#as in they are very agile and light | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

em1i2a3 · 27 days ago

Text

Entombed

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: The aftermath of your night with The Void is weighing heavy on you and things start to change. (This is a continuation of ‘Test Drive’)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts as there is Bob in this…And The Void There is Angst, Smut, and Fluff in this. There are dark elements/themes in this that are explored. Bob and the reader are going through it, and it’s quite rough. There is a lot of emotions and tons of tension happening in this story and honestly it was a whole lotta fun writing it because jeez, there was so much that could happen in the aftermath of this! The Void is obsessed/bonded to the reader, and there are elements of the supernatural in this we lean into it just a bit but it’s not a huge part of the story (y’all will see, I kind of took a little bit of lore from the comics but nothing too crazy). Guilt and Regret kinda plays a role in this too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up my peeps please), Body Worship/Praise Kink, Reader is in Control (not in a dominant way), Cockwarming, Grinding, Heavy Makeout (which involves a lot of heavy petting), Very Light Choking, Marking/Biting/Reclaiming, Oral Sex (Fem! Receiving), Super Intimate Sex, Aftercare Galore, Discussions/References to sex

Authors Note: Well, I hope this part 2 satisfies, I made some choices here that leave things open for a part 3 if people truly want it but hopefully y’all enjoy this one first :)) I was on the fence on where I wanted this to go but hopefully my creative decisions paid off.

Word Count: 16,464

Peeps Who Wanted To Be Tagged For Part 2: @millercontracting @avengersinitiative2012 @dark-silhouette @kurayamifairy @houseofaegon @vanguardlady @sentryluvs @simp-sentral @impoeticbeauty

Bob loved watching you train.

It wasn’t the flash of your skill set or the brutality you were capable of unleashing when pushed. It was your agility. The grace that was threaded into every step, every twist, and every perfectly executed takedown. You moved like you were born for the fight–but never to dominate. You weren’t the kind of person that demanded attention. You were the kind that earned it, silently, relentlessly, and over time.

That’s what had first drawn Bob to you. Not the danger, but the discipline. Not the strength, but the control…And the way you smiled, soft and easy, when you would push your hair back and look over your shoulder with a quiet little smirk that said ‘watch me’.

He could watch you for hours.

But today…Today you weren’t moving. You weren’t even training. You were sitting on the edge of the mat, sweater drawn tight around your shoulders, sleeves swallowing past your wrists, with your legs tucked up in a way that didn’t look relaxed. You looked…Small. Uncharacteristically withdrawn, and it worried him, because from the viewing deck all he could think about was how you were acting at breakfast.

You hadn’t smiled once this morning. Not when Ava made a dumb joke about the broken coffee machine. Not when Alexei spilled hot sauce on his shirt and cursed in Russian. Not even when Bob had caught your eye–or tried to–and offered you that quiet half-smile you usually returned without hesitation. It was like you were actively avoiding him, you didn’t sit beside him, and you didn’t even look at him.

It was like watching someone wearing your skin–your gestures, your face–but none of you was there. And now, down on the mat, wrapped up in your pool of clothes, you looked like you were trying to disappear.

The clang of a metal clasp echoed as Walker dropped his sparring gear. Ava stretched, rolled her shoulders, and tossed a half-empty water bottle across the room, nailing Alexei in the chest. Training was winding down with the usual noise and chaos, but none of it touched you–it looked like you had been released from prison.

You stood slowly, stretching out your back, and Bob caught the faint grimace that flickered across your face as your body resisted the motion. You winced–barely–but it was enough to make his chest tighten. He thought maybe you were injured, or that you pulled something yesterday during your high intensity training. That would explain the sitting out. Maybe even the outfit. But it didn’t explain the way you’d barely spoken to anyone that morning nor the way you looked through him at breakfast like he was a piece of glass. Like he did something…

You turned toward the hallway, and immediately he moved towards the exit.

He came down from the observation deck, taking the stairs two at a time. His hoodie sleeves were bunched at his elbows and he wiped his palms on the sides of his sweatpants, the nerves were pulsing through his skin. He wasn’t good at this–at confrontation, even soft ones–but the ache in his chest told him he wouldn’t sleep if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was wrong.

“H-Hey,” He called gently, catching up to you just as you reached the doorway to the locker rooms. You paused, and he could see the way your shoulders tensed at his voice before you turned to him. You wrapped your arms over yourself, almost like you were bracing for something.

”I, um…” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting between your face, then away, “C-Can I talk to you for a s-second.” Instantly you could feel your heart begin to race, the idea that he might have actually remembered last night almost made you ill, you could feel the bile begin to rise in the back of your throat, as you forced yourself to answer.

”O-Okay.” You were bracing yourself.

”I just–“ He fumbled for words, “I wanted t-to check in…You’ve been acting k-kind of…Distant t-today. At breakfast, d-during training…Even right n-now. I thought maybe s-something was wrong…Or I-I did something.” You swallowed hard, a little too hard to have it be unnoticed. The sound caught in your throat like a stone, and you could feel the weight of his worry pressing into the narrow space between you. Bob wasn’t loud. Wasn’t pushy. But the way his voice trembled, the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve–it was enough to make your chest cave in.

You shook your head before he could finish his next sentence.

“No,” You said quickly, “You didn’t do anything.”

His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to ask if you were sure, but he didn’t. He just nodded, brows still knit in concern.

“I…I just didn’t sleep well,” You added, hoping it would sound casual, feeling this dread slowly building up inside of you, because all you could think about was his hands, and his lips, and his mouth, or the scratch marks on your back that were burning as you spoke to him, almost like they were calling for your attention.

“O-Oh…” He replied, softly, “O-Okay…I just t-though maybe you were upset with m-me or something…But I-I know you would d-definitely tell m-me if that was the case…” You offered the smallest smile, feeling your throat tightening at the way he was speaking to you, like he knew what happened last night but he was waiting for you to say something.

“We’re okay…” Bob nodded at your weak reassurance–we’re okay–but he didn’t look convinced. He chewed at the inside of his cheek, like there was something else he wanted to say, something gnawing at him. But instead, he cleared his throat and forced a smile.

“R-Right,” He murmured. “I was also g-gonna ask if, uh…If we’re still doing our little b-bodega thing? I figured we could g-get your usual, sit by the fountain like always…” It was your routine. Quiet and private and safe. After training, just the two of you would head down the street to that tiny corner bodega with the cracked tile floor and the sleepy cat in the window. You always got the same thing–egg salad, extra pickles, Bob always forgot to ask for napkins–and then you’d walk a block over and sit by the fountain near the old courthouse. Sometimes you talked about training. Sometimes you talked about everything else, or you just watched people and mumbled about what they must be doing or where they must be going.

During these times it felt like he was yours.

And now?

You couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“I don’t think I can today…” You said quietly, your voice barely carrying over the hum of the hallway light. “I think I may just go to my room after I change... To lay down.”

His expression flickered–something between worry and disappointment, but not the selfish kind. The kind that hurt because he cared. Because he knew there was something wrong, or that you were hiding something from him at the very least. Because he didn’t understand why it suddenly felt like you were slipping out of his hands and he couldn’t stop it.

“Oh. Y-Yeah. Of course,” He replied quickly, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie to stop them from fidgeting. “That makes sense. You should rest. That’s good. Rest is–good.” You offered him a faint, aching smile–like something carved out of stone.

“Yeah…Should help a bit.” Your voice was so soft, and gentle he could barely hear it.

“Can I…D-Do anything for you? I could bring you some tea? O-Or I could just stay close, in case you–”

You shook your head before he could finish.

“No,” You murmured. “I just need to be alone.”

He nodded again. Slower this time. The corner of his mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Okay. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you later, then.”

You gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, and quickly slipped into the locker room without another word.

Once the door clicked softly behind you, it felt like you could finally let go of the breath you’d been holding since breakfast. But the exhale didn’t bring relief–it only left you emptier. The weight in your chest didn’t ease; it tightened. Pressed in. Like your ribs were folding inward. Like your lungs were trying to collapse around a scream you couldn’t afford to let out.

Tears gathered before you could stop them.

Hot. Stinging. Blurring your vision before they ever reached your lashes. You tried to blink them away. You clenched your jaw until it ached. But the pressure building behind your sternum was too sharp, too real, too loud. The ache had dug in sometime between last night and now, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

You weren’t sure if it was regret. Not in the traditional sense. Because it hadn’t felt like a mistake in the moment–it had felt like inevitability. Like gravity. Like a need that had grown too large to hold back. And the way he had touched you–reverently, ruinously–had shattered something you didn’t even know was intact.

But now?

Now it felt like you’d made a deal with the devil in the dark and woken up in someone else’s skin.

You wrapped your arms around yourself tightly, nails digging into the sleeves of your sweater.

The guilt crawled in like rot. Not loud. Just constant. Creeping through your bones. Worming into the cracks between your thoughts. Because the worst part wasn’t what he’d done.

It was that you let him.

You’d let the Void in.

You invited him.

And maybe that would’ve been survivable–maybe–if it had been just about you and him. But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Because now Bob…Sweet, trembling, gentle Bob–your Bob…Had no idea what had happened. He had no memory of what his own body had done. Of what you had allowed. Of what he’d whispered in your ear in that almost-voice that sounded so much like him your heart broke under it. And that was the part that was ripping you apart.

The betrayal wasn’t his.

It was yours.

Because it felt like you’d taken advantage of a piece of him he couldn’t control–used a part of him he’d been trying to suppress. And now you were walking around with the memory of him in your skin, in your bones, in the place where he’d left something behind–and he was walking around clueless. Still smiling at you like he would do anything to protect you. Still offering to bring you tea. You pressed your hand to your abdomen as the guilt twisted deeper, sharper.

Because even now, a part of you was aching for what happened. Craving the touch. The voice. The power. And that was the cruelest truth of all.

You hadn’t just said yes. You’d wanted it.

You sniffed and wiped at your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater, but it didn’t help. The tears had already left hot streaks along your cheeks, and your mouth tasted like metal–like the guilt had started seeping in from the inside out.

And then, suddenly, it burned.

It wasn’t sharp. Not like a cut or a bruise. It was deep. Molten. Like someone had sunk hot iron into your spine and lit a match inside your skin. Your whole body jolted. You reached for the edge of the bench to steady yourself, breath catching as the burn surged again–up your back, down your hips, around the sides of your ribs.

You grabbed at the hem of your sweater and yanked it over your head with a shaky, desperate motion, casting it aside onto the bench like it was soaked in gasoline.

And then you turned to the mirror.

Your stomach dropped.

The marks were worse.

So much worse.

What had once been faint purpling around your hips, vague red lines across your shoulder blades, were now vivid. Raised. Angry. Like they’d grown. They were more defined–claws, unmistakably. Four long, precise gouges across your back, etched in perfect arcs like someone had gripped you and dragged you down to hell.

The bruise on your collarbone had deepened into a bruise-black imprint of teeth. Not sharp like fangs. Just possessive.

There were fingerprints on your thighs, your waist. His fingerprints.

But worse–

They were pulsing. The skin around each mark glowed faintly. Subtle. Like an ember tucked just beneath your flesh, blinking with your pulse.

“What the fuck…” Was all you could manage to say, as your fingers traced over the marks.

The mirror flickered, and you froze.

The overhead lights stayed on, but the mirror–just for a second–shivered like a ripple passed through it. The color leached from your reflection, and the air shifted. Heavier. Sharper.

Then, that voice.

“You must be pretty confused right now, hm?” Your mouth parted and your throat went dry.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t need to, because he was there.

In the mirror.

The Void stood in the glass like a phantom with substance, wearing Bob’s shape again like it was tailored for him, but darker–more real than anything had a right to be. His jaw was sharp. His shoulders held the same broadness as Bob's, only he stood confidently. His eyes…The ones you had looked into last night when you had called him by Bob’s name…The twin void stars. He looked like a dark hole in the middle of the room. Your lips parted.

“I…” You blinked. “Bob’s awake.” The words came out flat, panicked. A statement of fact–as if saying it aloud would force the universe to correct itself. “He’s awake. He’s walking around. He–He talked to me just a few minutes ago. He–he was right outside. You’re not supposed to be here…How the fuck are you here?”

He smiled at you through the glass, and you saw teeth.

Not sharp. Not jagged. Worse.

Perfect. Like the kind of teeth a man shows when he knows the whole room belongs to him. It looked almost the exact same as last night, only it was clearer now, more visible to your eye.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He purred, stepping forward–closer to the edge of the mirror. The room didn’t darken, but your reflection dimmed behind his, as though you were no longer the main inhabitant of your own body. “I don’t disappear that quickly.”

A chill bloomed across your shoulders.

You hadn’t moved. But your breath hitched.

Because you felt it.

The air shifted behind you. The warmth of your skin turning ice-cold–just behind the base of your neck. Like someone was standing inches from you. Like someone was breathing against your spine.

Your voice trembled. “You lied to me…”

The Void’s smile widened.

From the mirror, he watched you–head tilted, eyes glowing.

“Now, now, I didn’t lie,” He murmured.

And then–

His breath touched your skin, and your whole body locked.

You felt it–real, present, inside the room now. The cold exhale that brushed the nape of your neck like silk. Your shoulders flinched inward, but you couldn’t move away. Not from him. Not from the thing that had touched you from within the dark and now moved around you like a ghost in daylight.

“I just omitted information,” He finished softly, like it was the punchline of a private joke. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Your hands trembled at your sides.

“W-What did you do to me?” Your voice cracked.

The Void didn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, he stepped closer in the mirror again, and your body moved–not of your own accord–tilting slightly toward the glass. Your reflection leaned forward. But you hadn’t moved. Your reflection wasn’t matching anymore. The air behind you felt too dense now, like you could reach behind yourself and grab a fistful of it–thick and chilled and humming faintly like static against your skin. Your knees nearly gave out when you felt it again.

A touch.

Not a full press of fingers. Just the brush of ice sliding along your spine–right over one of the claw marks, as though retracing his own work.

In the mirror, the Void tilted his head.

“Don’t assume I did something permanent,” He said softly. There was a mocking gentleness in his voice, like he was humoring your panic. “Please…I’m not that evil.” You watched your own mouth tremble in the glass. Your reflection was still not syncing to your movements–there was a subtle delay, like a puppet lagging behind its strings.

“Though,” He continued, dragging his fingers down your back again as if he was petting you, “I really could’ve done worse…” Your breath hitched when his nail grazed the base of your spine, and the marks pulsed, almost like he was slowly bringing something to the surface of your skin.

“But…Let’s just say,” He drawled, his smile deepening, “I’ll be around for a little while longer. Just until you…Recover from our little night together.”

You turned your head slightly–not fully, not enough to break eye contact with the mirror–but your voice came through hoarse. “It doesn’t make any sense…I still don’t understand h-how you’re even here?”

The Void gave an exasperated sigh, like you were being deliberately naive.

“I’m an entity, sweetheart. A force.” He stepped closer, and your reflection blurred again, feeling his chest gently pressing against your back. “Not a man. Not a ghost. Not a shadow. I tether to people. I’m tethered to Bob permanently…But…” His voice dipped, curling against your ear like a gust of wind, “You let me in. You let me finish inside you. Did you really think there wouldn’t be some sort of…Consequence?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Sperm,” He murmured, almost lazily, like the word itself was a spell. “Can live for…What is it… Three to five days inside a reproductive system, give or take?”

Your knees buckled, and you gripped the counter in front of you to stay upright. The burn across your back flared again, and your skin felt too tight, too hot, like it was struggling to contain something underneath.

“Give it time,” He whispered, dragging his fingernail over the topmost mark. “After that… I’ll be gone. Probably. Unless you invite me in again.”

He hummed, amused by your silence, and his fingers–impossibly cold and real–smoothed gently along the curve of your ribs, ghosting over bruised skin like it belonged to him.

“Only you can see me, by the way,” He added kindly. “So maybe keep your voice down a bit when you answer me…Hm?” You were just about to say something–anything–when the door behind you banged open.

The sound crashed through the room like a gunshot, and you flinched violently, heart seizing in your chest.

“–I’m telling you, it was the worst latte I’ve ever had,” Ava’s voice carried in before she even cleared the doorway, followed closely by Yelena’s sharp scoff of agreement. “It tasted like someone put chalk in a sock and let it steep for twenty minutes–”

They both froze.

The silence that followed was instant, sucked tight like vacuum-sealed air.

You turned toward them too slowly.

You could feel their eyes on you before you even lifted your head–feel them taking in the angry red claw marks that wrapped around your ribs, the bruises blooming like warpaint down your sides, the purple-black bite mark stark against your collarbone.

“Y/N?” Yelena’s voice was clipped. Low. Already shifting into something sharp and protective.

