Summary: Ralph’s the one hunting you down. So why is it that he feels like prey?
Tw/tags: smut, loss of virginity, small dick!ralph (little ones deserve love, too also he’s got big balls), oral sex (f.receiving), silly humor, unprotected p in v , creampie, degradation/teasing kink, dirty talk, intense orgasms, breeding kink, primal/chase kink, brief dom!ralph, brief body insecurities on Ralph’s part, little fluff, nipple play, doggystyle sex in the woods, desperate kinda rough sex, licking, french kissing, grinding, getting caught (surprise guest: Lauren)…I think that covers everything
Victory is on the tip of his panting tongue. He could almost taste it…
…Or was that just the taste of blood…
Ralph knows he’s not the most athletic man. Hell, he’s never had to lift as little as a finger due to his abundant wealth. But you made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: 30 minutes on the clock, Ralph is meant to hunt you down within this large pine forest, catch you before the end of time, and you’ll surrender yourself to him totally!
After all the push and shove, finally you’ve given him the chance…with some obstacles to hurdle, of course. But Ralph would happily tackle them with the energy of a trained show dog if it meant you were the prize.
Maybe he’s not the best at running but at least the outdoor skills he’s learned from his boy scouting days should give him some advantage. It’s too bad you failed to disclose that you, too, were once both a girl scout and an active member of your high school and college sports teams.
Ralph pats a handkerchief over his reddening sweaty face before wringing out the cloth and placing it back into his shirt pocket. He raises the aluminum round water canteen to his dry lips, shaking it above his tongue when no liquid produces. Frustrated, he tosses it to the ground before moving on to something else that would replenish his energy.
Removing his backpack, he rummages through it for a snack bar. A quick bite should boost his morale and strength. He sits on a nearby tree stump, munching away. Some pesky mosquitoes begin to buzz around him, the honey scent within the snack bar attracting them. Bloody hell…he wishes he hadn’t worn these shorts but he wanted to look the part of a hunter and you, the innocent deer.
But this was only just the beginning of his problems. The food had now attracted a curious squirrel, scurrying its way up to him. Ralph puffs his chest, recalling an animal fact about potential dangerous squirrel encounters: make yourself look bigger.
Or…was that for bears?
The squirrel screeches at him and Ralph raises his hands in caution, trying to reason with the animal. Instead the furry fiend lunges forward in attack, prompting Ralph to yelp and make for an exit.
Ralph’s going in the complete opposite direction from where he’d believe to have seen you and, according to his pocket-watch, he’s only got 5 minutes left. After a couple of circles around the area, he finally makes the smart decision to throw the snack far enough for the squirrel to head in its direction. He takes the time to catch his breath, desperately gasping for air.
“Oh, lover boy,” You call over his shoulder, stepping away once he’s turning to face you. “You’ve still got 10 seconds left on the clock. Catch me.”
“Coming, darling.” Ralph rasps weakly but he’s immediately tripped up by one shoe he’d removed and thrown at the creature. Now he lies on his back, hyperventilating and defeated. It is officially…
Game. Over.
“I win.” You gloat.
“That you did, darling. Good show.” Ralph praises exhaustively, attempting to sit up. With your foot on his shoulder, you push him back into the dirt.
He glances up at you in both confusion and awe as you lower yourself onto his lap, sitting directly on his hardening member. You look absolutely stunning in your thin tulle-like night dress that clings to your perspired body like a second skin. The image is reminiscent to gazing upon a greek sculpture with a thin veil of fabric wrapped around your voluptuous frame that leaves little to the imagination, breasts and warm core silhouetted by the sheer cloth. You don fluffy deer ears above your head along with a matching tail that fit nicely inside your ass.
Such a sinful sight yet so heavenly that it burns his eyes as if he’s staring directly at a celestial being. Ralph doesn’t think he deserves to witness such beauty but you wanted him to gaze upon the unholiness so he’d be exposed to the kinkiest of things people of his time had not yet seen before.
You lower, hovering your face over his before your tongue traces along his jaw, collecting the sweat streaming down it. “I really like seeing the lengths you’d go through for me. So uncoordinated, pathetic, shameful…and yet you make me so wet. I want to see that look on your face all of the time, I think.”
Before he can speak, your lips are planted on his cracked lips. Your hot mouth and your eager tongue is a devilish combination. You lap wildly against his tongue, ensuring you exchange saliva.
He’s inexperienced; an untouched virgin ready to be defiled and sullied. His heart pounds in his chest at an alarmingly fast rate, not believing that this could be happening to him.
And yet your hands interlocking with his ground him—literally ground him as you pin his hands down to the dirt. Your hips undulate, finding the perfect position to capture his clothed mushroom tip between your sopping folds.
Ralph can hardly breathe from both the overwhelming sensation of your kisses and the exhaustion of today’s hunt. You are anything but merciful to his plight, however, as you give him no room to catch his breath. All he can do is find some moments to gasp in between devouring kisses before your tongue shoves back down his throat. This was a kind of hunger he didn’t think to be possible but it’s better than he could have ever dreamed.
“Want your cock.” You whine against his eager tongue that returned your feverish licking in kind.
“You can have it,” He rasps just as desperately, a cry bubbling in his throat when you offer sloppy kisses onto his thick neck. “It has always been yours to own.”
