.
concubus! yan! star saber is professional and self-sacrificing by spark, so very few know of his concubus status. only the other brainmasters and deathsaurus are aware.
he feels such overwhelming guilt that he has to keep his true nature a secret from you. at least for now. he can't risk putting you in danger, at least no more than what comes at the cost of war.
he often denies himself any form of pleasure. his spike will be fully pressurized behind his interface panel, valve leaking so much that it threatens to seep through his seams, yet he'll continue calmly giving his speech and gallantly leading his troops. you were standing near him the entire time. the things you do to him. which he loves but hates.
you haven't consented to him jerking off to the thought of you. what if you don't return his affections? he's so dirty for getting aroused near you while you're unaware. it makes him almost as bad as deathsaurus.
the other brainmasters will help him, even if he insists that he doesn't need it. the last thing you need is harassment from your superiors.
braver will come to you with a proposition, telling you that there's a concubus among your ranks that needs to be fed. he calms you down. he makes sure you aren't jumpy when he tells you that he's built a contraption that will stimulate you and collect the fluids. it's sleek and compact, so don't worry! it can stay a secret. star saber feels something inside him when you agree. he has no idea what happened, but he can't concentrate on his work any longer. he has to go back to his habsuite and ends up leaking all over himself as he touches himself in a way that doesn't stifle the building heat in his systems.
if braver is being honest with themself, they are always running low on fuel for the servoful of concubus among them, but star saber requires even more due to his frame and regular exertion. that's why you're the perfect candidate. star saber's love for you will make your transfluid extra filling.
laster and blacker act as back-up, making sure you're safe and content when star saber is too busy to. if star saber's subtleties slipped past your radar, the other brainmasters giving you special attention makes it clear something's up. it's easy to connect the wires.
star saber will still be skittish after you know. he isn't rough in interfacing, but his stamina far exceeds yours. he needs to breed you so badly but doesn't wish to spark you up if that's against your wishes. he may convince you, but he hardly has the time.
once star saber has had you once, you won't ever be allowed to leave his sights again. there was a slim chance of escape before he interfaced with you. now it's zero. your frame is absolutely divine, and he knows it's wrong to always keep you with him, but he's doing it for you: your safety, your health, your pleasure.
he's the supreme commander of the cybertrons. the brainmaster of courage. trust him. will you?
you don't have a choice. he'll win you over if he hasn't already.
Currently imagining fucking our needy boys. Poor babies would rut sooo deep inside of you, snuggling their head deeper into your neck whining 'bout how good your pussy takes him in. Moans and intoxicated whines bouncing off the walls while you're scratching your nails on his back, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Fucking so deep it practically pains him to pull out at this point. Furiously rubbing your cute little puffy clit while biting down your neck. Breeding you full of his seed, not stopping until the only name rolling off your tongue is his.
-Megumi, Satoru, Suguru, Toge, Yuuta, Choso, Cyno, Albedo, Kazuha, Diluc, Dan Heng, Blade, Dr. Ratio, Phoenix, Yoru + your favs!