Ava blinked once. Then twice. “What the actual fuck?”

You tried to move–tried to step back or grab the sweater or explain something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because he was still there.

Still behind you.

Still breathing cold down your spine like a promise.

“Jesus Christ,” Yelena stepped in first, boots hitting the tile hard, like she was ready to start a fight with whoever did this. “Who did this to you? Are you okay? Are you bleeding?”

“I–I’m fine.” You said it too fast. Too flat. It didn’t sound like you.

“No, you’re not,” Ava said, her voice unusually steady as she followed behind, crouching slightly like she was trying to check your balance. “Y/N, that’s not a training injury. That’s…That’s not even human-looking. That’s…” Her eyes flicked to the claw marks, her brow creasing. “Were you attacked?” You could feel the nerves building up in your chest.

”N-No! I wasn’t attacked.”

“Gotta be a little better at lying to your friend's sweetheart.” The Void whispered mockingly, as you felt his fingers on your back again.

”Shut up!” You exclaimed out of nowhere, catching what you had just done the moment it happened. Yelena and Ava both froze in place at your sudden outburst.

The echo of your voice clapped back off the tile, too loud, too frantic–and too obviously directed at someone who wasn’t there.

You watched their eyes shift. Not just to the claw marks. Not just to the bruises. But to your face now–your wide, panicked eyes. Your trembling mouth. The sweat clinging to your hairline.

“Y/N…” Ava’s voice softened, like she was approaching a wild animal. “Tell us what’s going on.” Yelena didn’t say anything. Not yet. But she took another step forward, slow and steady, like she was preparing for you to bolt. Or break.

“Who did this to you?” Ava asked again, her eyes flicking back to the bite mark. “Was it someone on the team? Because if it was, I swear to God–”

“It wasn’t anyone on the team, I–I wasn’t attacked. Not like that.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Then what happened?” You stared at them both. Ava with her brows knit, hand twitching like she wanted to touch you but didn’t dare. Yelena looked like she might murder someone if you gave her a name.

”And start from the beginning.” Ava added.

–––––––––––––

The water ran hot.

Too hot.

It scalded down Bob’s back in long, blistering sheets, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, braced against the shower wall, head bowed under the stream, letting it burn. Letting it wash over the tension twisted through his spine like a knot of wire.

His hands twitched every now and then–restless, nervous, like they were searching for something they couldn’t find. Something they swore had been there before.

Something soft. Warm. Familiar.

He blinked slowly, eyes hazy beneath the steam.

After he spoke to you in front of the locker room images had begun to flicker in and out of his brain. Not memories exactly. But…Something. Echoes. Flashbulb imprints behind his eyes. A mouth. A sound. Nails biting across his shoulders. A voice–soft and breathless, gasping his name like it was a sin.

”Bob.” It was you–or your voice at least. He could feel his breath stop in his throat. It felt like a dream. But the kind that lingered. The kind that pressed fingerprints into your skin and refused to fade.

He exhaled and reached up to scrub at his face, hoping the pressure might clear his head. But then–

A sting.

Sharp and sudden. Low on his shoulders.

He winced.

His hand dropped to his shoulder, then curled around the top of his back. His fingers traced lightly–grazing over his skin until–

He froze.

Marks.

Four of them.

Long, raised lines carved into his shoulder blade. He twisted toward the mirror just outside the glass shower, blinking steam away as he leaned, trying to see over his own shoulder. It wasn’t easy, but when the fog cleared, he caught it.

Four scratches. They were faintly red, like someone had dragged their nails across the ridges of his shoulder blade. His stomach turned at the sight, and there was a cold weight that settled behind his ribs.

“What the hell…” He muttered, voice hoarse from the heat and whatever this was.

The scratches didn’t look accidental. They looked like grip marks. Like someone had clawed at him, held on tight, dug in as if riding out–

His stomach flipped violently.

He hadn’t had sex. He would remember that. Right?

Right?

The back of his neck prickled with cold, even as the water beat down on him, too hot.

And then–

That voice.

Slick. Amused. Familiar in a way that made his skin crawl.

“Wasn’t that a great dream you had last night?”

Bob’s entire body went rigid.

He didn’t respond at first–didn’t even breathe. Just stood there, eyes wide, steam curling around him like mist curling off a cliff, and that’s when things began to slowly fall into place.

The dream…The dream he had of you last night.

“…No,” He whispered eventually, shaking his head. “No, no, no…”

“Oh come on,” The Void drawled. “Don’t be shy. You liked it. That little fantasy with her chest against yours, riding you, moaning your name like a hymn. She looked so pretty when she came, didn’t she?”

Bob’s vision swam. He gripped the edge of the shower wall so hard his knuckles turned white.

“It wasn’t real,” He said through clenched teeth. “It was just a dream.”

A low, velvet chuckle unfurled in the base of his skull.

“Sure it was.”

The water suddenly felt too loud–like static screaming in his ears.

Memories weren’t supposed to feel like this. They weren’t supposed to echo in his skin, or pull on the muscle of his thighs like a ghost still touching him. He felt raw–stretched thin from the inside out. His breath came ragged now–short, sharp gasps that barely made it past his lips as flashes began to tear across his mind like lightning, split-second visions, and sensations.

Your thighs bracketing his hips, your voice breaking around his name, your tears streaming down your cheeks. The way your back arched towards him.

His eyes snapped shut and he stumbled backward, one palm flying to the wall like it could keep him upright. But the weight was inside him now. The wrongness. The knowing.

“No,” He gasped. “No, I didn’t–I wouldn’t–”

“You didn’t,” The Void answered smoothly, his voice curling inside Bob’s skull like smoke through a vent. “I did.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Bob staggered back against the shower wall, blinking against the sting of hot water and bile rising in his throat.

“She said yes, you know,” The Void continued. “Every time. She said your name while I was inside her. Cried for you. Pretended it was you.”

Bob’s stomach lurched. He pressed a hand over his mouth, like that could keep the nausea down. “Stop. Just shut up–”

“You think she didn’t know it wasn’t you?” The Void whispered. “She did. She just wanted you so badly, she was willing to close her eyes and let me wear your skin. And you know what, Bob?”

A pause.

A cruel silence.

“She loved it.”

Bob let out a broken, wounded sound. Something between a sob and a growl. His body was trembling violently now–his breath a stuttered panic trapped in his lungs.

“You’re lying,” He choked.

“You don’t feel it?” The Void murmured. “The tension in your shoulders? The ache in your hips? The ghost of her still gripping you? I don’t dream, Bob. But you do. And I left you the best parts.”

Bob staggered out of the shower, dripping and wild-eyed. He stumbled, half slipping across the wet tile, as he reached out and wrapped a towel around his hips while the other scrambled for the edge of the counter. His knees hit the floor hard, but the pain didn’t register–not over the white-hot coil twisting in his gut. He lurched forward.

The sound that came out of him was ugly–guttural and gasping–as he vomited into the basin. His body convulsed, throat straining, the acidic bile burning up his esophagus. His arms shook as he braced himself, knuckles whitening on the marble.

It felt endless.

Each heave dragged something deeper out of him–not just from his stomach but from somewhere more primal. Something soul-level. Shame. Horror. Guilt. The knowledge that something had been done to her. With his body. While he was unaware.

His chest heaved with dry sobs now, water still dripping off his hair and jaw, his face flushed red from the heat and the nausea. He clutched the edge of the basin and lifted his head slowly, eyelids fluttering.

And froze.

The steam on the mirror had cleared just enough to reflect two figures.

His own…

And him.

The Void stood to his left–closer than he should’ve been. Closer than Bob could feel, and yet, somehow his presence pressed into the room like a second atmosphere. His arms were folded loosely, one shoulder resting against the bathroom wall as if this were casual. As if he had every right to stand there, real and solid, in Bob’s space. In Bob’s skin.

“Don’t feel too bad,” The Void said lightly, tilting his head as if studying his twin in the mirror. “I was good to her. Tender, even. You should’ve heard the way she begged. So soft. So sweet.”

Bob’s fingers curled into fists on the edge of the sink.

“Stop talking,” He rasped. “Just fucking stop.”

“You really think I’m lying?” The Void arched a brow, a little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Then go talk to her.”

Bob’s breath hitched.

The Void pushed off the wall now, taking a step forward–not menacing, not fast, but slow and deliberate. His reflection moved with him. His voice softened with mock sympathy.

“I’m sure if you ask her gently, she’ll tell you the truth. What she felt. What she saw. What she said.”

Bob shook his head. “She didn’t know. She couldn’t have–”

“She did.” The Void’s tone sharpened just enough to cut. “And if you’re still not convinced…”

He paused in front of Bob–so close now Bob could see the way the light gleamed off his collarbone, the faint shimmer of something bruised beneath the skin–and slowly lifted his hand.

One long finger tapped just beneath his throat, where his jugular notch was–or is– supposed to be.

“Check right here on her…I left a little something there.” Bob didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the part that shattered him wasn’t the evidence. It wasn’t the dream, or the bite, or even the voice curling like poison through his mind.

It was the truth he already knew.

He had felt it.

In his skin. In his bones.

In the aching echo of a night he hadn’t lived–but now he had to carry with him anyway.

“She trusted me,” He whispered, barely audible. “She trusted me to protect her from you.”

The Void tilted his head, mockingly thoughtful. “Mmm. And you did such a good job, didn’t you? You didn’t warn her how convincing I would be, hmm?” The Void’s grin widened.

It wasn’t malicious in the way monsters grinned in stories–it was worse. It was familiar. Worn like skin. Like something Bob might’ve seen in the mirror if he were just a little colder, a little more broken, a little more hungry.

“You didn’t warn her,” He repeated softly. “Not about the way I move. The way I sound. The way I feel.”

Bob’s breath stuttered. His knuckles were white against the sink.

“You manipulated her…” The Void let out a soft laugh.

“How did I manipulate her?” The Void’s voice was velvet now. Soothed, indulgent. “She wanted you, Bob. So I gave her that. I gave her what you never had the courage to.”

“I would never–” Bob choked, eyes burning, voice cracking around the protest.

“You wouldn’t,” The Void agreed, stepping closer until he could look directly into Bob’s eyes through the mirror. “You’re too good. Too gentle. Too afraid. You keep saying she trusts you–but she was starving, Bob. And I knew exactly how to feed her.”

Bob swayed on his feet.

He didn’t know how he was still standing.

Didn’t know how the ground hadn’t already cracked open beneath him.

The Void tapped the mirror glass once–right where Bob’s reflection was trembling–and leaned in, his next words a breath against the shell of Bob’s mind:

“If you want answers, ask her what she saw when she looked at me. Ask her whose name she really used when I was fucking her to the point of tears, then ask if she liked it…Or better yet…Asked why she liked it…Then maybe you’ll realize…It really wasn’t me who she wanted…It was you the entire time.”

Bob’s stomach twisted so violently he thought he might be sick again.

But there was nothing left to throw up. Only the bile in his throat, and the grief coiling around his ribs like iron wire. He gripped the edge of the sink harder, shoulders hunched like he could fold in on himself, like he could collapse inward and disappear entirely.

The Void’s final words lingered in the air like smoke, choking, clinging, true in a way that made Bob feel like a thief in his own skin.

It really wasn’t me who she wanted…

It was you the entire time.

Bob let out a sound–broken, wet, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. His reflection looked ruined. Face pale, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes bloodshot and glassy. The marks on his shoulders stung like accusations. The steam around him had started to dissipate, but the chill that slid down his spine was internal now. Bone-deep. Then before he could say anything else…

The Void was gone.

Of course he was…Because he always left the mess behind for Bob to clean up. Bob stood there for a moment longer–motionless, towel clinging to his hips, breath hitching with the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty at all. It felt like the aftermath of something horrific.

Like an echo waiting to settle into bone.

Eventually, he moved.

Slow.

Mechanic.

He reached for the toothbrush on the counter, fumbling the cap of the toothpaste like his fingers didn’t belong to him anymore. He brushed his teeth with shaking hands, hard enough to make his gums sting–desperate to scrape away the taste of bile, the phantom flavor of everything that had just spilled out of him.

Bob spat into the sink. Rinsed. Again. And again.

He swiped at his mouth with the towel and turned away without looking at the mirror.

Back in his room, the air felt heavier. Dimmer. Like the walls were holding their breath.

He shed the damp towel, grabbed the first pair of sweatpants from his drawer–charcoal gray, worn thin at the cuffs–and pulled them on with sluggish hands. His skin still felt too hot in places and too cold in others, like his body couldn’t decide if it was sweating or shivering.

A navy sweater came next. One you’d once teased him about because the material was so soft and gentle. It smelled like detergent and memory. He yanked it over his head and stood there for a second, hands resting at his sides, eyes unfocused.

Then he moved out the door, making his way down the hall quickly.

The floor was cold under his bare feet, but he barely felt it. The lights overhead buzzed low, flickering once–barely noticeable–but it was enough to make his stomach clench.

He stopped in front of your room.

The door was closed, and he stared at it for a moment.

His knuckles hovered just shy of the surface. His breath trembled out of him. He didn’t know what he’d say. Didn’t know how to ask. Didn’t know what you would see in his face.

But he had to see you, and he had to know.

–––––––––––––-

Inside your room, the world was steeped in dusky gold.

Sunset spilled through the sheer curtains like liquid amber, casting soft lines across the ceiling and walls. The sky beyond was fading into a bruised gradient–lavender, orange, blue–and it painted your skin in light that didn’t feel like yours to hold. You were lying on your back, one arm draped limply across your stomach, the other resting palm-up beside you like you were waiting for something. Your eyes were locked on the ceiling, unblinking. Still.

The blankets were tangled around your ankles. Your shirt clung to your side, damp from sweat, collar askew. You hadn’t moved in hours. Couldn’t. Not since you, Ava and Yelena spoke about what happened last night, and you came back to your room with the weight of that discussion on your shoulders.

You’d told them everything, every detail about what happened, what he looked like, what he sounded like., what he felt like, what you let him do…And you told them why.

Because you wanted him so badly it hurt. Because The Void allowed you to picture Bob’s face and his voice and his gentleness for one night… Just so you could let yourself pretend.

You told them how he held your face when you came. How he kissed your chest like it meant something, how he promised that Bob would never find out…But now you were riddled with guilt and it was eating away at your mind. You also told them that The Void was there with all of them listening, but only you were able to see him.

Yelena hadn’t said much, not at first. She just listened, jaw tense, thumb tapping restlessly against her thigh, she thought the situation was unbelievable, she chalked it up to a vivid nightmare...But the more details you divulged, the harder it got to believe that assumption. Ava had crouched in front of you, brow furrowed, voice soft.

“You need to tell him,” She said. “You have to tell him.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You already did,” Yelena said bluntly. “Not telling him only makes it worse.”

Her words weren’t cruel. They were honest. Like a bone being set back in place. It stung. But it was necessary.

“You don’t have to confess to be punished,” Ava added gently. “You have to confess to be free. If you keep hiding this, The Void wins twice. Once for using you…And again for keeping you.”

You didn’t argue.

Because they were right.

You weren’t afraid of Bob hating you. That would’ve been easier.

You were afraid he’d understand. That he’d forgive you. That he’d still want you after everything–and that you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

You rolled onto your side slowly now, breath shallow, as the golden haze across your bedroom began to fade deeper into blue.

Then there was a knock.

You didn’t need to ask who it was, because it was evident that it could only be one person.

“…Come in,” You said, and the door creaked open slowly.

Bob stood there–backlit by the hallway’s sterile overhead glow. Dressed in his usual getup of a sweater and sweatpants. His light brown hair was still damp and fluffed from a quick towel dry. His eyes were rimmed red. His posture was stiff, like he didn’t trust his legs to carry him if he stepped too fast, and he looked at you like he’d been walking through hell and finally found the fire’s source.

You sat up slowly, your mouth parting–but no words came.

Bob lingered in the doorway for a second longer, like stepping into your room might unmake him.

Then–quietly–he closed the door behind him.

The latch clicked with a finality that made your chest tighten.

His eyes swept across the room once, slow, heavy. And then–without meaning to–they landed on your legs. Bare. Tangled loosely in the sheets. Skin kissed by amber light and bruised shadow.

He blinked. Looked away.

“W-We need to talk,” He said softly. His voice cracked at the edges.

You swallowed. “Okay.”

His eyes found yours again–shining but unreadable–and then he asked, “Can I… S-Sit?”

You nodded.

And he crossed the room.

Every step felt measured. Like he was walking through something sacred or cursed, you weren’t sure which. His hand brushed the edge of the mattress as he sat, careful not to get too close, sinking onto the same spot where The Void had touched you last night.