You moan at his response. Regardless of his inexperience, the man had a way with words and knew exactly the kind of things to say to satisfy you. Such a good boy.
“Just one request?” He asks hotly in your ear, pulling you close against him; chest to chest, with his large gorgeous hands once you release them.
“Go on, Ralphie.” You coo, rolling your hips even harder against him and eliciting yet another high-pitched whine.
“I wish to taste you,” He says, begging. “I’ve dreamt of your taste for so many lonely nights. Delusions of you in the empty space in my bed as if you were really mine. With just a taste, if i never get to have you again, I think savoring you will be just enough to keep me sane.”
Overcome with emotion by his words, you kiss him passionately once more, sucking on his tongue as if you, too, wished to savor his taste.
“What an eager little virgin you are,” You cruelly tease. “I’m not entirely convinced you’ll handle yourself fine between my legs. A woman’s pleasure is quite difficult to master and to be honest…when I first met you, I didn’t think you liked women.”
He’s flustered and tripping over his words but you place a finger against his lips, soothingly hushing him.
“It’s alright, Ralphie,” You say before placing a quick kiss on his pouty lips. “I don’t mind a man that’s a little effeminate. I find it exhilarating when a man is in touch with his feminine side. That shows to me that you’ll be willing to learn. So…I suppose I’ll humour you.”
You slide off his lap, allowing him the chance to see the mess you’ve made of his khaki explorer shorts. A tortured groan escapes his parted kiss-swollen lips when he sees the slick trail you’d left on the crotch area. The thought of his painfully erect cock soon being coated in your creamy release nearly has him coming on the spot. He palms his hardened member, squeezing to keep its erratic jumping at bay.
“Will you please undress me, Ralphie?” You ask sweetly, lying back on your elbows against the soft moss.
“As you wish.” He says, reaching towards you with trembling hands.
You stare up at him, anticipating; fawn-like eyes carrying a hint of mischief in them. You drag your bottom lip between your teeth once he begins to unravel the bow around your waistline. His breathing picks up when the bow slips off and gently falls behind you. With his fingers hooked on either sides of your dress, he cautiously parts it.
Ralph’s breath hitches once your breasts come to view, perky nipples calling for his tongue to travel them. He separates the dress oh so slowly and calculated so that the thin fabric could caress your skin as if it were his lips tracing along it instead. You whine, head thrown back when a cool breeze passes by; a gently brush felt on your sensitive peaks.
Unable to contain himself, he leans forward above you to train his long and thick tongue from your tummy, between the valley of your breasts, to your perky nubs. He teases you with his talented mouth in earnest, moaning when your hands weave into his hair to keep him in place.
His teeth lightly nibble earning a surprise squeal and giggle from you. When his tongue glides back up your neck, you tug on his hair forcing him to capture your lips once more. The kiss is sloppy—again a result of his inexperience—but still you find yourself moaning into the kiss, curling your arms around his neck so he doesn’t part for air longer than you can wait.
You’re the one to break the kiss, standing on your feet and towering over him on his knees. Ralph gets the picture, eyes fluttering shut as he places wet kisses along your inner thighs and bask in your fingers weaving in his hair.
He pulls you closer by your legs, slotting your creamy pussy over his drooling tongue. You let out another gasp that morphs into a moan when the rough texture of his dry lips clamp around your clit, suckling lightly.
Sweet Ralph, so determined and devoted to you; his one goal is to satisfy your every desire. Your biting words and insults have only ever served as a form of encouragement for him. He’ll handle your mean behavior any day for as long as he gets to call you his or gets to have your sobbing cunt over his face again.
You lean against the nearest tree, mouth open and brows furrowed almost as if your pain. In a way, you are because this man knew how to take your fucking breath away and now you’re struggling to let out some relief of the cries bubbling within your throat.
Then, his eyes fly open at the same time his tongue thrusts into your tight core and speech finds you again.
“Fuuuck, Ralph! Please! Oh god,” You whimper, hand cupping the back of his head while the other lays against the tree behind you for support.
He hums moans and forces out groans from the back of his throat with your every plea, eyes staring intensely as you fall apart on his tongue.
He’s doing this to you with absolutely no coaching on your part?!
“Oh, darling,” He whispers against your flesh, making out with your puffy pussy between words. “Tell me this isn’t a dream. Please I must know.”
You answer his plea by tugging on his hair roughly. He lowly growls at this, pretty lips turned up an a lust-filled feral snarl before he dives back into you. He raises you completely off the ground now, using the tree as leverage as he drapes your legs over his shoulders.
“So fucking good,” You pant, hand moving away from the tree to glide down your body as if you could feel the pleasure traveling through it. Then, your eyes widen as the sensation settles at the pits of tummy. As it tightens, you begin to hyperventilate, riding his face. “Ralph, fu—ohmygodohmygodohmygod!”
With expert precision, he circles your clit with his tongue while his big brown eyes shine up at you like a lovesick puppy. Finally, he slips a finger into you and immediately the flood gates open, soaking his hands, the lower half of his face—practically everything in sight—with your wetness. Your eyes roll back, lids twitching as it shoots out of you like a geyser surprising the both of you as you squeal in delight.
