Work Text:
[Y/N] 💙
The latex ensemble was a mistake.
Okay, maybe not a mistake per se, I did order it online two weeks ago with express shipping, and yeah, I did layer them over fishnets that are basically flossing my soul. But standing here, wedged between a pair of leather daddies wearing literal puppy masks and a 6’5 drag queen wielding a neon paddle that says CUM DUMPSTER, I’m starting to feel… Visible.
Too visible.
And then I see him.
No, not the god of bondage or that chick with the safety-pin eyebrows.
Him.
Travis Touchdown.
No. Fucking. Way.
42 years old. Salt-and-pepper perfection at the temples. Spiky hair like it came straight out of 2007. The dad bod… Not just present but thriving. He’s wearing his iconic red leather jacket, a t-shirt that says “I PAUSED MY ANIME FOR THIS”, and some beat-up jeans that somehow hug his dad ass like they were sculpted by my own personal horny Roman gods. He looks exactly like every hyperfixated daydream I’ve had since I realized I had daddy issues and an absolutely unhealthy attachment to loser men.
Oh my god.
I whimper.
Actually. Out loud.
-
Travis 🐅
So, okay. I was definitely taking a shit when this all started.
One minute I’m on the can, mid-scroll on my phone, checking a subreddit about VHS bootlegs of 80s tokusatsu, the next I hear this whirring noise, and boom. Ass in the air, pants around my ankles, I get isekai’d like it’s any other Tuesday.
It’s the smell that hits me first.
Leather. Sweat. Some sort of oil, I can’t tell if it’s crisco or coconut oil. Latex. More sweat. Weed. Someone’s cooking vegan hotdogs on a portable grill next to a guy in a gimp suit. California, baby.
Then the visuals: It’s like Killer7 had an orgy with an anarchist zine.
I hit my vape. Shit helps calm the nerves.
I mean, I’ve seen weird. I’ve been weird.
But this? This is some next-level freak circus shit.
I love it.
Then I see them.
Big [E/C] eyes. Hair falling in front of their eyes like they’re hiding from God himself. They’re small, not in a frail way, more like condensed chaos. Their cheeks are flushed and they’re standing as still as a loading screen.
They’ve also got this black leather harness situation going on that makes me genuinely concerned for their circulation. Fishnets that are riding up their ass. Giant boots. The whole look says: yes, I brat for fun, but I’ll cry tears of joy if you spank me.
I blink.
They blink.
They’re looking at me like I fell out of the sky.
Maybe I did.
-
[Y/N] 💙
I knew I was into older men, but this is fucked. This is literally my hyperfixation come to life. He’s real. Travis fucking Touchdown. And he’s looking at me like I’m some kind of limited-edition collectible.
My throat goes dry. I try to say something cool, like “You’re not real,” or “Holy shit, I love you,” but what comes out is:
“Nice vape.”
KILL ME.
He quirks a smile. It’s crooked, kind of smug, like he just cleared a boss fight without lifting a finger.
“Menthol. Wanna hit?”
I do. Not because I vape. -God no, the sensory issues alone would send me spiraling… -but because I’d probably lick the bottom of his beaten-to-shit Chuck Taylors if he asked me to.
Instead, I shake my head and tried my damndest not to whimper again. My thighs are shaking. I can feel the harness chafing places I shouldn’t be feeling in public.
“You… know who I am?” he asks, stepping closer.
His voice is just as raspy and careless as I imagined. Like he just rolled out of bed with zero regrets and an absolutely unearned smirk.
-
Travis 🐅
They nod, but don’t say anything. I can tell they’re the quiet type, but not in a shy way. Just calculating. Brain on overdrive type of shit. Social anxiety? Maybe. Or they’re just trying not to explode.
I don’t know where the hell I am, or why, but I do know two things:
- I like them.
- They’re dangerously horny for me and trying to play it cool.
Which is absolutely fuckin’ adorable.
I lean in, close enough that my breath ghosts over her ear. They smells like incense, sweat, and sin itself.
“You dress like that for me, baby?”
They choke, a literal squeak. Their knees are beginning to buckle and the blush is crawling up to their ears now.
“No! I mean, ugh, not for you, I didn’t-“ They tugs at the strap of their harness, it’s digging into their neck, their cheeks are practically on fire now. “-I would’ve, though…”
I chuckle.
“Kink festival, huh? You into pain?”
They nod, fast. Still avoiding to meet my eyes. But I see it… The way their thighs press together, the little twitch in their lip.
“Yes, sir.”
Oof.
Okay.
I’ve fought aliens, crazy women, and the United Assassins Association itself, but this tiny masochistic punk might actually kill me.
-
[Y/N] 💙
He calls me baby.
He leans in.
He smells like old motel linen, sweat, and leather.
I’m wet.
Like genuinely, dangerously so.
The fact that I’m in a full bondage getup in the middle of Folsom Street Fair doesn’t help. I feel like a walking fetlife ad. -But suddenly, I don’t care. If Travis wants to bend me over my IKEA couch while the Dead Kennedys from my band poster stare at me judgmentally from above, I’ll let him. I’ll thank him. I’ll make him coffee afterward in a “#1 Daddy” mug I definitely did not buy for shits and giggles.