The same place where you’d said yes, where your fingers had curled into that blanket, and his hair as your hips lifted off the bed in pure ecstasy. Where you had clung to The Void and screamed Bob’s name in pleasure as you pictured him instead of the vantablack shadow that was invading you and your senses.

Now, in a tragically poetic way, Bob sat there, in living colour. He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms slowly together like he was trying to warm himself from the inside out. He didn’t look at you yet.

“What happened last night?” He asked finally, turning his head towards your figure. When his eyes met yours everything in him stilled. There was something in your face that made the air in the room feel sharper. Like it had teeth. Like even breathing might cut too deep. Your eyes were glassy like you had been on the brink of tears for hours, and your lips were parted like you wanted to say something but couldn’t find the start of it. Your body was tense, and curled in on itself like you were bracing for impact…And right then and there…He knew.

Bob’s eyes searched your face for a long moment, but whatever he was hoping to find there–certainty, relief, understanding–wasn’t present. Just the quiet tremble of your shoulders. Just the way your fingers picked at the hem of your shirt like you were trying to feel something real beneath your nails.

He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper this time.

“Did he hurt you?”

You blinked, slow. Shallow.

Your throat moved like the word was caught halfway up.

“No,” You said finally, “He didn’t hurt me…” Bob’s gaze didn’t waver.

His whole body had stilled–like even the breath in his lungs was holding itself hostage, waiting for what you’d say next. And you could feel it–the trembling edge of his restraint, the desperate ache of a man trying not to crumble.

“Then…” He asked, quieter now, like the words hurt to push out. “Then w-why didn’t you tell me?”

You closed your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to stop the sting from spilling over your waterline. When you looked back at him, your voice came out raw. Truthful. Like it had been scraped up from the bottom of something buried deep.

“Because I wanted it,” You whispered.

Bob flinched.

Not because he misunderstood. But because he understood too well.

You kept going. Slow. Careful. Like the words were glass you were trying not to shatter between your teeth.

“He said…He said he could let me experience you. Just once. Without you knowing. Without consequences. Without ruining everything.”

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His hands had gone still in his lap.

“And I…” Your throat closed up again, but you forced the words through it. “I took the deal. Because neither of us were brave enough to say anything. Because I didn’t want to cross the line and destroy what we had. Because I knew you were still healing. I knew you weren’t ready and I didn’t want to push you.”

Bob’s face twisted slightly, like something inside him was breaking not from anger–but from love.

You pressed your lips together hard before continuing, voice barely audible now.

“But I was selfish, and I wanted you so badly it made me stupid…And he…He made it so easy. He let me pretend, and when I closed my eyes all I could see and feel was you…” Bob swallowed thickly.

”Was that enough though…?” A tear slid down your cheek.

”No…Not even close.” You whispered. Another pause plagued the room. This one was longer. Bob didn’t reach for you yet, even though he was desperate to comfort you. He just watched you like you were saying the words he had been afraid to hear his entire life.

“I thought I could live with it,” you said. “But this morning…When I saw you walk out of your room… It was the real you. And I realized I didn’t have that last nightI had a shadow. A performance. And my imagination.” You shook your head, voice breaking, “And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About what I did. About how it’ll never go away now, and the guilt is…It’s fucking crushing me Bob…And I’m so so fucking sorry…I’ve destroyed everything.”

The corners of his mouth trembled slightly like he was trying not to cry. Then slowly, he reached out and slid his hand across the bedspread. His fingers brushed against yours, then gently curled around them. It wasn’t a bold gesture. It was reverent. Anchoring. Like he wanted you to know he was still here.

“Hey,” He murmured, voice rough. “You didn’t destroy anything.”

You blinked at him, vision swimming again, and he gave your hand the faintest squeeze.

“I swear,” He said just above a whisper, “You haven’t ruined a single thing I feel for you.”

That was when the air in the room shifted.

A low, familiar voice rippled across the space like smoke.

“Well isn’t this tender…”

Your eyes snapped to the corner of the room. Bob flinched–he hadn’t said a word out loud, but you both reacted the same way.

“Shut up,” You and Bob snapped in unison, turning to each other immediately, startled–and then frozen–because the surprise in his eyes was a perfect mirror of your own.

”Did…D-Did you hear him?” He asked, his voice hoarse, you nodded.

”Since this morning in the locker room.” There was a long beat of silence between you, thick and charged, like the air had stretched tight between your bodies and dared either of you to move.

Bob’s eyes searched yours again, more carefully this time–like he was trying to read something between the lines. You didn’t flinch away from it. You didn’t have it in you anymore. Not after everything.

“He didn’t really give me a fine print to that deal he offered…” You said dryly despite the ache in your chest, “Apparently the aftereffects of sleeping with a dark entity include…Temporary tethers of the psychic kind…Or something like that. Whatever bullshit he told me I don’t know at this point.” You exhaled, rubbing your face with your free hand, “Point is…I can hear what you hear evidently.” Bob let out a slow, shaky breath–like he’d been holding it in all day. Maybe he had. Maybe this was the first time his lungs could even remember what air felt like.

”And you’re sure it’s temporary?” He asked, almost not believing it. Like he needed you to say it again just to be sure, as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

”Yeah…Ava thinks it’ll fade in a few days…Maybe sooner. Once everything is passed, I won’t be able to hear him anymore, or feel anything else he left behind.” Bob’s jaw clenched, not in anger–just in quiet relief. Like something in his chest finally let go.

“I-I didn’t know he c-could do that,” He admitted softly. “Then again… I-I’ve never been around when he’s having s-sex…” He hesitated, then offered a sheepish, almost self-deprecating shrug. “M-More because I haven’t had sex in a long time…But I-I guess that doesn’t matter a-anymore somehow…” Your brows lifted, but only slightly. The tension between you had shifted–not gone, but thickened, warmer now, laced with something else. Something closer to awareness.

“Guess we both crossed new frontiers this week,” You murmured, a sad smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Bob huffed out a dry breath that might’ve been the start of a laugh if it weren’t so exhausted.

“But seriously…Hearing him yap all day has definitely made me admire you more. I mean, you put up with that on a daily basis?” You gave your head a slight shake. “He’s quite the character to deal with constantly. And honestly? It’s really weird interacting with him when there’s actual light in the room. Just feels…Wrong.” That earned you a real smile. Small, but there. The kind that pulled one side of Bob’s mouth higher than the other. Bob leaned his weight more fully into the edge of the bed, his thumb brushed over your knuckles once–nervous, tender.

“Well,” He said, voice low, rough with the remains of grief and disbelief, “O-On the bright side… A-At least you got a preview of what it’s like if you w-wanted to date me. C-Comes with crippling guilt, a psychic parasite, a-and an eternal inner monologue that sounds like a B-Bond villain.”

You blinked, and then, somehow–despite everything–you laughed. Just a breath, just a flicker of sound, but it cracked through the tension like sunlight behind storm clouds. You shook your head, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

“That’s not what dating you would be like.”

“O-Oh no?” Bob asked softly, a ghost of amusement tugging at his lips. “What w-would it be like, then?” You held his gaze for a beat too long. Your voice dropped to a hush, vulnerable and real.

“It’d be kind,” You said. “It’d be quiet and steady. You’d make tea without asking, and hold my hand even when we weren’t talking. You’d fold your sweaters next to mine and leave post-it notes with dumb facts on my mirror just to see me smile.”

Bob’s breath hitched, and you could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. The tips of his ears flushed, soft pink blooming beneath the collar of his sweater.

“You’d hold me like I wasn’t fragile but precious,” You added, voice thick now, “Like I was worth something. And when you kissed me, it wouldn’t feel like you wanted to own me–it would feel like you’d been waiting your whole life to give me that part of you.”

His eyes darted away, shy and overwhelmed, but they drifted back slowly–like gravity had pulled them to you. He let out a shaky breath, a soft huff through his nose that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so painfully stunned.

“S-Shit,” He murmured, almost under his breath, eyes dropping to your joined hands. “W-Why does that s-sound so much better than anything I-I ever thought I’d be worth?”

You leaned forward slightly, scooting yourself closer to him, almost getting into his space. You could feel his hand twitch in yours, like he wasn’t sure whether to hold tighter or let go for your sake. You made the decision for him, lacing your fingers together and tugging them gently into your lap.

“You’re worth every part of that and more.” You whispered, “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that…It could’ve saved us both a lot of trouble…”

Bob blinked rapidly, a quiet tremor in his chin before he exhaled and gave a small shake of his head–half in disbelief, half in surrender

“It’s m-my fault…I-I should’ve seen it coming,” He replied back. You opened your mouth to speak, but he shook his head before you could.

“No, I–I should’ve seen it. Felt it. I could tell he was…L-Lurking more than usual. I-I knew he was pushing, I could feel it in my bones, I just didn’t know why. D-Didn’t know he was waiting for the right moment to…To use me a-against you like that.” He swallowed hard, and his voice cracked on the next line. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You trusted me to keep you safe. To protect you from him. And I–” He blinked fast, like he could flush the images from behind his eyes. “I keep seeing pieces of it. Bits. Flashes. Your voice. Your tears. Your legs around me. I didn’t even get to choose to look–I just saw. And I can’t even imagine what else I did.” You inhaled slowly, lips parting to soothe, to reassure–but your voice caught on a different thought. A softer one. An honest one.

“He said…” You began, hesitating for only a second, “He said it was a lot of stuff you’d fantasized about.”

That made Bob go still. Really still.

The kind of stillness that wasn’t absence, but weight.

His breath came slow and uneven, his lashes lowering just slightly before he whispered–

“Yeah…Well, that could mean a lot of things.”

You searched his face, but he didn’t lift his eyes yet. His hand stayed in yours. His thumb rubbed along the dip between your knuckles, slow and deliberate, like he could map out penance across your skin.

“What kinds of things?” You asked, gentle but deliberate. Not teasing–just present. Open. Wanting to hear the truth from him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath through his nose.

“I’ve thought about you,” He said, voice barely more than a breath. “I’ve thought about you on top of me more times than I care to admit. But it was never just about what you were doing–it was always about how you looked doing it. Like you were letting go for once. Like you were safe. Like you trusted me with that.”

You blinked.

He kept going, because now it was pouring out of him.

“And I used to think–if I ever got that close to you, if I ever had you like that, I’d earn it. I’d work for it. I’d deserve it. Not…” His voice hitched, his jaw tightening. “Not like this.”

You reached for him with your free hand, your palm resting against his cheek. He leaned into it instantly, like he hadn’t realized he’d been starving for touch until that very moment.

“You still deserve it,” You said quietly. “We just…Got lost along the way.”

Bob’s brow furrowed, his breath catching, and you felt the tremble run through his whole body. Your thumb brushed the edge of his jaw.

“I didn’t want him,” you whispered. “I wanted you. And I still do. All of you. Every version. Even the parts you think aren’t safe.”

He exhaled, and it sounded like a prayer. His hand came up to cover yours on his cheek, pressing it closer, grounding himself in your warmth. His eyes fluttered shut beneath your touch. For a second, it was just silence between you. That stretched, heavy kind–the kind that holds the breath of something inevitable.

Then he whispered–

“We shouldn’t do this…Not right now.”

The words stung more than they should have. You felt your hand hesitate slightly on his cheek, just a tremble of doubt. Your breath caught in your throat as your brows drew inward.

“…Why?” You asked, voice barely audible.

Bob opened his eyes again. They were glassy. Gentle. Fractured in that soft, self-protective way he always got when he thought he was saving someone else by denying himself.

“B-Because you went through e-enough last night,” He murmured. “And I don’t–I don’t want to be one more thing you have to recover from.”

You searched his face–every line of tension around his mouth, the delicate tremble in his voice, the way he still hadn’t pulled away from your hand.

“I don’t care,” You said, firm but aching. “I want the real thing. The real Bob.”

His breath stuttered. He looked at you like he wanted to believe you. Like he was afraid to.

“What about The Void…” he asked. Quiet. Uncertain. “He’s… H-he’s still in here with us. In me. What if–” You leaned in a bit, and he could feel your breath gently fanning over his face.

”He can watch for all I care.” Bob’s breath hitched hard. His whole body trembled like you’d cracked something open with just those words. Like the part of him that had been trying so hard to hold back finally didn’t know how to stay locked anymore.

You leaned in just a little more, tilting your head, your voice a murmur against his mouth now.

“I don’t want shadows anymore. I don’t want to pretend. I want you. All of you. Here. With me.” Bob’s eyes dropped to your lips like he couldn’t help it. Like gravity had shifted just enough to make every thought he’d tried to suppress pull straight toward your mouth. He didn’t even blink. Just stared–hungry and unsure and so visibly overwhelmed it made your chest ache.

His breath was shallow now. His thumb trembled just slightly over your skin. And then, softly, like the words were being dragged out of him from the depths of his chest:

“J-Jesus, Y/N…”

It came out like a prayer. Or a plea. Or maybe both. And then you closed the distance. His mouth met yours in an instant–desperate, shaking, unbearably real.

There was nothing slow about it. No tentative brushing or hesitant rhythm.

This kiss devoured both of you in lust and heat.

His hand slipped from your cheek into your hair as he pulled you in like he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t touch every inch of you at once. Your mouths moved against each other in frantic tandem–open, heated, relentless. Tongues brushing, breath tangling, his gasp lost against your teeth.

He kissed like a man unhinged by longing.

Like every second he’d spent holding back had become fuel for this very moment. You let out a soft moan against his lips as your fingers slipped from his hand and rose instead to his face, cupping both cheeks with trembling reverence, the heat of his skin branding your palms like something sacred. His lips parted around a gasp, and you kissed him again–rougher this time, dragging his mouth back to yours like it had always belonged there. Like you’d gone lifetimes starving for this one taste.

Then you broke the kiss–just barely–your breaths crashing into each other between parted mouths, lips grazing but not quite touching. Your hands slid up into his hair, tugging gently as you leaned back against the mattress, guiding him with you, eyes never leaving his.

“Come here,” You whispered.

And Bob followed.

He moved like he was surrendering–like gravity wasn’t just pulling him down but into you. His forearms braced on either side of your head, the stretch of his sweater pulled tight across his back, the heat of his body pressing into yours as he hovered above you, trembling. His knees sank into the mattress and you felt him–all of him–settle over you like a stormcloud full of thunder barely held at bay.

Your hands gripped his jaw again, thumbs brushing his cheeks, and you surged up to kiss him once more. Hard. Wet. Desperate. Your mouth opened for him completely, and he didn’t hesitate this time–he gave you everything. His tongue swept into your mouth, slow at first, then with more certainty, tasting, taking. You moaned into him as your teeth scraped his lower lip, and he groaned like the sound was ripped from his spine.

He kissed like he was burning. Like he didn’t know what part of you to worship first.

You sucked gently on his tongue, dragging it deeper into your mouth with a low, aching moan, and that was when his hips moved.

Just once at first.

A tentative, trembling roll of his pelvis down against yours. He gasped into your mouth, eyes flying open only to flutter shut again as your thighs spread more beneath him, welcoming the pressure. You were both fully clothed still, but that did nothing to dull the heat–the drag of his hardened length against your core through thin layers of your cotton shorts and his sweatpants sent a shock through your body like lightning cracking straight through your ribs.

Bob’s breath stuttered against your mouth as your hand slid down, skimming over the slope of his side, fingertips pressing into the warm cotton at his waist. You felt him twitch above you, his whole body tensing as your palm curved over his hip and guided him–gently, deliberately–down into you again. The grind was slower this time, dragged out and deep, and it ripped a soft, guttural moan from somewhere inside his throat.

“God…” he whispered, voice wrecked, barely holding shape between panting breaths. “Y-You feel so–” His hips rocked again, caught in the rhythm you’d started, “–you feel so good…”

Your hand tightened slightly at his waist, grounding him, coaxing more friction with each press. The fabric between you was damp and thin and completely useless against the heat pooling low in your stomach. His forehead dropped against yours, nose brushing yours, breath catching as he whispered again:

“I–I’ve wanted this for so long. I used to dream about this… Us. Just like this.”

You whined softly at his words, dragging your mouth back to his in a bruising kiss, your lips parting wide for him as your tongue licked into his mouth again, shameless, hungry. He met it with equal desperation–messy and wet and gasping. When he broke the kiss next, it was only to drag his mouth across your cheek to your jaw, then lower, toward your neck. His nose brushed your pulse point before he whispered, almost reverently:

“Y-You’re everything. You’re everything.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at that, hips lifting into his in time with the motion he was starting to lose control over. His rhythm was breaking apart. Unraveling. He was grinding into you now with barely concealed desperation, hips jerking in small, needy circles, chasing the friction with soft, strangled moans caught in his throat.