Though, he doesn’t understand what he’d done he continues to lap away at whatever you gave him until you forcibly pull him away.
You tremble, shaky legs unable to remain rigid enough to rest on his shoulders. You find yourself weakly sliding down into his lap, folded in half, legs still raise in the air where your feet and anklet dangle beside his ears.
Ralph pulls you away from resting on the tree so he can kiss you once more, making you taste yourself in the process.
“I hope I gave you the pleasure you deserved, my love.” He says.
He hopes?! That man made you see God and he’s still unconvinced of his skills?!
You being teasingly mean as always, you respond in a way that one would call…’nonchalant’.
“It was satisfactory.” You reply, expecting him to throw a fit but instead he beams with pride.
Ralph was once told by his papa in a man to man conversation regarding women that, irregardless of a man’s size, as long as a man knew how to pleasure their women with their tongue then they shall remain happy. It’s a sentiment Ralph held dear, honing in on learning the art of cunnilingus through saucy literature reads he’d ‘stumble’ upon in his maid’s room.
And you would come to appreciate him for this as you will soon find out that he lacks in the key department you seek.
“I want you inside me. Please take me.” You beg, kissing his neck feverishly. Your eager hands tear open his explorer button down shirt, buttons scattering in between your bodies and onto the dirt. But your concerns lie with feeling his bare frame flushed against yours, ferverently canting your hips downward.
Ralph nervously searches his mind for an explanation or a way out of giving you his cock. When you made the offer to surrender yourself, he didn’t think that meant getting to fuck you. Hell, he didn’t even win your little game to expect such a blessing to begin with. And although he is grateful, he’d rather you be in love with him enough that seeing his tiny cock and unathletic frame wouldn’t resort to you fleeing from him again. He’s already got some work to do regarding your perception of him as is.
“Could I take you…from behind?” He loathes himself for being such a coward. The first time he gets to make love to you and he won’t even get to see your pretty faces.
“Is it to punish me for escape you, Ralphie?”
“No, darling!”
“I wouldn’t mind if it were my punishment,” You whisper, fingers looping around the waistband of his shorts. “I was rather cruel to you. I knew you’d lose. That there was a chance you’d never get me. I watched on close by—you, a sweltering fool—you were none the wiser.”
Your words to provoke had done enough.
“Turn around.” He growls and you rush to comply, climbing off his lap to eagerly get into position.
Meanwhile, he’s frantically removing articles of clothing; tossing his explorer vest, his now ruined dress shirt, his undershirt, then his hat, then focusing on loosening the ascot around his neck—fuck, it’s amazingly frustrating how many layers of clothing he wore.
Impatience takes over once you notice that his pants still clung to his waist with the support of a heavy duty belt. You turn over for a moment, fumbling with the zipper and buttons of his pants. You’d completely forgotten to unbuckle his belt, whimpering and whining when his pants didn’t seem to budge. Ralph finally assists you, guiding your hands to his belt’s buckle until his pants pool around his knees.
You take in his almost bare form. He’s pale, thin but surprisingly lean. If you wanted to, you could easily overpower him. How…exhilarating.
Ralph squirms under your gaze, feeling self-conscious. He never had any issue with himself but of course he just wants to be perfect for you.
He’s seconds from asking if you want to stop but your hands find the last barrier of clothing separating him from you. You gage his reaction, not once tearing your eyes from his face, while your hands lower his white briefs. His cock springs upward and you observe it in its glory. It’s two-toned schlong with the base being slightly darker than the tip. It’s curvy with a fat girth size though it’s smaller in the length department.
His cock is so goddamn pretty to look at, you have a hard time being mean and cheeky at his expense. All you want to do is worship it, suck his fat breeding balls into your mouth.
With one deliberate finger, you feather touch along his length, riding the smooth pattern of his veins and collecting his sticky essence.
He breathes unevenly, heart pounding as you rub precum over his lips like lipgloss. It should humiliate him but instead this makes his cock jump even more. You suck the slick essence off, starting with his upper lip then swirling your tongue to capture his lower lip.
It’s in the heat of this exchange that you realize even if he had the world’s smallest cock, you’d still fuck him stupid. You’ve dropped suitors for much less reasons yet here you are offering yourself on a silver platter to a man who’d been annoyingly infatuated with you.
Where you could’ve easily take advantage of his money and never return your affections, you latterly chose to be have his virgin ‘coke can’ cock penetrate you with no certainty you’ll even get off! Yet still it’s so fucking worth it.
You go on all fours. Your furry tail is still lodged tightly in your puckered hole, the length of it is draped between your legs.
With one hand off the ground, you hold onto the cosplay piece, allowing him a view of your glistening core from behind. He sees it contracting in a prominent visual that says if he were to stick himself in you, he’d have trouble pulling out ever again; a cushy vortex ready to suck in anything it latches onto.
Dear god, he’ll be lucky if he makes it past a minute…
“Give it to me, baby, please!” You plead him, rocking backward and forward.
“Yes, I’ll give you exactly what you need, darlin’,”He whispers, failing to sound as confident as he planned to fake. “J-Just a moment.”
He settles behind you, lining himself with your entrance while he tries focusing on not coming. The tip sinks in first. A stretch that has both your mouths falling open and eyes rolling back.