“Your place close?” he asks as he slips his vape back into his jacket. Like I didn’t just almost cum on the spot from him calling me baby.
“It’s a six-minute walk,” I mumble. “Up a stupid hill… -But it’s mine.”
“Perfect,” he says. “You lead the way. I’ll follow.”
-
Travis 🐅
Their place is exactly what I expected. Chaos, clutter, color. Band posters, art prints, an old CRT with a GameCube still plugged in. A stack of doujinshi in the corner that they immediately try to cover with a hoodie. Cute.
I toss my jacket over a chair. My shirt rides up as I do, and I see their eyes dart to the smallest bit of exposed tummy. Yeah, that’s right. Bit of belly, little trail of hair, the kinda body that says “I drink beer, but still bench press.”
They don’t hide the way they stare. Their eyes linger like they’re starving.
“Can I…” they trail off, standing awkward in the middle of the room, fidgeting with their fingers. “Can I touch you?”
“Yeah baby, you can do a whole lot more than that.”
-
[Y/N] 💙
It’s not the muscle I fixate on. It’s the way his body rests. Heavy thighs, soft stomach, strong arms that look like they could crush somebody’s skull or wrap around me so tight I forget my own name. He’s warm, thick, real.
And when I touch him, when I run my hands under his shirt and across his tummy, he shivers.
“Color?” he checks, voice all low and grounded.
“Green.” I say it fast. “Chartreuse, forest, fuckin’ neon.”
He laughs, pulling me in. One hand cups the back of my head. The other slips under my clothes.
“Bratty and eager. Gonna have to keep you in check.”
“Good luck,” I breathe, already soaked.
-
Travis 🐅
I pin them against the wall. Not rough, but with intention. I grab their thighs, lift them, and press my weight into them. They wrap around me like they belongs there.
“I’ve wanted you for ages,” they whisper.
I quirk an eyebrow, “You just met me.”
“No, I mean it. I used to daydream about riding your face while you ranted about anime.”
“We can make that happen,” I mutter, and place them down on the bed.
I pull my shirt off and their hands go straight to my sides, digging into the soft parts like they’re holy. My stomach, my thighs, my ass, they’re worshipping my body like it’s their altar.
“Fuck,” they groan. “You’re everything I thought you’d be.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Good, I want you to make me crack under it.”
-
[Y/N] 💙
The first thrust makes me cry out.
The second makes my hands claw desperately at his back.
By the third, I’m fully gone, floating, eyes rolling. My fingers gripping his shoulders like he’s the last remaining thing in the universe.
He sets a rhythm, slow, deep, purposeful. His tummy brushes my body every time he rocks into me, and I love it. I cling to it, to him.
“Still with me?”
“Green,” I gasp, “So fucking green.”
He leans in, presses his lips to my temple.
“You’re taking me so well, such a good little thing… -I knew you’d love being fucked by a washed-up has-been with a bad back and good dick.”
I choke on a laugh, which turns into a moan.
“Don’t undersell the ass,” I manage to whisper.
“Damn right,” he growls. “Dad ass reigns supreme.”
-
Travis 🐅
They start to shake under me. Not fear, but release. That high-wire moment right before a masochist lets go. I can see it in the twitch of their lip, the hitch in their breath, the desperate little sounds they make as their body catches fire.
“You can come,” I whisper.
“Are you sure?”
“You can, you should… -No, you need to.”
They shatter.
Beautifully, loudly, and completely.
-
[Y/N] 💙
I fall apart in waves, sobbing through pleasure so deep it feels ritualistic. My thighs tremble and my eyes blur, but he holds me the entire time.
And when I finally settle, when the world finally stops spinning, he kisses me… -Slow like I’m not just a one-night fever dream, but something solid, something wanted.
-
Travis 🐅
Aftercare’s not a thing, it’s the thing.
I wrap them in a blanket, tuck them into the crook of my side, and keep them pressed against me like I’m anchoring them to this plane of existence.
They’re twitchy, spacey… -But still here.
“Color?” I ask as I brush sweat-slick strands of hair from their face.
“Green,” they mumble. “Just… floaty. Really floaty.”
“You did so good.”
They whimper as they bury their face in my chest like they can’t handle hearing that.
“Didn’t know you’d be so soft,” they whisper.
“Didn’t know I’d get isekai’d into some [H/C] brat’s wet dream,” I shoot back.
“…Fair.”
-
[Y/N] 💙
Eventually, I’m wrapped up in one of my oversized hoodies. He insisted I be cozy, curled on my couch under a blanket, legs draped across his lap. He’s shirtless, still warm, and casually flicking through my Switch library with all the authority of a man who’s about to critique my taste in JRPGs.
“You’re not gonna disappear, are you?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
He doesn’t answer right away.
Just vapes and smirks.
“Isekai rules are weird.”
I smile and nuzzle into his side.
“If you do… -Can I keep your shirt?”
“Nah, you’re getting the jacket.”
I blink.
“Wait, really?”
“Don’t push it, baby.”
I don’t.
I just melt.
-
[END.]