You arched up into him, letting your other hand slide from his cheek to thread through his hair again. His lips grazed your throat as you breathed:

“Keep going, Bob… Don’t stop…”

He groaned at that, the sound guttural and hoarse, as he pushed against you harder. The pressure, the heat, the way his breath shook as he rocked against your soaked shorts–it all blended into a high, aching tension that pulsed between your bodies like a heartbeat.

Then kissed you again, sloppier now. His lips were swollen, spit-slick, and desperate. Your tongues slid together in a wet, dizzying tangle, and you sucked on his again, drawing out a sound so obscene from him you swore you felt it echo in your chest.

His hips jerked against yours again and again, more erratic now, and his hands were clinging to you–one tangled in your hair, the other fisted in the bedsheets beside your head like if he let go he’d fly apart completely.

“You have–you have no idea what you do to me,” He gasped. “You have so much control over me. I’d give you anything. I’d let you ruin me.”

“I’d never ruin you,” You breathed, threading your fingers through his hair as you guided another slow, hard grind into your core. “You’re mine.” Bob let out a broken noise at that–a sound torn straight from the center of him–and buried his face in your neck as he rocked into you again, harder this time. The friction was sharp, overwhelming, a storm with no space to breathe between strikes. He wasn’t just grinding anymore–he was rutting, trembling, gasping, desperate.

His breath shuddered against your neck as he ground into you again, and then–like he couldn’t bear not touching more of you–his hand slipped beneath your shirt.

It was slow. Almost reverent. The backs of his fingers brushed up the curve of your stomach, over the warmth of your ribs, and then he flattened his palm over your sternum, splaying his fingers like he needed to feel every inch of your heartbeat to believe this was real.

At the same time, your hand slid beneath his sweater, fingers finding the warm skin of his back, and he let out a gasp at the contact, hips stuttering as he pushed into you harder, needier. You dragged your hand higher, feeling the dips and contours of his spine, the slight tremble in his muscles. And then he pulled back just enough to look at you–eyes dark, lips parted, chest heaving.

“We–We should…” He murmured breathlessly, fingers already curling around the hem of your shirt, “I wanna see you.”

You nodded, pupils blown wide, and reached for the hem of his sweater at the same time.

Clothes came off in a breathless tangle.

Your shirt peeled away with a soft rustle, and Bob’s sweater followed, pulled over his head in one quick motion. Both were discarded somewhere beside the bed, forgotten. But then–

Bob stilled.

Because he saw them.

The marks.

Long, thin bruises like fingerprints along your hips. A faint bite above your breastbone. The shadow of darkened skin on your ribs. Not violent… but unmistakable. The Void hadn’t marked you in rage. He’d marked you in possession. Claimed you like a canvas. A monument.

“Holy crap…” Bob whispered, his voice punched out of him like he’d taken a hit to the stomach.

His eyes moved over your skin slowly–no, not just your skin. The memory of what happened. The evidence of what he hadn’t done but had felt. And suddenly the weight of it was choking him.

You froze beneath him, heart lurching.

“Bob,” You said gently. Then again, a little firmer, fingers curling around his wrist, grounding him. “Bob…It’s okay.”

He blinked down at you, breath still stuttering, eyes wide with pain. You could see it–all the things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to shape. The guilt, the disbelief, the raw ache of seeing you marked by something like The Void.

“Come back down here and kiss me,” You whispered, running your free hand along his chest. Bob’s breath hitched. His hand–still trembling–hovered just above your ribs, as if afraid that touching the bruises might make them worse. But when your fingers ghosted along his chest, steady and warm, he finally exhaled. A long, shaking breath, like the guilt, was something living in his lungs.

He touched one of the marks gently, his fingertip grazing it like it might dissolve beneath too much pressure. His eyes stayed on the shape of it, lips parted, voice low and cracking as he whispered–

“O-Okay.”

Then he leaned down, kissed you again–softer this time.

There was no desperation in it now. Only reverence.

It felt like an apology. Like a promise.

His hand cupped your cheek as his mouth moved against yours, slow and wet and open. He kissed you like he was trying to speak through it, like every flick of his tongue and every shared breath was meant to say I’m here. I’m real. I’ll never hurt you.

Then he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, lips brushing your jaw, “I’m gonna be more gentle than he ever was…”

His kisses trailed down to your throat. Slow. Patient. You felt them like electricity threading down your spine–each press of his mouth was careful, intentional. He kissed the hollow beneath your ear, your collarbone, the curve where your shoulder met your neck. And then–

“I want to take my time,” He whispered, voice thick. “I want to worship every inch of this body. I want you to feel safe with me, loved by me…And not used.”

Your breath caught.

His lips brushed over a fading mark near your sternum, and he paused there–kissed it once, twice, so softly it nearly undid you before returning to your lips.

“You’re in control,” He added. His thumb stroked along your cheekbone. “Everything is up to you. We go as far as you want. Nothing more. I just…” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I just want to be close to you. I just want to deserve you.” Tears pricked your lashes. Not out of sadness. But out of how much he meant every word. You nodded, reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead.

“I want this,” You whispered. “With you. However slow, however soft… Just don’t stop touching me.” Bob nodded, a quiet, trembling breath slipping past his lips like he was grounding himself in the gravity of your words. He leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you with a new kind of hunger–less desperate, more deliberate. You could feel it in the way his lips lingered, in the way he savored every brush, every breath, like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth all over again.

Then he began to trail lower.

His lips ghosted along your collarbone–soft, reverent kisses that made your skin ache. His hand, warm and steady now, slid up from your ribs to the swell of your breast. He hesitated there only for a second, like he was asking wordlessly for permission, and when you arched into him, breath hitching, he exhaled like he’d been granted a miracle.

His mouth followed his hand.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your breast–slow and open-mouthed–and you swore you could feel it pulse all the way to your spine. Another kiss, lower now. Then his tongue flicked out to taste you, wet and soft, and your fingers curled in the sheets.

When he finally wrapped his lips around your nipple, you gasped.

It was tender at first–gentle suction, his mouth warm and soft as his tongue stroked slow circles over the sensitive peak. His hand cradled the underside of your breast, thumb stroking rhythmically across your skin. He moaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through his mouth and into your chest, making your back arch, hips lifting off the mattress in a slow, unconscious grind.

“Bob,” You breathed, the sound broken and aching.

He didn’t answer. Not with words. He just groaned low in his throat and sucked a little harder, a little deeper, and your hands flew to his hair, threading through the soft strands as you held him close to you. His other hand came up to cup your free breast now, kneading it gently, carefully, like you were something too precious to rush. His fingers brushed across your other nipple, teasing it to hardness before his mouth left its twin and moved over–wet and hot and aching for more.

He gave the same attention to the other side, lips parting to take you in, tongue swirling around your nipple with languid strokes, then sucking deep, like he couldn’t get enough. You gasped again, legs shifting restlessly beneath him as your thighs pressed together for friction. You could feel the wet heat of your arousal soaking through your shorts now, the friction maddening, but you didn’t ask him to stop. Couldn’t. His mouth on you felt too good. Too right.

Bob moaned again as your hips lifted, and his hand slid lower, fingers tracing the soft dip of your waist before gliding up again to cup the side of your breast, massaging it slowly as he kept his mouth latched to your nipple.

When he finally pulled back, lips slick and parted, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispered, voice wrecked, “So so beautiful…“ Your chest rose and fell under his praise, breath catching hard, and your voice trembled when it finally broke free.

“I need you,” you gasped, your hand sliding into his hair, tightening gently. “Bob–I’m so wet it hurts.”

His breath hitched. His eyes–already dark–dilated further, and you felt the shiver ripple down his spine.

But then he shook his head, slow and dazed, like he was in a trance.

“No,” He said, voice hoarse, almost reverent. “Not yet. I need to taste you first.”

You blinked down at him, heat coiling in your core so hard you thought you might come undone just from that alone.

“Please…Anything…” You whispered, barely able to say it.

He surged up to kiss you again–hungry, open-mouthed, the kind of kiss that made your legs tremble around his waist. And then he pulled back just enough to press his lips to your jaw, your neck, your chest–leaving a wet trail downward, his hands sliding reverently over your hips. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and dragged them down slowly, kissing every inch of skin as it was revealed. When he reached the damp cotton of your panties, he paused–just long enough to press his mouth against the soaked fabric.

“O-Oh god,” He whispered, voice shaking. “You’re dripping for me.”

You moaned, hips twitching, fingers curled in the sheets.

Then–without hesitation–he dragged your panties down, kissing the inside of your thigh as they came off. He eased you open with steady hands, and the moment he saw you laid bare for him, his breath left him in a ragged exhale.

“G-God, you’re perfect,” He said, his voice thick with awe and hunger. “So p-perfect.” He kissed the soft skin there, just at the edge of where you ached, breathing in deep like the scent of you alone could ruin him.

Then he exhaled slowly, and leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue was gentle. A single, slow stripe from the base of your entrance to the swollen peak of your clit, wet and unhurried. You shivered violently beneath him, fingers already reaching for his hair. He groaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through his mouth and into your core. And then he did it again–slower this time. More deliberate. Tongue flat and warm, dragging through your folds with the kind of focus that made your toes curl.

He didn’t rush.

There was no frenzy in him.

Only patience. Devotion. Worship.

He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, barely-there touches that made your thighs twitch around his head. Then he flicked softly–once, twice–and looked up at you.

His eyes were already half-lidded. Glassy. Like the taste of you had undone something deep inside him. And then he closed them again, like savoring the feel of you was a prayer.

You moaned when his nose nudged your clit, the angle forcing it against the sensitive bud as his tongue dipped lower, gently licking at your entrance. You were soaked. Bob groaned at the taste, tongue working you open with trembling reverence, and you gasped, your hips bucking up without meaning to.

He pressed his hands to your thighs, holding you down firmly but not forcefully, his fingers splayed wide like he needed the contact to keep himself grounded. His mouth moved slowly, methodically, lavishing every part of you. When he dragged the flat of his tongue up your slit again and wrapped his lips around your clit for the first time, you cried out, head thrown back against the pillow, fingers tightening in his hair.

Bob moaned again–deep and low–as he sucked, gentle at first, then firmer. His tongue circled, flicked, pressed. He moved with a rhythm that was impossibly focused, like he was studying you, learning every breath, every twitch, every gasp, and adjusting his pressure like a master of his craft.

You were panting now, whimpering, rolling your hips up into his mouth without shame. There was nothing detached or cruel in his touch. No domination. No edge of control. Just a man falling apart over the taste of you, letting himself be consumed by the act of giving.

He pulled back for a moment, lips glistening, breath ragged.

“C-Can I…?” he rasped, eyes blown wide. “Can I use my fingers too?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes, yes–God, please–”

Bob didn’t waste a second.

His mouth dropped back to your clit instantly, tongue circling it again as two fingers slipped into your entrance. The stretch was perfect. The angle just right. He moved them slowly, curling deep inside you with a tenderness that had you keening.

And when he moaned around your clit as your walls fluttered around his fingers, the vibration shot through your whole body like lightning.

You were unraveling. Quickly.

And all you could think was this is what The Void could never give me.

Warmth. Presence. Safety.

Bob groaned into you again, pressing soft kisses between strokes of his tongue. His nose nudged your clit with every stroke of his mouth against your folds. His fingers moved in perfect rhythm–slow, deep, patient–curling up and stroking the spot inside you that made stars flicker at the edges of your vision.

You looked down through the haze of your pleasure and saw him.

Face buried between your thighs.

Lashes fluttering.

Cheeks flushed.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, like this was sacred. Like pleasing you was the only thing in the world that mattered. He sucked your clit into his mouth again, softly but completely, and swirled his tongue as he fucked you deeper, harder with his fingers–and you cried out.

“Bob–Bob, I’m–” You couldn’t finish. Your voice cracked on a sob of pleasure as your body seized beneath him.

Your climax hit like a wave crashing into shore. Your thighs trembled around his head, your hands fisted in the sheets, and your back arched as you came with a broken, shuddering moan. He didn’t stop. He slowed, easing you through it, his tongue moving gently now, soothingly, like he was kissing the aftershocks from your body one by one.

You collapsed back onto the bed, panting, fingers slipping weakly from his hair. Your body was humming, oversensitive, but sated in a way it never had been before. When Bob finally pulled back, his lips were red and slick, chin glistening. His eyes were wide and awe-filled. And he looked…Wrecked.

But in the most beautiful way.

“Was that okay?” He asked, voice hoarse, shy again now, like he hadn’t just brought you to heaven and back.

You laughed, breathless, tears of overstimulation prickling at your eyes.

“It was perfect,” you whispered. “So much better than anything I ever imagined. So much better than him.”

His expression softened, and he leaned up to kiss you. You could taste yourself against his lips–hot, slick, faintly sweet and obscene. It hit you like a jolt. The knowledge that he’d been buried between your legs only moments ago, devouring you like a man starved, and now you were tasting the evidence of it on his tongue. He kissed you deeper, filthier, letting you feel the way his mouth was still soaked with you. His tongue pushed past your lips, slow and deliberate, and you moaned into him like the sensation alone was enough to make you spiral all over again.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he groaned–long and low–as his hips bucked instinctively against you.

The thick press of his erection, still confined in those useless sweatpants, dragged against your bare, sensitive core. You gasped at the contact. He hissed between clenched teeth, rutting once, twice–shallow, desperate grinds that made you both tremble.

And then he broke the kiss.

Barely.

Foreheads pressed, his breath crashed against your lips as he whispered, voice hoarse, wrecked:

“I’m g-gonna take these off…”

He reached down with one hand, already tugging at the waistband of his sweats. The movement was slow, breathless. Then his voice dropped even lower–richer, rougher.

“…A-And you’re gonna get on top.”

Your breath caught.

His hand cupped the side of your face again, thumb brushing over your flushed cheek like he was grounding himself even now.

“I-I want you to do whatever you want to me,” He said, voice cracking with the weight of his need. “I just w-want you to be in control.”

You stilled.

Not because you doubted him–but because that sentence hit something primal. It was surrender in the truest sense of the word. The most powerful man you’d ever met–the man who could turn people into shadows and who held galaxies in his chest–was offering you everything. No fear. No condition. Just Bob. Letting you lead.

”I have to say…That’s so hot…” You whispered, your voice rough with awe and heat. A slow, shaky smile pulled at his lips, and his hands moved again—sliding his sweatpants down his hips and kicking them off. His cock was flushed, hard, thick where it curved up toward his stomach, tip already wet with precum. Your breath caught again.

Bob looked…Divine.

Raw. Unshielded. And still trembling under the weight of how badly he wanted this to be yours. Bob shifted back against the headboard, legs bent slightly, hands braced on the mattress at his sides. His chest was rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He looked ruined already. Completely at your mercy. And he liked it.

He watched you with parted lips, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The flushed curve of his cock stood proud between his thighs, wet at the tip, twitching with every heartbeat. But he didn’t touch himself. Didn’t even dare. He just waited.

For you.

You rose onto your knees and crawled toward him slowly, deliberately. Each movement was precise. Controlled. Letting him feel the weight of your intent with every inch you claimed. When you reached him, you straddled his hips and felt him go still–completely, reverently still–beneath your thighs.

Your knees bracketed his hips, bare and hot, and you sat up fully. Spine long, hair falling around your shoulders, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you steadied yourself. Bob looked up at you like you were holy. Like you were something he’d dreamed of for years but never believed he’d get to worship this way.

And then–eyes locked with his–you reached down between your bodies.

Bob gasped as your fingers curled around the base of his cock, firm but slow, and you gave him one long, aching stroke. His hips twitched, a strangled sound caught in his throat. But he still didn’t move. He was giving you everything.

You dragged the head of his cock through your folds–once, twice, again–coating him in your slick, letting him feel how wet you were. How ready.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, head tipping back slightly against the wood. “Y-You’re gonna kill me…”

You smiled, breathless. Then, without breaking eye contact, you angled him perfectly beneath you–and slowly, so slowly, you began to sink down.

The stretch was…Devastating.

Thick. Full. Hot.

You let out a broken sound from deep in your throat as you took him inch by inch. Bob’s hands gripped the sheets at his sides like he was trying to anchor himself to reality. His head dropped forward to watch, pupils blown wide, chest heaving, a string of half-whispered praises tumbling from his lips.

“God, you’re–” His voice fractured, shaking, “–you feel so good, s-so perfect…”

You settled fully into his lap, and the moment you did, Bob let out a shuddering moan–quiet but guttural, like the sound had been lodged somewhere in his ribs.

He was buried deep inside you. All of him. The stretch still pulsed through your core like a heartbeat, throbbing and full, but you didn’t move. Not yet.