Inch by inch he feeds more of himself to you before finding an awkward and shallow rhythm to follow that leaves little to be desired.
The problem is… it feels good. Too good. But the feeling’s fleeting. Almost as if you’re imagining it. He’s so scared to stay in too deep; to allow your hungry pussy to entrap him for too long. He’ll cum immediately the longer he allows himself to stay buried, so he hits into you with quick thrusts that has him whining and gripping your waist while you burn hotter and hotter with an unquenchable heat.
“You feel absolutely wonderful, darling,” Ralph breathes, a timid sliding down your arching back. “The best feeling in the world.”
Pent-up frustration takes over once more as you begin to impatiently rock back against him, forcing him in deeper and keeping him in longer. You understood that the further you pull away, the more annoyed you’ll get with his cock slipping out of you. So again, you find yourself taking the reins from him as you hooked your legs over his to keep him locked in you. You press your face and the lower half of your body into the cold dirt before you’re crashing your hips harshly back against him.
“Ooo, fuuuuck. Your little cock is actually so fucking good when you’re not being stingy with it.” You tease, hardened nipples grazing the tiny abrasive rocks embedded in the soil.
He’s hopeless against your thrusts, his nails now digging into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as you force him to pound into you. The leverage with your legs lets you push and pull his body as you please, setting the pace. The force of the hammering thrusts causes the anal plug to knock against a sensitive point that falls in sync with his fat tip bullying your g-spot.
“Unh, oh my…g-god,” Ralph is on the verge of tears by this point, overwhelmed by the sensation. There is nothing on this earth comparable to a feeling like this. Not even the feeling of being high on the purest of cocaine. Slowly, he finds himself losing the words to better articulate his pleasure in you, babbling and whimpering nonsensical pleas. “Oh, sh-shit. Please…i’m can’t —mmm.”
You force yourself up on your hands again, looking back at him with a devilish smirk and siren eyes as you continue to puppet him; forcing him to wreck your walls over and over.
“You’re so pretty,” You whisper before sinking your teeth into his inner arm that rested beside your head. “I kinda regret not riding you. Would have loved watching every little stupid face you make…but this’ll do.”
The thrusts become more erratic as Ralph shouts the approach of his impending release. You almost would have considered him a shameless virgin until you felt a scarily ascending feeling stirring in the pit of your belly. The less you allow Ralph to withdraw from you, the more it grew until he’s not pulling out at all; only rocking into you.
“Talk me through it, baby. Wanna hear your pretty voice whilst I take this pretty cock.”
“It’s so good, love,” He sobs, hands grabbing your shoulders to force you onto his cock. He feels delirious. Like a wild animal taking over. Maybe it’s the fact that the two of you are alone in the forest with only the distance sounds of the jungle that’s making him become a feral beast but he soon cracks under the same frustrations you found yourself in; desperate to be closer until he’s falling onto your proned body. His thrusts continue to grind you into the dirt, your swollen clit tickled by the soft greenery beaneath you until you’re surprised by your mutual orgasms. Your pussy contracts and gushes around him, creaming his wild pubes and thick base. “That’s right take my cock. Let me mold myself to fit inside you forever.”
“God, yes. Please mold me, Ralphie. My pussy’s made for you. Now give me all your come. Please, pretty please…I’ll be so good. Just breed me.” You mewl, tears escaping your eyes at the power of your orgasm.
He shoots his hot cum into you, pulling you back by your hair and turning your face so he can properly french kiss you.
You bite his bottom lip holding him there until he spurts the last of his semen into you
He laid on top of you, not yet pulling out even after he’d finished. The two of you continue making out for a few minutes before he reluctantly pulls out of you. The two of you groan at the sudden loss of each other but he doesn’t part from you for long, lying on his back beside you before pull you into his perspired chest.
“That was…beyond human comprehension.” Ralph chuckles.
“You said it,” You say, panting softly against him. “I really do love you, Ralph Penbury. I hope you know this is true.”
“I do know this, love,” He whispers, placing a chaste kiss on your sweaty temple. “But I’ll gladly chase you into the darkest, grimiest parts of the jungle for you. I love you, too.”
The two of you rest together in perfect harmony, staring up at the sky when a startled Lauren stumbles upon your entangled naked frames, screaming and covering her eyes.
“We’re all over by the lake roasting hotdogs while you two play ‘hide the wiener’?!” She tosses her jacket onto the ground then blindly reaches for a nearby tree to guide her back to the site. “Hurry up and dress or I’m sending your coke-frenzied party attendees right this way to see this ungodly spectacle.”
And then, you and Ralph await for her to be a good distance away before you both begin to laugh hysterically.
Warnings: pure fluff—stay away if you suffer from recurring cavities! 🍬🍡🍭
There will probably be some historical inaccuracies, but we're here to dream, so let's just do it! 💗
The summer of 1929 had descended upon London with an uncharacteristic vengeance, turning the city into a sticky, breathless haze that made even the most proper drawing rooms feel like greenhouses.
Ralph Penbury, however, barely noticed the heat.
His mind had long since abandoned meteorology in favour of a far more pressing obsession: you.
He had always been the sort of young man who fell in love the way other people caught colds—suddenly, dramatically, and with very little regard for self-preservation.