Instead, you reached for his hands.

“Hold me,” You whispered.

Bob obeyed instantly.

His hands slid from the bedsheets to your hips, then around your waist, arms wrapping tightly around you as if he could mold his body to yours. His palms splayed wide across your back, holding you so carefully, so reverently, like you might drift away if he didn’t anchor you down.

Your chest pressed against his. Skin to skin. Heart to heart.

You could feel the way he trembled. The tension in his thighs. The shallow rise and fall of his breath as he clung to you like salvation. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and his mouth opened against your neck, breath searing hot.

But still–you didn’t move.

You stayed seated fully on him, body wrapped around his, and just…Let yourself exist like that. Connected. Claimed. In control.

Bob whimpered.

Not from pain, not from frustration—but from the sheer intensity of it. Of being inside you, of being held still, of having to surrender to your pace. His cock throbbed inside you, twitching helplessly with every pulse of your walls, and he moaned when he felt it.

“This…O-Oh Y/N….Y-You’re so perfect.” He whispered, leaning forward so his lips could find your neck. He dragged his mouth over your pulse point, breath warm and uneven. He nuzzled the skin there, pressing one long kiss just beneath your jaw before scraping his teeth gently across your flesh.

You gasped.

He moaned.

“I love the way you taste,” He whispered, voice low and wrecked. “I’d mark you if you let me… Kiss every inch of your skin ‘til you couldn’t tell where I ended and you started…”

You pulsed around him again.

Bob choked on a gasp, forehead falling to your shoulder.

“I’d let you ruin me if it meant I got to stay like this. Inside you. Wrapped up in you. Y-You don’t even have to move, I’ll still come like this if you keep squeezing me like that.”

Your fingers found his neck, the column of it slick with sweat, the pulse there fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings beneath your palm. You held him gently—not tight, not possessive, just enough to anchor him. To guide him.

“Bob,” you whispered, breath brushing the shell of his ear. “Look at me.”

He obeyed, slow and trembling. His forehead lifted from your shoulder, lashes fluttering as he met your gaze. His eyes were blown wide, the deepest shade of blue, glassy and brimming. There was so much there—longing, awe, fear, surrender—and you held it all with your hand on his throat and your body wrapped around his.

You moved first.

It was a subtle grind of your hips, a slow press down and forward that sent his cock dragging deliciously against your walls and his pelvis flush against your clit. Your breath caught in your throat at the friction, the heat, the closeness. Bob gasped—his mouth falling open in a broken moan, hands tightening slightly on your back.

“F-Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my God…”

You did it again. A slow, rolling grind that pressed you right there, and he felt every trembling inch of it. His head dropped forward with a choked sound, mouth brushing your collarbone.

“No,” you whispered, your thumb brushing his jaw, lifting his chin. “Keep looking at me.”

His eyes opened again, wrecked and obedient, and you gave him another slow, deep grind–your slick walls pulling around him as your clit rubbed in firm circles against the ridge of his pelvis. Bob trembled under you, his chest heaving, arms holding you tighter like you were the only thing keeping him from coming apart.

“I need you to stay right here,” You said softly. “I need to feel all of you.”

“I-I’m right here,” he choked. “I swear–I’m not going anywhere.”

You kissed him.

God, you kissed him like it was your last chance. Your mouth was soft and open, your tongue slow and sweet, like you were trying to breathe life back into both of you. And Bob melted into it—completely, utterly. His hands curved up your spine, not to control but to cradle. To keep you close.

Your hips found a rhythm. A deep, rolling grind that pressed you into him again and again—smooth and slow and so fucking full. You weren’t riding him for speed. You weren’t chasing anything. You were claiming him. Letting him exist inside you like he belonged there. Like this was always how it was supposed to be.

Bob’s breath hitched, and then–barely a whisper–

“I-I can’t believe you want me like this…”

“I do,” you said, voice thick. “So much.”

Your clit rubbed in perfect friction against him now with each roll of your hips. The wet sound of it was quiet but present, the heat building low in your belly again as you rocked in smooth, delicious circles. His eyes fluttered shut for a second–just one–but you gave a warning squeeze around his cock and he gasped, eyes flying open.

“Eyes on me,” You murmured, voice like velvet and lightning all at once. “I need you to see me when I come.”

Bob’s breath broke. He whimpered–a sound you’d never thought you’d hear from a man like him–and it made your walls flutter around him again. You moved your hand from his throat to cup his jaw now, brushing your thumb over the tear that had slipped free onto his cheekbone.

“Oh, Bob,” You whispered. “Don’t cry.”

“I can’t—I can’t help it,” He choked, another tear slipping free. “I-It’s just… you’re so close, you’re right here, and I don’t deserve it, and I–”

“You do,” You said firmly, kissing the tears from his cheeks, one after the other. “You do. I promise you do.”

His arms tightened around you and he pressed his forehead to yours as your hips kept moving. Your clit rubbed harder against his pelvis now, your body slick and hot and trembling with the mounting tension. You could feel your orgasm coming–slow and powerful, cresting like a tide inside you–and Bob felt it too.

“You’re shaking,” He whispered, voice thick with awe. “You’re gonna come like this? F-From just…Grinding on me?”

“With you inside me,” You breathed. “With your arms around me. With you crying for me.”

Bob moaned, helpless and high. His fingers dug into your waist, but he didn’t speed you up. He let you keep control. And that was what made it so fucking perfect.

Your breath broke first.

A gasp. A cry. Your head tipped back as your orgasm swept through you, deep and slow and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around him and your clit rubbed perfectly against his skin as you rode it out, sobbing against his mouth as he held you tighter, kissing your cheeks, your jaw, whispering praise in a broken voice.

“So perfect, so perfect, oh my God, you feel like heaven–”

Then you felt him twitch inside you. His whole body locked, breath caught on a desperate moan.

“C-Can I–Y/N–please, I need–can I come?”

“Come inside me,” You whispered. “Let go, you’re safe.”

That broke him.

Bob cried out, shuddering, hips jerking once, twice, then grinding deep as he spilled inside you–warm and thick, pulsing against your walls as he sobbed into your neck. His arms held you tight, breath shaking like every part of him was unraveling in your hands.

And it was beautiful.

You stayed like that–wrapped around each other, trembling, kissed in sweat and tears and come–until the shaking slowed, until the only sound in the room was your breathing, synced.

Then Bob pulled back, barely, and looked at you.

His cheeks were flushed. His lips swollen. His eyes still wet.

“I love you,” He said hoarsely, like it was the only thing he had left. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

Your heart cracked wide open.

And you kissed him again.

Soft. Tender. Final.

“I know,” You whispered. “I love you too.” His arms wrapped tighter around your back, his hand curling protectively over your spine as if to shield the last remaining fragments of you from the world outside your shared warmth. His other hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangled softly in your hair, holding you close to him.

”A-Are you okay?” He asked gently, and you nodded.

”Let’s just stay like this for a little while…Please.” Bob nodded, and buried his face into your shoulder, breathing you in heavily. His body trembled under yours. Not from exertion now, but from something gentler. Something raw. You could feel his heart hammering against your chest in steady, staggering bursts. His cock was still inside you, softening slowly, but neither of you cared. The sweat between your skin clung like sealant. Like gravity. Like home.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek–just beneath the smudge of drying tear salt.

He didn’t speak again until a long, quiet minute later.

“…I didn’t hear him.”

Your breath caught.

“What?”

Bob pulled back just slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. His fingers brushed over your jaw. His voice was softer now. More certain.

“The Void,” He whispered. “I didn’t hear him… Not once. Not when I kissed you. Not when I touched you. Not even when I came.” His brow furrowed gently, like the realization had just fully settled in his chest. “He wasn’t there. Not at all.”

Your heart thudded so hard it hurt.

“…Me neither,” You replied, blinking. “I didn’t hear him either.”

You both paused.

Then Bob cupped your cheek and leaned in, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your mouth. This one wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t claiming. It was the kind of kiss that thanked you for every piece of what came before. The kind that whispered: we made it.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together again.

“I think he’s gone,” You said, voice shaking with disbelief. “I think–just for now–it’s quiet.”

Bob nodded slowly, eyes still closed.

“It’s just you in my head right now,” He said quietly. “You’re the only thing I hear.” You felt the tears prick your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t sharp. They didn’t ache. They flowed soft and steady as you pulled back slightly, looked him in the eyes, and brushed a lock of damp hair from his forehead.

“Let’s clean up,” You murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

Bob blinked slowly, then offered a dazed smile–half-exhausted, half-stunned.

“You just did.”

“I’m not done,” You said, gently shifting off his lap. He gasped quietly at the loss of contact, but didn’t resist as you helped him stretch out against the pillows.

You moved slowly.

Your body ached–in the best way–and you padded quietly across the room to retrieve a soft towel and the glass of water by your bedside. When you returned, Bob was watching you like he didn’t know how to stop.

You sat beside him and wiped him down with gentle strokes–starting at his chest, dabbing along the flushed trail of sweat down his sternum, then moving lower, cleaning his softening length with quiet care. His breath hitched when you did, but he didn’t flinch. He let you take your time.

When you finished tending to him, you leaned forward to press one last kiss to the center of his chest. His skin was still warm and flushed, the thudding of his heart echoing just beneath your lips. But before you could shift away, Bob’s hand gently wrapped around your wrist.

“Wait,” he murmured softly, eyes steady and shining. “M-My turn…”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Bob, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he whispered. “Please. Let me.”

There was a depth to his voice that left no room for refusal—soft, reverent, as if this was as important to him as any kiss or confession. You nodded slowly.

And Bob moved carefully.

He sat up with you, then gently coaxed you to lay back down, easing you onto the pillows with trembling hands. You watched him with quiet wonder as he reached for the towel you’d just used on him and dipped the clean edge into the water glass, wringing it out carefully. His movements were so tender, like touching you now required an entirely different kind of strength–one that didn’t come from the Sentry.

It came from love.

He knelt between your legs and brushed his fingers softly along the inside of your thigh, his eyes flicking up to yours. You gave a small nod, breath catching slightly, and let your legs fall open for him.

He swallowed hard.

The sight of you–still glistening from him, swollen and pink, your inner thighs kissed with the aftermath of pleasure–made him blink slowly like he was afraid he’d miss something if he looked away for even a second. You expected him to begin right away with the towel, but instead, Bob leaned in first.

And kissed the inside of your thigh.

Just once. Then again. And again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses trailed up the curve of your leg, each one slower than the last, lips warm and gentle as he nuzzled and worshipped the skin just inches from your core. Your breath hitched as his mouth pressed a kiss just beside your entrance–like he was blessing the part of you that held him, loved him, trusted him.

“Thank y-you,” He whispered, voice hoarse. “F-For letting me have this. For… C-Choosing me…After what happened…”

You reached down, hand threading through his hair, and Bob looked up at you as he finally brought the towel to your center.

He was gentle. So incredibly gentle.

The cloth was warm, and the strokes were slow–he cleaned you with the care of someone handling sacred glass, careful not to press too hard, not to rush, not to do anything that might make you flinch. You didn’t. Not once. If anything, your body softened further under his touch.

When he was done, he set the towel aside and pressed another kiss–right above your mound this time, reverent and trembling. Then he looked up at you again. His eyes were still wet.

“You’re perfect,” You whispered. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”

Bob exhaled hard, like the words shook something loose inside his chest. Then he crawled back up beside you, pulling the comforter up and over your bodies with one hand as the other cupped the back of your head. He tucked you in against him slowly, protectively, until your cheek was resting over his heart.

You could hear it beating fast.

“I don’t know what comes next,” you murmured against his skin.

His fingers traced soft shapes along your spine. “Me neither.”

There was a silence that followed–but it wasn’t heavy.

It was full.

Full of something new. Something unspoken. Something earned.

Bob kissed the top of your head, lips lingering like a promise.

And you closed your eyes against his chest, listening to the rhythm of a heart that, for the first time in a long time, was quiet.

No voices.

No shadows.

1K notes · View notes

nxrvqna · 6 months ago

Text

newlywed!sylus who couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into your plush skin that had him entranced the entire ceremony. seeing you in white made him dizzy.

after bidding goodbye to your guests and leaving, all that could be heard in your hotel room was the sound of heavy breathing and kissing. sylus had all but molded himself to you, his hands travelling everywhere all at once. clad in your white veil, lace garter belt and stockings; sylus in his dress shirt, tie, and dress pants that were tightening by the minute.

his lips grazed the curve of your neck, his hands coming up to move your veil aside so he could latch his lips onto that sweet spot just behind your ear. you carded your fingers through his white tresses whilst squealing at his movement. he purposely pulled up to gauge a reaction from you. “leave your tie on, sy.” you whispered him, with your honeyed voice, avoiding his gaze. sylus looked down at you, a small tug of his lips. “why’s that, sweetie?”

“so i can do this.”

you pulled down suddenly on his tie to bring him back to your level and gave him a searing kiss, your grip never faltering. you felt sylus’ smile against your red lips. you broke apart and sylus looked at you with a tenderness in his carmine eyes, your lipstick smeared. “whatever the wife says.”

“i have to reward my wife for her courage, don’t you think?” he spoke aloud, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt and loosening his tie. he gently guided you until your back met the wall and he got on his knees. running a hand up your leg, his agile fingers fiddling with the sheer material of your stockings. throwing one leg over his broad shoulder so that he was met with your bare pussy, swollen and glistening under the light of the room

without warning, he glided his fingers between your folds, making sure the cold metal of his wedding band made contact. your legs buckled. his hand moved with ease, manoeuvres unchallenged from how wet you were. he sighed, warm breath fanning against your clenching hole, before licking one long stripe against your wetness. “can’t believe this cunt is mine for the rest of my life. i could die a happy man.”

sylus would put down his gun, leave his life of violence behind and write poems about you. your hair, your skin, your smile. he’d follow you to the ends of this world and the next, worshipping the very ground you walk on, the air you breath. his to hold and cherish, for better or worse, in sickness and in health.

#sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads smut #lads x reader #sylus x reader #sylus smut #smut #x reader

2K notes · View notes

cinnasite · 10 days ago

Text

with great power comes great lesbianism

꩜ pairing: spiderman!ellie williams x female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 5.5k

꩜ synopsis: your campus crush is awkward, brilliant, and possibly allergic to eye contact. your city’s superhero is bold, brawny, and keeps saving your life. it takes a few close calls and some questionable physics to realise they’re the same girl—and she’s falling for you, too.

The first time Spider-Girl saves you, it's from a mugger in an alley behind the campus coffee shop. You're fumbling through your backpack for your pepper spray when she drops down like some extremely agile angel, all wisecracks and impossibly fluid movements.

"Hey there, citizen," she quips with her trademark enthusiasm, expertly knocking out the guy with a single punch. God, she’s always so extra on television. You didn’t think she’d be a hundred times worse in real life. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that walking alone at night is, like, really bad for your web of safety?"

You stare at her, dumbfounded, heart hammering from more than just the adrenaline. "Did you seriously just make a spider pun?"

"Maybe." Even through the mask, you can hear her intolerable grin. "You okay? No injuries? Emotional trauma? Sudden urge to take up martial arts?"

"I'm fine," you manage, though you're definitely not. She's hanging upside down now, her auburn hair falling in waves around her masked face, and something indescribable about her voice is making your stomach flip. You clutch your pepper spray tighter.

"Good. Great. Awesome," her extremely endearing stuttering doesn’t distract you from how delicious her biceps look in that top-notch suit of hers. "Um, you should probably get home. Soon. Don’t want to miss dinner. Most important meal of the day."

She swings away before you can thank her (or correct her on how the phrase is actually about breakfast), leaving you alone with your breathing irregular and a very inconvenient crush on a masked vigilante.

The second time is five days later, when a chunk of building facade decides to almost make friends with your head during the villain of the week’s rampage downtown. Spider-Girl appears out of nowhere, scooping you up in arms that are surprisingly stronger than anticipated (not that you’ve been thinking about her arms, haha, no way) and swinging you to protection on a nearby rooftop.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," she pants, setting you down gently. "People are gonna talk."

"Are you following me?" you gape at her, brushing dust from your jacket.

"What? No! That's—that's crazy talk. I'm a hero. Heroes don’t follow. They heroically arrive. At coincidental moments."

You purse your lips, evidently skeptical, "Right. Coincidental."

"Very coincidental. Cosmically coincidental, even. The universe is just really invested in us meeting, apparently."

While she goes off on a tangent about something too philosophical for your understanding, you’re more focused on scrutinising her mannerisms. There's something eerily familiar about the way she gestures, all animated hands and panicky grace, but you can't seem to place it. You table your suspicions for another time. That is, if there is another time.

And, oh boy, there is.