In his twenty-odd years, he had declared his undying devotion to at least four different young ladies, each time accompanied by impromptu serenades, handwritten sonnets of questionable metre and the occasional public display involving too many roses or a rented string quartet.
Once, and unfortunately for him—memorably, even to a peculiar jazz musician dressed in men's clothing—whose rejection had sent him spiralling into the French Foreign Legion (a brief and ill-fated adventure, thankfully aborted before he ever left British soil).
His twin sister Victoria (non-identical) and their circle of friends had responded with the same weary affection one reserves for a particularly enthusiastic puppy: loud laughter, relentless mockery, and some unwelcome pats on his perfectly styled hair.
“Another one, Ralphie?” She would sigh, rolling her eyes as he mooned about the latest object of his affections. “Try not to propose marriage before tea this time.”
The rejections had piled up like unread invitations—polite, freezing, and invariably final. Ralph bore each one with theatrical heartbreak, flinging himself onto chaise longues and composing dirges with his ukulele—only to bounce back within days, convinced the next girl was The One.
It was endearing, in its way.
It was also exhausting.
But then you had made your entrance on the scene.
You were not one of the glittering society girls who flitted through the Penbury twins’ orbit like moths around a chandelier.
You had slipped in quietly, a friend of a friend, with a sharp wit, an insatiable appetite for novels, and a habit of listening—really listening—when Ralph spoke. Where others saw exaggeration and theatricality,
you saw enthusiasm.
Where they rolled their eyes at his improvised rhymes, you smiled softly and asked him to repeat your favourite lines.
You never laughed at him, not once.
Ralph noticed immediately.
How could he not?
It was as though someone had finally tuned the gramophone to the correct speed after years of scratchy, off-key warbling.
He found himself watching you across parlours, memorising the way your brow furrowed when you read, the bright laugh that escaped when one of his more absurd stories landed just right. He catalogued these details the way a miser hoards gold: privately, obsessively, terrified that if he spoke too soon, you would vanish like the others.
For the first time in his life, Ralph Penbury felt the weight of real love and real fear.
Not the dramatic, operatic sort he was accustomed to performing, but something quieter, more vicious: the cold terror that this time, if he got it wrong, the loss would matter. Truly matter.
So he said nothing.
He hovered instead—bringing you extra cushions during long afternoons at the Penburys’ with a warm smile on his face, fetching books he thought you might enjoy from the library before you even asked, lingering just a beat too long when your fingers brushed his while passing a teacup.
Eventually Victoria noticed, of course; she always did.
“You’re being suspiciously quiet lately, brother dear,” she teased one evening over sherry. “No romantic ballads this time? No exaggerated gallant gestures? Have you finally run out of steam?”
Ralph had flushed crimson and muttered something about summer not being the right season for poetry.
Victoria had laughed, amused, assuming it was another fleeting fancy soon to burn itself out.
But it hadn’t.
Days had stretched into weeks and weeks into months, but the feeling had only grown steady, stubborn, terrifying in its quietness.
Ralph no longer wanted to shout his love from rooftops or compose acrostics in your honour (though the temptation remained).
He wanted something smaller. Something true.
Something only yours.
Something that proved he could be more than the court jester.
And so, on this sweltering afternoon in late August, with the sun beating mercilessly against the tall windows of the Penbury townhouse, Ralph had hatched his plan.
It was simple, quite embarrassingly so, but if the enthusiastic words he’d overheard at Victoria's latest party—coming from nothing less than the mouth of one of her most demanding friends—meant what he thought it did… perhaps, just perhaps, he could finally be on the right track.
“Who loves you will peel your fruit, my dear.” She had declared, holding court upon her return from a honeymoon that had cost an arm and a leg (from what was rumored, not that Ralph cared). “There's nothing more boring and annoying in the world. If there's someone who takes care of it for you—without getting paid, I mean—well... that someone really loves you to bits.”
You were certainly not as snobbish and superficial as she was, but you had still nodded to that statement, small but firm.
So, now he sat in the shaded corner of the garden room, a small knife in one trembling hand and a mountain of fruit before him, waiting for you to arrive.
His cream shirt clung to his sweating back, a mutinous curl kept on sticking to his forehead, but he scarcely noticed.
His heart hammered louder than the heat—and it was bloody damned hot that day.
Just before tea time the garden room door opened with a soft creak, admitting a rush of women’s chatter from the foyer and the faint scent of fresh baked biscuits that someone had bravely prepared despite the scorching heat.
You stepped in alone, a well worn volume tucked under one arm (of course) and a soft, easy expression on your clean face.
A few strands of hair—that you continued to wear long despite the current fashion—had escaped their pins to curl against your neck.
Ralph’s heart executed a perfect somersault and landed somewhere near his throat.
You moved through the world with the quiet confidence of someone who had long since decided that propriety was a suggestion rather than a commandment.
He loved your unconventional, independent side.
You were unlike any other girl he'd ever met.
You were unique and irreplaceable, absolutely wonderful.
“Oh—hello miss!” He said, far too surprised, as though he had not spent the last forty minutes rehearsing this exact moment in his head. “Splendid timing. I was just preparing… a little something. For the heat, you know. One must combat this beastly weather with… fresh fruit.” He gestured grandly at the coffee table before him, as if unveiling a priceless artefact rather than a teetering pyramid of peaches, apricots, pears and a single defiant mango that had cost him an embarrassing amount of pocket money at the greengrocer’s.