You're walking home from a last-minute convenience store visit when a car runs a red light, heading straight for you. It’s downright ridiculous. At this point, you’re convinced that you’re undeniably cursed. Before you can ponder over the pros and cons of becoming roadkill versus finally escaping the group project from hell, a blur of red and blue tackles you to the pavement, and suddenly you're staring up at the sky wondering if you've died.

For a moment, you're pressed chest to chest with Spider-Girl, her masked face inches from yours. You can feel her heaving, quick and shallow.

"Okay," you whisper. "Now I’m certain you're following me."

"I—" she scrambles backward, nearly tripping over her own feet. "It's not what it looks like!"

You shake your head, trying to gain sense of your surroundings, "It looks like you're stalking me."

"I prefer 'keeping tabs on.' For very legitimate reasons."

You let out a disbelieving laugh, studying her, "What's your name?"

"Girl, do you have a concussion?”

"Your real name, smartass."

She freezes, her frantic spiraling reaching an abrupt halt, "Come on, gorgeous It’s not so simple. That's classified information."

"Of course," you stand with a defeated sigh, running a hand through your hair and trying not to fixate on how she chose to refer to you (gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous). "Well, thanks for the save. Maybe next time you could text me when there's danger instead of lurking like a weirdo?"

You're halfway down the block when you hear her call out: "I don't have your number!" You turn back, grinning, "I guess you'll have to ask for it like a normal person!"

The girl in your Advanced Calculus class is strange.

Not bad strange—sort of a cute strange, truly. She showed up six weeks into the semester, all quiet and nervous twitching, taking the only empty seat right next to you. She has freckles scattered across her nose and the greenest eyes you've ever seen, and she fidgets constantly, like she's got too much energy for her own skin.

"Ellie," she'd introduced herself on her first day, awkwardly extending a hand that was covered in small scars and calluses. "Williams."

"Nice to meet you," you'd replied, and something about her crooked smile made your chest tight.

She's brilliant in class—when she shows up, of course. Professor Martinez assigns a problem set on differential equations and Ellie solves them with an elegance that makes everyone lean forward to so much as catch a glimpse of her work. But she has her quirks like not making eye contact while explaining her solutions, and doodling in the margins of her notebooks—intricate patterns that look too similar to webs, you suppose.

Also, she stares at you. A lot.

"Earth to Ellie," you mutter during a particularly boring lecture on integration techniques. She's been gazing at you for the past five minutes, completely obvious about it.

She startles, knocking over her water bottle. "Shit, sorry. I wasn't—"

You stifle a laugh, "Staring at me?" Her face goes pink, about ready to burst if she could, "I was thinking about derivatives. Pretty intensely."

"Uh-huh, here," you hand her some napkins from your bag, helping salvage her soaked notes. "What's your take on the fundamental theorem of calculus, then?"

"It's... fundamental," she says, then grimaces when she seems to realise how that sounds. "I mean, it's inherently elegant. The way it connects differentiation and integration like two sides of the same coin."

You're impressed despite yourself, "Not many would choose to explain it that way, but it’s a fitting analogy."

"Thanks." She plays around with her pen and you wonder how someone’s fingers could be so long and slender and—

Oh my fucking god, please stop.

You snap out of your thoughts to come face-to-face with Ellie rambling, too engrossed in what she’s saying to notice how your neck is embarrassingly flushed. "I'm good with connections. How things relate to each other."

As if summoned by her words, her phone vibrates with what sounds like a notification. She glances at it offhandedly and her whole body goes tense.

"I-I have to—bathroom—emergency—" she's already gathering her things, moving with surprising dexterity despite her apparent alarm. At first, you can only blink at the sudden shift, thinking it's some kind of elaborate excuse or a joke you’re not in on. But she's already weaving through chairs, clutching her bag like a lifeline.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah! Fine! Totally fine! Just, erm, digestive issues!"

By the time you lurch to your feet, she's vanished around the corner, leaving behind only the ghost of her perfume and a rapidly cooling seat. Twenty minutes later, news alerts start buzzing about Spider-Girl stopping a large-scale robbery across town.

You start paying attention after that. Really paying attention.

From your elaborate observations, you’ve concluded the following: Ellie disappears from class every time there's a Spider-Girl sighting. She shows up the next day with new bruises she claims are from "aggressive skateboarding" or "really competitive rock climbing." Who does she think she’s trying to fool? Moreover, she knows too much about physics and momentum for someone who supposedly just likes math.

"Want to study together?" you nonchalantly ask one Thursday under the guise of Professor Kim sending out a particularly brutal assignment. In actuality, you were on the prowl for some hardcore evidence to back your hypothesis. "The library has those group study rooms."

Ellie's eyes light up, caught off guard by the offer, "Yeah, yes! Absolutely. I mean, if you want. I'm probably not that helpful, but—"

A pointed stare from you shuts Ellie up, "You're literally the smartest person in our class."

A sheepish smile is all you get in response. The study session is a disaster and the best three hours of your week simultaneously.

Ellie is smart, walking you through complex equations with a patience that makes you genuinely grateful to have her by your side, but she's also the most distractible person you've ever met. Her phone buzzes constantly—emergency alerts, news notifications, text messages that make her face go pale.

"Popular girl," you can’t stop yourself from teasing after the seventh interruption.

"Not really. Uh, I volunteer with this community safety thing. Neighborhood watch type deal."

"Neighborhood watch?"

"Mhm, very active neighborhood watch."

She's helping you with a particularly tricky problem, leaning close enough that you can smell her shampoo, when her phone starts borderline shrieking with alerts.

"Shit," she mutters, grabbing it, looking beyond apologetic. "I have to—"

"Go," you say, even though you're disappointed. "Your neighborhood watch thing?"

"Yeah. Last-minute emergency... watching."

She's halfway to the door when she turns back. "Can we do this again? The studying, I mean. Not the emergency part."

You try to bite back a more than pleased smile. You’re not successful. "I'd like that."

After she leaves, you sit in the empty study room for a while, thinking about the way she explained vector calculus like it was poetry, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about complex theorems, the way she looked at you like you were the most interesting equation she'd ever encountered.

Until reality punches all of the air out of your lungs: "Spider-Girl Saves Civilians Trapped in Terrible Industrial Fire."

The realisation hits you during the next class.

Professor Kim is explaining the mechanism behind projectile motion, and Ellie is taking notes with the intensity of someone who needs to understand exactly how objects move through three-dimensional space. Which is apt, you guess.

"The trajectory of any projectile can be calculated using these equations," Professor Kim drawls, writing on the board. "Accounting for initial velocity, angle of projection, and gravitational acceleration..."

Ellie's pen moves across her notebook, but she's not just copying the equations, you notice. She's modifying them, adding variables, and sketching what looks like trajectory paths between buildings.

Huh, that’s interesting.

"Miss Williams," Professor Kim’s voice booms throughout the hall, "could you share your perspective regarding the topic at hand?"

Ellie looks up, startled. "Oh. I-I was just thinking about how you'd need to account for air resistance in real-world applications. And wind patterns. And if you were, I don’t know, swinging between buildings, you'd need to calculate the optimal release point to maintain momentum while accounting for the pendulum effect of the swing itself."

It’s dead silent. You raise an eyebrow. The class stares at her.

Professor Kim clears her throat, "That's a good question. Yet very specific, Miss Williams."

"I just think about practicality," Ellie mutters weakly.

After class, you corner her in the hallway, determination oozing from the way you stride over to her. "Swinging between buildings?" you ask.

Ellie can barely hold it together, itching with the need to be anywhere but in front of you. "Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically," you echo, studying her face. "You know, I've been thinking about patterns lately, since our conversation. Like how Spider-Girl always seems to show up right after you disappear from class."

Ellie goes very still. "That's... cool."

"Is it? Because I've been doing some math of my own. The timing, the locations, the way you know exactly how web-swinging would work from a physics perspective."

"Funny story, I’m… ah… writing a research paper on Spider-Girl’s abilities—"

"You have the same voice as a certain superhero who's saved my life three times."

Her face goes pale. She opens and closes her mouth, unable to devise an escape plan. And she has tons of experience in those. "I can explain."

You lean closer, lowering your voice, "Can you? Because I'm starting to think my study partner is also the girl who's been stalking me from rooftops."

"I haven't been stalking you!" she protests, then catches herself. "I mean, I don't know what you're talking about."

You tilt your head, close enough to see the panic in her green eyes. "Prove it."

"How?"

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"If you're not Spider-Girl, then kissing me shouldn't be a problem. But if you are..." you let the sentence hang, your own pulse skyrocketing.

Ellie stares at you, bewilderment painting her features. "That's not—that doesn't prove anything."

"Doesn't it? Because I'm pretty sure Spider-Girl has been wanting to kiss me for weeks. The question is whether Ellie Williams wants to kiss me too."

The words tumble out before you can second-guess them—bold, reckless, and so unlike you. But for once, you don’t care. The hallway is empty, most students having fled to their next classes. Ellie looks around desperately, like she still believes that she can scheme her way out of this.

"I—" she starts, then ultimately stops. Her shoulders slump. "Fuck."

"Is that a confession?"

"It's an acknowledgment that I'm terrible at this secret identity thing."

You grin, pleased with yourself, "So you are Spider-Girl."

"Yeah." She runs a hand through her hair. "And I've been going crazy trying to keep away from you while also making sure you're safe, and I think I'm falling for you but I can't tell if it's because I'm Spider-Girl or because I'm Ellie, and—"

You kiss her.

It’s soft, at first, almost hesitant, but it lands with the quiet certainty of something long overdue. Her words die against your lips, a half-formed thought swallowed by the warmth of your mouth on hers. She lets out a soft, taken aback sound, something between a gasp and a sigh, and then she’s kissing you back like it’s instinct, like she’s been waiting for this as long as you have.

Her hands rise to cradle your face, fingers trembling just slightly as they settle against your cheeks. She leans into you, melts, and the world narrows down to the press of her body against yours and the wild, thunderous beat of your heart.

When you finally pull back—breathless and stunned—she doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you with wide, shining eyes like she’s seeing something brand new.

Like she’s never wanted anything more.

"Both," you whisper. "You asked if you're falling for me as Spider-Girl or as Ellie. For me, it's both. I'm falling for both of you."

Her smile, the brightest you’ve ever seen, could power the entire campus. "Really?"

"Really. Though I have to say, your secret identity skills need work."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm getting that." She ducks her head, but not before you catch the rising blush, equal parts pride and bashfulness. You’re not sure if it’s the jab, the kiss, or just you that’s got her blushing like that, but whatever it is, you want to see it again.

"We should probably talk about this somewhere more private," you say, glancing around the empty hallway.

"My apartment?" Ellie suggests, then immediately looks panicked. "If you want. For talking. Just talking. Very innocent talking."

You laugh, carefree, watching the panic bloom across her face like she’s just proposed something scandalous instead of, quite frankly, simply suggesting. It’s cute—dangerously cute—and a spark of amusement curls in your chest. "Ellie."

"Yeah?"

"It’s alright. I'm not going anywhere."

Her apartment is small and cluttered, textbooks scattered across every surface, equations scrawled on sticky notes stuck to the walls. Such a nerd, you think to yourself with barely controlled lust. There's a familiar suit hanging in the closet, and you stare in awe.

"So," you begin, settling on her couch. "How long?"

"About a year. There was this lab accident—" she sits beside you, close enough that your knees touch. "Radioactive spider. Very original, I know."

"And you've been doing the superhero thing since then?"

"Someone has to. The city's not exactly overflowing with good-natured people."

You drink in her face, taking in the small scar on her cheekbone, the way her eyes are alight with something unfamiliar. "Are you okay with this? Me knowing?"

"Terrified," her eyes widen a little, like she hadn’t expected you to ask. Like the idea that someone would care enough to check in hadn’t fully occurred to her. The tension in her shoulders eases, just barely, and when she speaks, her voice is softer. "But also... relieved? I've been wanting to tell you for weeks."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because people I care about get hurt. It's like a rule or something," her nails scratch at her skin anxiously. "And I care about you. A lot."

It slams into you—her honesty, raw and unguarded—and you have to swallow the rush of feeling that follows. You’ve waited so long for this, for her. Now, she’s here, and you don’t trust yourself to breathe too loudly in case the moment shatters. "How much?"

She looks at you then and the intensity in her gaze makes you forget how to function. "Enough that I've been taking patrol routes past your apartment building to make sure you get home safe. Enough that I nearly blew my cover multiple times because I couldn't stand the thought of you getting hurt. Enough that I've been falling asleep thinking about you and waking up wishing I could tell you everything."

Your lips quiver, "Ellie..."

"I know it's crazy. I know I've been lying to you, and that dating me comes with risks you never signed up for. I know you think I'm some kind of stalker. Fuck, I am—"

You kiss her again, slower this time, like you're trying to commit the way she tastes, the way she feels under your hands to memory. Her fingers tighten at your waist, tentative at first, then surer, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. You can clearly tell that she’s been waiting for some semblance of permission to want this as much as she does. She tilts her head, deepening the kiss with a quiet groan that makes your knees go a little weak.

It’s not a confession. It’s a surrender. A promise that neither of you quite knows how to verbalise so soon.

"I don't think you're a stalker," you mumble against her lips. "I think you're extremely awesome. And hot. And selfless."

Ellie chuckles, "And?"

"And I think I'm completely gone for you."

She pulls back to meet your eyes. "Both versions of me?"

"All versions of you. The hero, the student, the girl who makes terrible spider puns and gets flustered when I catch her staring."

"I do not get flustered."

"You look like a tomato right now."

"That's unrelated."

You throw your head back, and she grins, that same, crooked smile that's been driving you crazy for weeks. "I love your laugh," she appreciates softly.

"I love your brain. The way you see patterns in everything, the way you explained all of those formulae like they were beautiful instead of impossible."

"They are beautiful. Math is, like, the language the world uses to describe itself."

"See? That. That's what I'm talking about."

She shifts closer, her forehead resting against yours. "What happens now?"

"Now you stop trying to protect me from a distance and let me be part of your life. The real part."

"It's dangerous."

"So is crossing the street. So is falling in love with someone," you trace the line of her jaw with your fingertip. "I'm not asking you to stop being Spider-Girl. I'm asking you to trust me enough to let me choose to be with you anyway."

She's quiet for a moment, and you can see her calculating probabilities, a deep furrow set in her brows. Finally, she utters, "I've never had anyone who knew. About me, I mean. All of me."

You nod in understanding, "How does it feel?"

"Scary. Amazing. Like I can finally relax."

"Good,” you smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Because I plan on knowing you for a very long time."

"Show me," you say later, when you're curled up together on her couch, her arms around you and her chin resting on your shoulder.

"Show you what?"

"The Spider-Girl stuff. I want to see how it works."

She tenses slightly. "Are you sure? It's kind of intense."

"Ellie. I've been dreaming about this for weeks."

She's deeply amused for a moment, then she gently untangles herself from you and stands. "Okay. But if it freaks you out—"

"It won't."

She moves to the window, and you watch as she seems to almost, in a way, transform. Her posture changes, becomes more fluid, more confident. She presses her palm against the glass, and you see her fingers stick to the surface without any effort.

"Holy shit," you gawk.

"That's not even the cool part." She grins, extending her wrist. There's a soft thwip sound, and you jump back as a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the opposite wall. "Web-shooters. My own design."

"Can I...?"

"Touch them? Sure," she comes back to the couch, holding out her wrist. The device is sleek and mechanical, clearly homemade but extraordinarily sophisticated.

You run your fingers over the metal, marveling at the craftsmanship, "You built this?"

"Built, tested, redesigned about fifty times. Turns out web-slinging is more complicated than it looks."

"This is incredible. You're incredible."

She rubs the back of her neck, "It's just engineering."

"It's genius-level engineering that you did in your spare time while maintaining an impeccable GPA."

"My GPA is not impeccable—"

"Ellie," you look at her seriously. "You're amazing. Not just as Spider-Girl, but as you. The fact that you use your intelligence to help people, that you built all this to make the world safer... it's the most attractive thing I've ever seen."

She stares at you for a moment, then she's pressing her lips to yours, urgent and hungry. You respond immediately, your hands fisting in her flannel shirt as she guides you back against the couch cushions.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," she barely contains her whimper. "Every time I saved you, every time you smiled at me in class, every time you caught me staring..."

"I was hoping you'd stare," you admit, biting your lower lip. "I've been trying to get your attention for weeks."

"You always had my attention," her fingers trace the skin just above your waistband, and you shiver. "From the first day you sat next to me in class, I couldn't think about anything else."

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"Because girls like you don't usually go for awkward nerds."

You giggle, bringing her face back to yours for another kiss. "This girl does."

"Yeah?"

"Hell, yeah," you tug at her shirt, suddenly desperate to feel more of her.

She helps you pull her flannel off, revealing a simple black tank top underneath. There are more scars here, small ones scattered across her arms and shoulders—evidence of her other life.

"Do they hurt?" you ask, tracing one with your fingertip.

"Not anymore. I heal fast now."

You lean up to kiss the scar on her collarbone. "I don't like the idea of you being hurt."

"I'm careful."

"You throw yourself off buildings for a living."

"I'm strategically careful."

You're about to respond when she kisses your neck, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into a soft moan. She's good at this, all careful attention and gentle pressure, like she's been thinking about exactly how to touch you.

"Ellie," you whisper, and she responds by trailing kisses down your neck.

"I love the way you say my name," she whispers against your skin. "Both when you're annoyed with me in class and when you're like this."

"Like what?"

"Desperate. Wanting me."

"I do want you," you thread your fingers through her hair, tugging gently until she looks at you. "I want all of you."

Something shifts in her expression, heat darkening her eyes. "All of me?"

Instead of answering, you flip your positions, pushing her back against the couch and settling yourself astride her lap. Her hands immediately find your waist, fingers digging in like she's afraid you'll disappear.

"Hi," you say softly.

"Hi yourself," her voice is rougher now, her breathing uneven. "This is... this is really happening?"

"Unless you want to stop."

"Fuck no," she sits up, bringing your faces level. "I just... I've imagined this so many times, but I never thought..."

"What?"

"I never thought you'd want me back."

You cup her face in your hands, thumb brushing over her cheek. "Ellie Williams, I've been hopelessly crushing on you since the first time you rambled about one of your silly interests. Finding out you're also the badass superhero who's been saving my life is just a sexy bonus."

She laughs, light and surprised. "Sexy?"

"Very sexy. The competence, the confidence, the way you move like you know exactly what your body can do," you roll your hips cheekily, and her grip on your waist tightens frenziedly. "It's incredibly hot."

"Oh."

"Tongue-tied?"

"Shut up," she says, but she's grinning as she pulls you down.

This time when your lips meet, it's different. Needy. Her hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing just under your ribs, and you arch into the touch with a sound that makes her eyelashes flutter.

"Is this okay?" she asks, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

"More than okay."

She helps you pull it off, and for a moment she just stares, dumbfounded. "You're so beautiful," she licks her lips, and the reverence in her voice astounds you.

"So are you,” you drag her into another makeout, rougher this time. She meets you halfway as you both start to move—slow, desperate grinding that leaves no room for doubt. Her thigh slots between yours, and the friction pulls a breathy curse from your lips.

Ellie’s hands are everywhere, the curve of your back, your shoulders, the line of your throat. She mouths at your chest through your bra, tongue dragging over the fabric until your head tips back and a shaky moan escapes you. She hums against you like she’s proud of your reaction and you’re already giving in, her name slipping like a prayer.

You pull back to meet her eyes. "I need you, Ellie."

Something in her expression shatters—restraint, maybe, or whatever thread of self-control she was still clinging to. Her jaw tightens like she’s trying to hold herself back and failing spectacularly. She exhales sharply through her nose, then grabs your hips with both hands, grinding up against you like she can’t stand even an inch of space.

“Fuck,” she mutters, like the word is forcibly ripped out of her. “Say that again.”

“O-oh,” you gasp at the delicious movement, clutching onto her helplessly. “N-need you, Els. Please.”

She stands without warning, lifting you with her, and you wrap your legs around her waist. The casual display of strength makes heat pool in your stomach.

"Show off," you tease.

"You like it."

"Wrong. I love it."

Her bedroom is small and messy like the rest of her apartment, but you don’t mind. She sets you down gently beside the bed, her hands immediately finding your waist again.

"Are you sure about this?" she asks, and there's a fond vulnerability in her voice.

"Ellie," you step closer, pecking the tip of her nose. "I'm sure about you.”

"I’m sure about you too," she smiles, and then she's walking you backward until your legs hit the mattress.

You fall together, a jumble of limbs and fast kisses and hands that can't stop touching. She's careful with you, gentle despite the strength you know she possesses, and something about that contrast—the deadly superhero being so tender with you—makes you feel cherished in a way you've never experienced.

"I want to make you feel good," she moans against your ear, and it sends shivers down your spine. "Will you let me make you feel good, baby?"

"E-Ellie," you can only manage to stammer, and she smirks deviously against your neck.

"Just like that."

Ellie doesn’t hesitate. Her hand slips beneath your waistband, knuckles brushing your skin as she works her way into your pants and under your panties. The first drag of her fingers through your slick makes both of you gasp—you at the contact, her at the way you’re already soaking for her.

“Jesus,” she remarks, almost in devotion, before slipping two fingers inside you, slow but unrelenting. Your hands dig into her shoulders, hips rolling up to meet each thrust, and she finds a rhythm that makes your head spin. Her palm presses snug against your clit, every movement measured and devastating.

"You're so responsive," she murmurs, pressing kisses down your throat. "So perfect."

"Not perfect," your reply is strained, hard to think with her touching you like this.

"Perfect for me."

When her lips follow the path her hands have traced, you're already trembling. She takes her time, building you up carefully, until you're writhing beneath her.

"Please," you beg for the second time that day, and she looks up at you with her insatiable, lidded gaze.

"Please what?"

"Please don't stop."

"Never," she swears, and then she's making good on it, using her mouth and hands to take you apart piece by piece.

She sinks to her knees like it's second nature, tugging your pants down completely with an urgency that makes you shy away. Her mouth is on you almost instantly, tongue parting you with aching precision, and the first slow lick is both torture and life-changing. Her hands grip your thighs firmly, anchoring you in place, as if daring you to pull away.

Not that you would, not when her mouth is right there, focused solely on your dripping cunt.

She moans against you like she’s the one being eaten out, the sound sending vibrations straight through your core, and you choke out a gasp. One hand trails from your thigh to slip two fingers inside you, easy from how wet you already are, and the combination of her mouth and the rhythmic movement of her fingers is devastating. She fucks you with purpose, stroking that perfect spot over and over as her lips wrap around your clit and suck.

Your hands find her hair, threading through it with desperation as you grind helplessly against her face, barely coherent.

“Mmm, yeah, good girl. There you go. Use me however you want.”

Your eyes roll back at her words.

The tension coils tighter and tighter, until it snaps all at once—a blinding rush of pleasure that leaves your vision white at the edges as your body bucks against her, undone completely.

She doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, overstimulated and twitching. Until you're crying out her name and seeing stars. Afterward, she holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple while you catch your breath.

"Okay?" she asks quietly.

"More than okay," you move in her arms, meeting her eyes. "Your turn."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," you reassure her softly. "I want to make you fall apart the way you just did to me."

Her face contorts into something akin to burning desire and you grin as you begin to return the favour, taking your time to explore every inch of her skin, to learn what makes her gasp and moan and whisper.

She's beautiful like this, her usual composure completely gone. When she finally climaxes, it's with your name on her tongue and her hands tangled in your hair.

You collapse together afterward, sweaty and satisfied and completely content. She pulls a blanket over both of you, and you snuggle into her side, your head on her chest.

"Hmm," you sigh eventually, tracing lazy patterns on her skin. "This is nice."

"Nice?" she laughs, the sound vibrating through her chest. "I pour my heart out, reveal my secret identity, and give you the best orgasm of your life, and you call it 'nice'?"

"Best orgasm of my life? Someone’s cocky."

"Was it not?"

You grin, leaning up to kiss her chin. "It was incredible. You're incredible."

She tightens her hold around you. "I plan on doing that a lot more, just so you know."

"I’m counting on it."

You lie there in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the feeling of being close to her. Eventually, though, a bunch of doubts and concerns start to creep in like phantoms in the night.

"What happens now?" you ask timidly.

"Now we figure it out as we go," she presses her face into your hair, inhaling deeply. "Together."

"Together," you agree after a few beats of silence, and you can't think of anything that sounds more meant to be.

Outside the window, the city hums with its usual evening hustle and bustle. Somewhere out there, people are going to need Spider-Girl's help. But for now, she's exactly where she belongs—in bed with you, planning a future that includes both sides of who she is.

And you can't wait to see what comes next.

981 notes · View notes

jester-lover · 6 months ago

Note

What if the dorm leaders had a clumsy, klutzy, forgetful, and lazy female s/o that somehow knows how to do impossible tasks (like cooking up a feast, repairing a car, play 10 different instruments, getting good grades, etc) without even trying?

Dorm Leaders with a Talented yet Lazy Girlfriend

CWs: a tinge of jealousy, fluff and a little insecurity. Fem! Reader, s/o is basically one of those overpowered anime protags lol.

Riddle

He adores you so much as his girlfriend, but Riddle can’t help but be a little jealous of you. The sheer lack of effort you put into anything and everything you do compared to the overall success you have goes against everything he was raised to believe.

Riddle might push you to be a little more studious but ends up finding it meaningless. You simply have a talent for beating people who’ve put in considerably more effort than you have.

Those miraculous acts of preparation you do, such as preparing full meals and such, come in especially handy when his dorm is in chaos before a tea party.

Seeing you whip up the tea, set the table, and paint all the roses in record time, it was like seeing a phoenix rise from the ashes. He was so bewildered he just stood there, mouth slightly agape.

The klutzy nature you display fits right in with his dorm, so he isn’t put off by it at all.

“S/O, remember you’ve got a history test today…I know you’ll do great…”

Leona

At the start of your relationship, there is a comfort the two of you have in your shared sense of calm. You’re both chill people with slow lives, living comfortably. The second he learns how effortlessly you succeed at life, though? He can’t help but be a little jealous.

Very verbally supportive, but silently fuming until he realizes just how ridiculous he’s being. Then he’s bragging about you to anyone who’s even a little curious.

Leona’s event planning skills are…unfortunate to say the least. So whenever the two of you have guests over or are hosting some type of event, you take over.

Clumsiness is also something he isn’t used to; lion beastmen are agile in nature, so he tends to help you in terms of holding things and overall balance. Leona insists you hand over any heavy or easily breakable object to him.

“Do you want me to carry that? Your hands are shaking again…”

Azul

You two definitely met because he deemed you an easy target for one of his contracts, only to be embarrassed and slightly enamored when you broke apart each aspect of it and tried to negotiate a better deal for yourself.

He respects how multifaceted you are, especially when it comes to your talents. Azul might even employ you to play light background music for the lounge.

If your talents extend to sports, he’s going to beg for advice.

“So you don’t even practice or anything? And you made the team? What do you mean you’ve never played—

On the topic of grades, he gets a little freaked out. You’ve been here for like a month, and you’ve learned all of Twisted Wonderland’s history already? Are you some kind of malfunctioning robot?

Azul also doesn’t care about your lazy nature; nap around his office all you want.

Kalim

You two are quite similar in disposition and overall vibes, but when it comes to grades, you’re way better off than he is.

The amount of stress you both put Jamil in before you locked in and cleaned out that entire dorm was unbelievable. I mean, a full-course dinner that he didn’t have to make; he’s begging you to marry Kalim at this point.

He would be the type to leave you sticky notes reminding you of your tasks and goals, with little encouraging messages.

“Don’t forget you have a presentation today! How’d you do all 20 slides in ten minutes? Who cares? You’ll do great! :)”

Vil

This would be a tricky situation.

Vil believes in pushing yourself to reach your ideal goals; to sweat and tire is to prove your worth to him. So to see you basically lose at every step of the way and still win at life is unbelievable. I mean, you forget every quiz date you get and still score hundreds every single time.

Vil also appreciates your musical skills; he’ll encourage you to play complex melodies as he gets ready in the morning, waking him up for the day ahead.

His own schedule takes time from his studies, but he also scores high on everything. He thinks your grades come from a good sense of intuition.

“Schatz, how could you possibly have scored a hundred on this when you skipped all but 2 classes?”

Laziness is something he dislikes overall, but he can’t help but find you adorable when you drift off to sleep in his dorm room as opposed to getting some job done for Crowley. He likes making you feel safe.

Idia

He thinks you’re a natural good luck charm; I mean, everything you do seems to fall into place!

Idia is also kind of lazy, so he won’t complain about your work ethic. Your clumsy nature, on the other hand, worries him because of all the one-of-a-kind tech in his room.

Once Idia finds out how good you are at, well, practically everything, he’ll get a little self-conscious. I mean, you don’t even have to try, and you just kinda win? Why stay with a shut-in like him?

You shut that down pretty quick, and he learns to just enjoy your talented self. He’s got a girlfriend; he’s already like, halfway more successful than most of his internet buddies.

Idia would adore it. If you played some type of electric instrument, like a synth or an electric guitar, he’d buy you the best one on the market just to hear some of his favorite intro songs played by you.

“S/O, how does a keytar sound? Of course, you already know how to play that.”

Malleus

Grades and all that don’t really matter to Malleus, as he’s also just naturally talented at everything, similarly to you. It's your clumsy, human nature that enchants him. Fae like him are naturally balanced, elegant, and refined; they don’t just fall over or knock things down like you have a habit of doing.

“You’ve just done what humans call ‘eating dirt,’ did you not, Beastie? Intriguing…”

The concept of laziness is also new to him; he would have fun dragging you along to your tasks and seeing the looks of shock on people’s faces as you come riding into class on the Prince of the Briar Valley’s shoulders.

Malleus is also probably trained in several instruments, and he’d love to play duets or help you acquire more rare, niche musical tools.

People who’ve been around as long as he has don’t often deem things impossible, but the shocking speed at which you managed to fix the decaying Ramshackle dorm, cook dinner each night for Grim and yourself, and deal with everyone’s problems, including your own, has him questioning if you’re human at all.

2K notes · View notes

mahgyu · 1 year ago

Text

Shiu smut + N$FW audio

• minors do not interact!

──── In Shiu's eyes, you were a goddess. And if your neglectful boyfriend, Toji, didn't treat you as such, Shiu would gladly fulfill that role.

Your moans echoed throughout the room as Shiu's tongue roamed your vulva. One of the man's hands firmly gripping your exposed breasts while your eyes rolled back feeling Shiu simulate a thrust with their tongue at your tight entrance.

Your fingers gripped the black strands of his nape as the male hands descended now to grasp your quivering thighs. Fingers sinking into your sensitive skin, Shiu's agile tongue snapped loudly as it explored every inch of your needy intimacy.

"Ugh... Shiu~" You called out in a plea, lifting your partially naked torso to look at him. The dark deeply hypnotic eyes granted you attention, that sensual gaze making you wet within seconds. "Toji will be back soon, y-you have to go..." You cautioned, practically struggling to resist Shiu's intoxicating touch.

In response, Shiu held you even tighter between his hands, inching his face away from your needy area. "Don't talk about your little boyfriend while I eat your pussy, doll." Kong's pink moist lips formed a smirk before he returned his attention to your intimacy.

Your relationship with Toji was not on the best way, often feeling like he used you as a toy only for his moments of boredom. Today, for instance, Toji had agreed to spend the whole day with you, but the disappointing reality came to light when you found out through Shiu that he had gone out to gamble again. But despite feeling neglected in your own relationship, you still felt terrible for cheating on Toji with his own friend, even though Shiu gave you the attention that Toji never even bothered to give you.

"We both know he doesn't deserve you, sweetie" Shiu said, dragging his wet lips along the inside of your thighs. "He shows you off like you're an accessory, but doesn't even care to truly take care of you" Shiu's face quickly turned dark and serious, his slightly wet hair covering his forehead. "Toji doesn't know how to appreciate the queen he has by his side, my love." As painful as it was to hear those words, it still felt so good to be appreciated like that by someone.

"But, we're acting wrong... Hmm, shit! " You said, trying to control yourself from fucking your needy pussy against Shiu's face who just laughed mockingly at your protest and moved closer to your pussy again.

"I wonder what his reaction would be if he saw us like this. Would he learn how to treat you properly?" Shiu said, dismissing other thoughts, leaving a chaste kiss on your sensitive and swollen clit. "I'd love to see the look on that jerk's face watching another man devour his girlfriend's needy pussy" He needled, staring at you.

Shiu sucked your clit hard, hungrier, more ravenous, delighting in your tearful moans that escaped straight from your throat. "Let me enjoy your sweet little pussy just a bit longer, doll, I promise it'll be worth it in the end." You felt Shiu's hot tongue slickening you up more as he promptly inserted two fingers into your needy and slippery hole. Your eyes rolled with the intrusion, Shiu's name repeatedly falling from your lips in the form of a moan, causing him to grunt. "Let me take care of you, my goddess."

⠀

Shiu's version! I'm curious to know what you guys think. 🤭

Any other character suggestions? Tell me.