You paused just inside the threshold, taking in the peculiar scene: Ralph Penbury, posh scion of London high society, with his sleeves rolled to the elbows, collar carefully unbuttoned, a single bead of sweat tracing a slow but determined path down his temple.
Your lips curved and eyes sparkled—soft, knowing, affectionate.
You did not laugh—you’d never laugh at him.
“How thoughtful, Ralph!” You beamed, voice cheerful but threaded with that gentle mischief that always made him feel simultaneously exposed and cherished. “You’ve turned this ordinary space into a sort of… fruit operating room, I see.”
Ralph flushed from collarbone to hairline, brown gaze darting away from you for a brief moment.
“Well—yes. Precisely. One does the best to survive.” He cleared his throat, picked up a peach with the solemnity of a doctor selecting a scalpel, and began to peel. “I thought perhaps you might appreciate not having to wrestle with the wretched things yourself. Fruit can be so… uncooperative.”
The small knife slipped from his trembling fingers, but he managed to catch it just in time, narrowly avoiding an impromptu performance of amateur surgery.
You settled into the wicker chair opposite him, setting your book on the table with deliberate care. It was Virginia Woolf’s ‘A Room of One’s Own’—the copy with your pencil notes in the margins, the one you had confessed made you want to weep and throw things at once.
Ralph remembered, of course.
He remembered every single thing about you.
“I do hate peeling fruit indeed,” you admitted, watching his hands work. “It’s sticky and fiddly and always ends bad with juice dripping everywhere,” you stopped, looking at his concentrated grimace, the tip of his tongue just peeking out between his lips.
Clearly he had never peeled anything in his life before that day, and the thought gave your stomach a languid tug downwards because he was trying so hard to be good at what he was doing.
“I confess this is the first time I have someone volunteer to do battle on my behalf,” you continued in an intimate whisper between the two of you, even though you were still alone—thankfully.
Ralph’s hand paused mid-stroke. He glanced up, eyes wide and earnest under the damp curls that refused to stay in place today. “Then allow me to be the first, dearest. And, er—the only… if you’ll permit it.”
The words hung between you for a heartbeat—too honest, too hurried, too Ralph.
He cursed himself mentally and busied himself back with the peach, slicing it into neat crescents and sliding the gold-rimmed porcelain plate with floral motifs toward you.
You took a piece, bit into it slowly, and let the sweetness burst against your taste buds.
Your gaze never left his reddening face.
“Mmm, delicious.” You smiled. “You’re surprisingly eclectic in your secret talents—but I expected nothing less from a gentleman who once arrived at his own birthday party wearing tap shoes.”
Ralph made a small, strangled sound that was half laugh, half mortified groan. “Ah… You heard about that, too?”
“Victoria is an excellent storyteller.” Your smile was wickedly gentle. “She said you were magnificent in them.”
He grabbed the mango with some urgency, turning it over in his fingers without really knowing where to start the operation.
“Yes… They were quite… wizard,” he muttered without looking at you, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
You watched him wrestle with the unfamiliar, prickly skin; the knife slipping once… twice…
“I can imagine. Do you think I could have the honor of dancing with you at the next party, while you wear them?”
Ralph gasped loudly and fixed his big, soft eyes on yours—distracting himself from the treacherous mission he was trying to complete.
The blade slipped, barely touching the side of his thumb, and a tiny drop of blood appeared on his skin.
He stared at it as though it were a personal betrayal.
“Good Lord,” he squeaked, “I’ve wounded myself in the line of duty.”
Before he could launch into full theatrical despair or faint, you reached across the table, caught his hand gently and pressed your clean handkerchief to the minuscule cut.
“It was a difficult duel, Ralphie,” you said, voice low and fond. “I really appreciate your valor.”
He froze, staring at your fingers curled around his hand.
The blood had already stained the thin white cotton.
You had just called him ‘Ralphie’.
It was the first time.
Suddenly the garden room seemed hotter and smaller, the air thicker, the distant hum of London traffic miles away.
His pulse thundered in his ears and throat.
“I—I’m sorry. I… only wanted—” he swallowed on nothing and tried again. “I only wanted to do something nice and sweet—for you. Only for you. Something that wasn’t… ridiculous… But apparently I'm just not capable of not being a complete mess—”
Your thumb slowly brushed over the back of his hand, trying to comfort him.
“It isn’t ridiculous,” you said quietly. “You are not ridiculous, or a mess. You’re kind, tender… Absolutely perfect.”
Ralph looked at you then—really looked—eyes shining with something fragile and hopeful and utterly unguarded.
For once, he had no words.
No quip, no flourish, no improvised rhyme—just himself, distraught and flushed and trembling—only a breath away from you.
It would have taken very little—for you to lean forward just a little more, for him to slide further just a little onto the leather sofa—and your mouths would have touched.
That would have been enough for Ralph to die happy—finally kissing you, gently holding your face as though you were the most precious thing in the world.
To him, you truly were.
You smiled at him like you knew exactly what he was thinking about, as though you had been waiting for this exact moment all summer.
The moment stretched for long seconds, dainty and electric, with only the low table between you and the ticking of his pocket watch.
Ralph was still holding the offending mango in his free hand—the other still wrapped in your handkerchief—and your fingers were holding it with such care his chest ached in the best way.
His eyes, wide and shining, left yours just for a moment, landing on your mouth.
“Darling…” His breath came shallow and quick, caressing your hot cheeks.
You tilted your head slightly and he did the same, both parting your lips and finally—
The door burst open.
Victoria swept in like a shimmering storm—all sequins and beads and feathers—followed by three of her closest, most giggling friends. They carried a tray of biscuits and a bottle of lemonade that sloshed dangerously to their unexpected halt.
“Oh, Ralphie!” Victoria crowed the instant she saw you both frozen in place, hands still touching across the table. “What on earth is this? A fruit massacre? And you, brother dear, are looking like a man who’s just been caught proposing to the poor mango!”
The girls dissolved into delighted laughter, clustering around like curious birds.
One fanned herself dramatically. “Look at him—positively scarlet! Did we interrupt a tender moment, Ralphie? Or were you simply demonstrating your legendary dexterity with a weapon?”
Ralph’s face went from pink to puce.
He tried to speak, but only managed a strangled “V-Victoria—! Please!” before the words vanished into a mortified silence.
He let go of your hand (but not of the mango), bouncing to his feet like a spring.
You stood up too, but with measured calm, your patience dangerously thinning like ice under that scorching August sun.
You felt the shame rise from his body in bitter waves.
His shoulders hunched as bracing himself for another round of good-natured ridicule—the same ridicule that had followed him in every enthusiastic, spontaneous gesture of affection or excitement.
Many people had laughed at him—not with him—laughed at his hasty declarations of admiration, at his serenades out of tune, at his wizard tap shoes…
But this time it would be different.
This time, on the other side, there was you—in love with him from the very first moment you had seen him, awkward and adorable at the last Christmas party.
So you did not wait anymore.
With a soft, determined exhale, you leaned across the table, fists closing around the fine fabric of his shirt.
“Enough,” you said—quiet but steady, clear enough to cut through the giggles like a bell.
The room stilled.
Victoria’s mouth opened, then closed again.
The girls exchanged bewildered glances.
You tugged him gently, but firm.
Ralph’s eyes flew impossibly wider as you pulled him forward—across the table, over scattered peach slices and the mango that finally rolled forgotten to the floor—and kissed him.
It was not tentative, or shy.
It was sweet, final, peach-flavoured.
He froze for one stunned second before closing his eyelids and melting into you.
His uninjured hand rose instinctively to cradle the back of your neck—uncertain at first, then firmer—as though afraid you might run for the hills if he held on too loosely.
The kiss lasted only a handful of heartbeats, but when you drew back, Ralph’s face was a masterpiece of dazed wonder: lips swollen, cheeks flaming, curls in disarray, eyes glassy with something happier than tears.
The silence in the garden room was deafening.
Then Victoria let out a delighted whoop.
“Well, I never!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands in ecstasy. “My beloved brother, finally getting the girl for whom he had lost his mind—and without a single ballad! Miracles do happen, now I know it!”
Her friends burst into a new wave of cheerful giggles, taking her under arms and turning back the way they had come.
Ralph blinked slowly, like he was waking from the most perfect dream ever.
His voice, when it came out, was hoarse and reverent.
“You… you had just kissed me, darling.”
You smiled, thumb brushing once more over the back of his bandaged hand.
“Yes, Ralphie,” you said softly.
He looked at you as if you'd just grown a new head.
"Why did you do that? In front of Victoria and her friends, no less! In ten minutes, all of London will know and they won't leave you alone!”
You frowned just a moment before walking around the small table, approaching him from his side and placing your fingers on his cheeks.
In addition to the second head, you had also just sprouted wings and a dragon's tail.
“So? What do you want me to care about?!” You were fierce as you caressed his cheekbones with your thumbs. “I would do it again now. Then tomorrow. And the day after. And every day you want to peel fruit for me—or sing off-key, or wear those wizard tap shoes. I would do it as long as you want me to.”
He stared at you, utterly undone.
Then, with a shaky, radiant smile that lit the entire room brighter than the damned sun, Ralph Penbury leaned in and kissed you back—properly this time, with all his clumsy, tender longing.
When you pulled apart for air, you rested your forehead on his, smiling and adjusting his collar. "So... Mrs. Fletpad was right after all: those who truly love you peel your fruit..."
Ralph laughed heartily, giving you another quick peck on the mouth. "Yes, absolutely. Especially the bloody mango.”
Mercy - Emperor Geta x Reader
Geta is not known to be merciful. However, there is one person he can make an exception for | coming soon
An Emperor's Desire - Emperor Geta x Sister!Reader x Emperor Caracalla
Geta and Caracalla adore their little sister Y/n. But Geta's love begins to sway from a brotherly nature. It turns out that Y/n also sees Geta in a different light.
Take A Breath - Emperor Geta x Betrothed!Reader
Geta experiences the weight of his responsibilities as Emperor; he turns to his betrothed for comfort to alleviate his worries.
Insatiable Hunger - Emperor Geta x Sister!Reader x Emperor Caracalla
Geta and Caracalla share a mutual hunger for their little sister. Though unconventional for two Emperors to claim the same woman. Even more so for two brothers claiming their sister as their own.
Eddie Munson
Hey There, Mr Jealous - Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader
Eddie and Y/n are best friends, so when Eddie finds out Steve Harrington asks Y/n on a date, Eddie's jealous side comes out | coming soon
{A} Witcher's Claim - Witcher!Eddie Munson x Reader {AU}
Edward assumes the hero role by rescuing Y/n, the sister of the renowned bard Jaskier, from an unwelcome suitor. In this endeavour, Edward feigns being her husband.
Now or Never - Eddie Munson x Harrington!Reader
Eddie can't hide his feelings for his best friend, Y/n Harrington anymore.
Johnny Storm | Human Torch
Michael
Eric
Tom
Arthur Havisham
Enjolras
Paul Petrovich
Leonard Bast
Sam
Ralph
Coming soon
The Prize of Rome - Lucius Verus x Empress!Reader x Emperor Geta
Y/n was once promised to Lucius, son of Maximus, shortly after his and the death of Commodus. Fleeing so he wouldn't be killed, Y/n's fate was sealed when she was forced to marry Emperor Geta. Now Lucius has returned, fighting as a Gladiator. With the intent of winning back his beloved.
{ I II III IV }
Enraptured - Emperor Geta x Innocent Acacius!Reader
Geta becomes enraptured with Acacius' innocent daughter Y/n. A dangerous obsession begins to take over.
{ I part II coming soon }
Oh, Sister, My Sister - Emperor Geta x Younger Sister!Reader
Loveable You - Johnny Storm x Reader
Mercy - Emperor Geta x Reader
Oh, Sister, My Sister - Emperor Geta x Younger Sister!Reader
The Woods - Werewolf!Eddie Munson x Reader
Can I be your Man now? - Michael x Reader
Laws of Seduction - Knight!Eddie Munson x Princess!Reader
The Prize of Rome (V) - Lucius Verus x Empress!Reader x Emperor Geta
Enraptured (II) - Emperor Geta x Innocent Acacius!Reader
Can't Help Myself - Prince!Edward x Princess!Reader
Hi! I'm Bippot. Below the fold are the links to my individual character masterlists, and the rules and general format for requesting a fic. I hope you enjoy reading, and if you feel inclined to, I'd love to hear your opinions!
Love yous, Bip :)
Adrian 'Vigilante' Chase Masterlist
Jake Martin Masterlist
Jeffrey Steinberg Masterlist
Edward 'Eddie' Munson Masterlist
William 'Billy' Knight Masterlist
Ralph Penbury Masterlist
Robert 'Bob' Floyd Masterlist
Rhett Abbott Masterlist
Robert 'Bob'/'The Sentry' Reynolds
Miles Miller Masterlist
Michael 'Mike' Schmidt
Spencer Reid Masterlist
Scott Miller Masterlist
Requests are - Open
Before you send anything in, here’s a quick idea of what you’re signing up for with my writing. I mainly write female reader inserts and prefer to build full narratives rather than quick blurbs, so expect plot lines and usually a few thousand words. I try to keep it above 2 and below 10k, but a girl likes to waffle, okay? Because of that, requests can take a bit of time, but I always get them done as quickly as I can.
I also prefer writing relationships that aren’t toxic. While the reader might have a messy or unhealthy past relationship, I, personally, hate leaving things with a sad ending or with no release of angst. There can be disagreements and fights and such, but I tend to try to reconcile them in the end. Obviously, sometimes this can't be done, so this isn't a hard rule at all and may be something that we communicate further about.
As for the characters I will write for, it will be any that I've already written for. If you happen to want something with a character whose media I haven't written for in a while, I may need to tack on some extra time to refamiliarise myself with them.
What To Include In Your Request
If you're missing one or whatever, I won't hold it against you.
The character obvi
Preferred tropes/themes and the tone you’re after (fluffy, hurt/comfort, slow burn, comedic)
A basic storyline or concept (even vague is fine; just give me something to work with.)
Whether you’re comfortable with or want spicier content (I will write it, but I sometimes find it tricky to make it sound natural, so those fics may take longer. I'm still happy to try though!)
Any specific details or scenes you’d love included and anything you absolutely do NOT want in the fic.
What I Won't Write
This list may grow over time.
Incest, including step-family dynamics
Detailed abuse
Pure 'plotless' smut (not a hard no, just not what I enjoy writing)
Gender swaps or mpreg
Cannibalism
Random AU's (unfortunately, I hate AU's as I don't really 'get' the appeal unless it's a progression of canon. The OG world a character is from is what shapes them and forms them into the character you love; changing that changes them in my mind, y'know. No hate to those who do - it's personal preference.)
Anons are fine, but your request might not be precisely what you were looking for as I didn't know whom to talk to about any creative liberties I may have taken.
If you’re unsure about something, feel free to ask. The worst I will say is no.
Pick a Blorbo, do you think they can play an instrument/s?
★Askathon★
ralphie can barely play the ukulele. he wanted to play a big guitar but his delicate lil fingers always used to hurt from the strings so he stuck to ukulele. hes a fragile little flower 🥺🥺