Your interaction is very important to me, reblogs and comments are always welcome. 🫶🏻💕

7K notes · View notes

voxslays · 5 months ago

Text

SMUTTY IN-HO HEADCANNONS

✩ Heavy breeding kink. This man wants someone to carry on his legacy, to carry on the games and be the next frontman—and when he thinks of you, your stomach all swollen from carrying his seed…he can’t help but get hard.

✩ I’ve seen a couple posts stating he’d date a younger woman, which I agree with…but not too much younger. Like maybe 10-12 year age gap at most. He wants someone mature, but a little younger. He doesn’t want you to die before him. He couldn’t handle another loss.

✩ Will bend you over any and every surface. The kitchen counter? Check. His desk? Check. In-ho doesn’t care, as long as you’re comfortable as he takes you from behind.

✩ Loves cockwarming. For him, it’s an anywhere, anytime activity. When he’s sitting in his office doing paperwork for the games? Yep. When he’s sitting in his private suite during the games, when red light, green light is being broadcasted to his TV? Definitely.

✩ He is also a very caring partner, even if it seems the opposite sometimes. He will always put your pleasure above his own. Never coming before you do, and always making sure he has a safeword if you ever need to stop.

✩ This man also has a CRAZY amount of stamina. In-ho was a police officer at one point, so he had to have at least some agility experience or training. He is also very skilled for his age and can go for literal hours. So I hope you’re ready for a wild ride, babe!

✩ In-ho is the perfect mix of degrading and praising. Names he will call you during steamy time range from slut, to darling, to your own name. He will really call you anything under the sun as he pounds into you.

1K notes · View notes

callsign-datura · 5 months ago

Text

a/n: sorry for the long wait! 4.7k words, the result of my last poll, simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, hair-pulling, degradation, talking to the pussy

ghost didn't have many hobbies, but he did have a few he liked the most. His third favorite was being at the shooting range, his second favorite was cleaning his guns, and his first favorite was sparring.

he often sparred to ensure he wasn't getting rusty with certain hand-to-hand techniques. usually with soap, or gaz. late at night when he had energy to expel, or unwanted emotions to get out.

that's why he found himself in the gym, this time off the mat, wrapping his busted knuckles with bandages. he was dressed in gray sweats, a black wife-beater, and the mask. he flexed his fingers as he tucked the edge of the bandage beneath the edge of another at his wrist, bringing both arms above his head. he stretched, grunting quietly before letting his arms drop to his sides, squinting at the way the fluorescent lights made his head ache.

the door creaked open slowly. he tilted his head, watching you enter. you looked up and met his gaze, and he turned his head away and began wrapping his other hand with the same bandages.

you and ghost were cordial at the very least and hostile at the most. it wasn't that you got along-- sometimes his demeanor just pissed you off. so closed off, and for what? working with another person was better than working alone, to you, and you didn't understand why in the hell he was so rude to you.

you huffed under your breath, not expecting him to be in the gym so late. you watched his shoulders flex, the wife-beater a darker shade around his neck with the sweat that dampened it. he looked like he'd been hard at work for a few hours, the bandages around his knuckles tainted with a deep shade of red.

"what's the point of wrapping your hands after you've busted them on the bag?" you call, watching his shoulders shift a bit as he stops wrapping.

"i forgot to do it before." he retorts, not bothering to face you.

"didn't nurse sullivan tell you to do it before?" you put your hands on your hips. your tone is concerned, and partially, you are, but the other part of you is just looking to get on his nerves. you came here to train yourself, but messing with him seemed a bit more fun. "thought you'd remember what a nurse told you to do."

"didn't ask ya to remind me what sullivan said, i know what m'doin'." he finishes wrapping his other hand and goes back to the bag, getting into position and bringing his fists up. he starts throwing punches, the jangle of the chain and the thuds of his fists hitting the bag echoing in the room.

you approach him. "you know, sparring might be better than boxing." you offer, folding your arms behind your back as your gaze flickers over his stature. he's by no means a small man, and it's been a while since you've had the chance to spar with the other guys on base.

ghost's hands shoot out to still the bag, and his head tilts to the left. brown eyes peer at you from beneath the mask, and he huffs through his nose, looking you up and down. "tch. y'got a death wish? i've got a few inches on ya... not to mention pounds."

"i know you do. it'd be good training for me." you hum, looking to the side, then back to him. "for you too, maybe. having an agile opponent might be a bit challenging for someone so... lumbering."

"lumbering?" he asks, tilting his head as he turns to you completely. "and you... agile? got an ego, don't ya?" though he's excited at the prospect of sparring at all, so he's considering it.

you can tell you're piquing his interest, so you push it, ignoring the little jabs. "maybe a small one. sounds fun though, doesn't it? I heard it's been a while since you've got the chance."

he sighs. he feigns resignation, but there's a sparkle in his eye that you don't miss. he considers it for a few moments before he starts skulking in your direction. "you're gonna regret that," he huffs, stopping just short from you. "i've got some rules. one, you lose after i've pinned ya for 10 seconds. two, no dirty shots. i don't pull y'r hair, you don't kick me in the nuts. got it?"

he sounds so serious, you chuckle. "alright," you nod, agreeing to his terms. then you take your position on the furthest end of the mat while he takes position at the other end.

"ya ready?" he gruffs, and you nod, putting your fists up.

"alright then, you get the first shot."

"really?" you tilt your head, taking a few steps forward as you begin circling in the center of the mat.

"mm-hmm." he hums, rubbing his arms before putting his fists up. "wanna see what you can do."

you huff, then you go towards him, side-stepping and reaching out to grab his arm. you yanked on it, and he barely moved. he almost paused, somewhat amused that you even tried that. you let go and move away from him and he follows-- throwing a few punches without expecting them to land.

they don't. one disadvantage of him being so much bigger than you is the speed difference. you're so much faster than him. you can dodge faster, but if he finally gets his hands on you, you're done.

you're moving around the mat, dodging his punches and dodging it when he reaches for you, and he's growing increasingly frustrated.

"godammit, quit fuckin' moving." he hisses, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you in. he lets go to grab you by the shoulders, but before he can, you duck and use most of your strength to kick his shins, trying to debilitate him so you can get away. it doesn't work. you scramble away and he follows, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you close. he turns around to throw you off before shoving you to the ground and pinning you there by your shoulders, his body coming down on yours as his knees cage you in on either side of your hips.

you're squirming, hips lifting and hands clawing at his wrists in an effort to get him to let you go. his eyes narrow, getting some sort of satisfaction at seeing you squirm beneath him.

"one," he begins counting, signaling to you that you only have a few seconds to get away. his grip on you tightens, and you're almost sure he's gonna win when you get an idea. your grip tightens on his wrist before you drag your hand up it, digging your nails into the surface of his skin. you apply enough pressure to cut the skin, and his grip releases at the same time he hisses. he doesn't let go, but you take the opportunity to throw his hands off of you and turn around in his hold, tucking your legs in against yourself and pushing the bottoms of your feet against him to throw him off. then you scramble out from beneath him, getting up and putting distance between the both of you.

"hmm," he says, eyes focusing on you before he gets to his feet. "slippery fuckin' thing." he laughs, looking at the arm you cut up. crimson dribbles from the thin red lines you've left behind, and he rolls his head, cracking his neck as he goes towards you again.

there's something different in his eyes-- he's surprised that you're putting up such a fight.

"never expected a little thing like you to fight so dirty." he says, his voice low and husky as he stops a few feet away from him, intense eyes following you as you circle him. it's obvious to him you have no intention of making the first move again, so he opts to play with you a bit instead.

"y'r crafty too, huh?" he says, his voice mocking somewhat. "didn't expect you to claw me up like that. i mean, it worked..." he turns as you do, and your eyes narrow.

"i'm enjoyin' this one, that's for sure. maybe i should make sure that you're gonna keep comin' back?" he says, his voice husky again. there's a tone in it. it's almost like he's taunting you, or-- no, that isn't it...

"it's a shame they won't scar, though." he takes another step towards you, and you look behind you to gauge how much space you have until you step off the mat. you stay where you are.

"i like having trophies from my fights... reminds me how much i enjoyed it." he keeps rambling, and you're not sure what the point of all this is. it makes you feel fuzzy inside, kind of, like he's complimenting you.

he gets closer, and his eyes narrow further. you know he's smirking beneath the mask. you look meek-- is he flirting with you? is your lieutenant flirting with you? is simon "ghost" riley flirting with you??? he throws a few lazy punches, knowing you'll dodge them.

"not at all. it's a compliment, actually. small, nimble. i bet you rarely get into any sticky situations, huh? like a rabbit," he chuckles, his voice amused as he lets go, then shoves your shoulders hard enough to make you stumble. then, to make you lose your footing, he kicks your feet out from under you.

"ain't very often i get to fight people like you, after all." he hums, not even sounding like he's taking it seriously. you're visibly nervous, and you hold your fists up defensively. he leans forward, grabbing your arm and pulling you close. the rational part of you is laughing at your idiocy, but the other part of you is melting because-- he is flirting.

"ugh-- people like me? is that an insult?" you say, your chest close to his as he leans down. his face is inches from yours, and you can feel his breath against you.

you yelp, and you fall on your ass. the sudden tone shift is enough to send you spiraling. the way he talks to you makes something heat in your stomach. he gets on top of you again, one of his legs between yours and the other on the outside of you. he puts his hands on the mat between your arms, and he stays leaned over you.

"well... not really fighting back now, are you? that's a shame..." he huffs, his gaze drifting from your face down... your chest is heaving, and your eyes are shut. your hips shift, and he moves his leg up at the same time. the curve of his thigh bumps against your clothed cunt, and it makes you jolt.

"hey!" you hiss, not expecting the contact or the look in his eyes when you finally look at him.

"what?"

"i... i thought you said no dirty shots," you retort, your voice somewhat weak. you look away, your body flooding with some sort of warmth that his closeness produced in you.

he snorts, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "ain't a dirty shot if you're already on the ground and you've already lost. it's just... overkill." but he stays over you, despite the fact he just won. his gaze rakes over you in a hungry manner, and you can hear him suck in a breath when your back arches up off the ground.

"...you can get off me now," you murmur, avoiding eye contact. you feel shy, all of a sudden, and kind of pissed. he just won because he was toying with you on purpose to win. he was messing with your feelings! "get off me." you hiss, trying to get out from under him.

his eyebrows go up, sensing your sudden hostility. his eyes narrow. he lifts a hand and pins your shoulder down. "ah ah ah, the fuck are you doing? did i say you could get up?" he was enjoying this before, but now that you're fighting back like this he's a bit irritated.

your squirming just results in you unintentionally grinding yourself against his thigh. you suck in a breath when it happens, and your eyes narrow.

"you're such an asshole" you grumble. despite your arguing and your resistance, you press yourself against his leg.

he looks down when your hips shift. he watches the way they move, and when you finally relax, he moves above you and intentionally moves his leg to see your reaction.

your face flushes, and you whimper, looking away.

"well... look at that." he murmurs, his voice lilted and knowing. he looks up at you and makes eye contact, pushing it against you again to elicit another noise from you. you moan once again and your lips curl, eyebrows knitting in response to the jolt of pleasure he causes.

"isn't that cute?" he teases. "does that feel good?" he says, his voice almost mocking as he lifts his thigh and presses it against you, gently pushing it against you in an even motion to make you squirm even more.

"g-god, you're such an ass," you moan, body falling limp and losing whatever ounce of fight you had. you still mouth off. "do you do this with everyone you spar with? i-is that why soap is always asking you to spar with him?"

he rolls his eyes. "shut up, girl. i'm surprised you have the audacity t' speak to me that way when you're gettin' off on my fuckin' thigh." his voice is almost scolding, but he doesn't grind his leg against you any harder. just goes slow... it's almost torturous. you can already feel yourself drenching your panties. it's a culmination of this entire thing. the way he smells, how close he is to you, the way he's staring at you so hungrily... all of it is making you salivate, except your mouth isn't the only thing drooling.

your head falls back, and your breathing is already so heavy. he tilts his head forward, and his lips are on your neck. you feel the wetness of his lips, the itching brush of peach fuzz, the fabric of his mask rolled up over his nose against your neck-- all of it makes you shudder beneath him. he nips at the flesh of your neck, pulling gently and kissing at the reddened flesh afterward. he puts his leg down, and places himself between your legs, one hand cupping the back of your thigh and lifting it to press himself against you. you feel the outline of his dick through his sweats, semi-hard but at attention. the girth of it catches your attention, and when he feels your body stiffen he chuckles.

"hush. we'll make sure it fits, doll." he murmurs, his voice husky and low, sending shudders through you with how close he is to you. he doesn't grind into you from that position. rather, his hands travel up and down your sides as he kisses your neck, sucking small hickeys and trailing them down. his hands shove your shirt up and over your chest, doing the same with your bra. he's intense, and very aware of what he wants-

you.

his eyes focus on your tits. round, perky and the perfect size for him to hold. so he slides one hand up to cup and fondle your tit, his thumb quickly traveling over your nipple. it pebbles and perks beneath his touch and against the cool air, and he hums. he salivates. he wants to taste your skin. drag his tongue over your flesh, feel the goosebumps that raise beneath his tongue. but he can't. he has to make sure you come back for more and that's exactly how he will.

and as always, he'll get what he wants, one way or another. you squirm beneath him, and noises attempt to claw out of your throat but you keep quiet. you don't want to let on how much you're enjoying this, but the subtle rock of your hips gives it away.

"tsk tsk tsk. are you really this impatient? haven't even done anything yet." he snickers, pulling back to look down at you. he pulls his mask back down before you can see anything, and he leans forward with his hips a bit. your legs still hover against his hips, your knees drawing together as a result of your embarrassment. your lips part and you pant, chest heaving once again.

his other hand slips down to your hip, lifting your legs up and together, over his shoulder so he can pull your pants and panties up your thighs.

"such a pretty girl. you know, i've had my eyes on you for a bit..." he starts. once your pants are around your thighs and he has enough access to you, he brings the hand that was on your boob, to your mouth. he eases his pointer and middle finger into it and your eyebrows knit at the taste of sweat. "suck," he instructs. you do, cheeks hollowing briefly as your tongue laves along his fingers, coating them in spit.

"hmm... always wondered whether or not you were the obedient type, but i never got a chance to break you in and find out." he chuckles, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth and bringing that hand between your legs. he drags the tips of his fingers through your folds, humming when he feels how wet you are. you can hear how sloppy it is, and he laughs.

"i guess i wouldn't be breaking you in as much as her," he snickers. your face reddens and you look to the side, panting once again as he starts easing those two fingers into your sopping cunt. you comprehend then that the her was your pussy.

"mm-hm, tight, as i thought. are you that nervous?" he teases, tilting his head as he scissors those two fingers inside you. the feeling knocks the air from your lungs, and you gasp, bringing both hands to your face to hide how embarrassed you are. despite that, your body gives away how excited you are, your hips shifting and your back arching as his thick fingers curl inside you.

if you're moaning, your pussy is screaming. the wet noises of his fingers working you out is embarrassing and brings heat to your face, but you can't really focus on that.

it sounds so lewd, and it is. you let out a gasp as he pushes them deeper, the sheer girth of his fingers causing your gummy walls to strain. your thighs clench and your hands ball into fists. his other hand pulls your pants and panties off completely, humming as your legs fall apart.

"s'it that good, doll?" his voice is husky and low, teasing. he's getting off on your reaction to his touch. "c'mon, girl, look at me..." his fingers stop, and you whine, shifting to look at him. they start moving as soon as your eyes fix on his, and your lips part. you moan again, your lips curling.

"c'mon, talk to me." he encourages, and his touch is downright sinful in comparison to his tone. "does it feel good? this what you wanted when you started grinding yourself on my leg?" he chuckles to himself. "never woulda thought you were this kinda girl if i hadn't of seen it myself..."

his thumb moves, and flattens over your clit once he turned his wrist over. he rolls circles over it slowly, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on the outside of your thigh.

you squirm and whimper, and it takes everything in him not to just pounce on you. instead he opts to listen to your moans and the sound of his fingers inside you. he curls his fingers and inches them deeper until your body jolts, and he hums in approval at your reaction.

"s'that the spot...?" he asks, leaning forward as he curls his fingers against that spot again. you jump, the coil in your stomach growing ever tighter as you moan in affirmation. the pleasure is making your head feel light, your eyes fluttering shut again and your head falling back against the mat. you're squirming and shifting again, and you feel sweat on your neck and chest. you whimper a bit, the air feeling sticky and humid between you both. it's hard to tell whether that's just your body heat, or it's him.

and you whimper at him. you can feel your orgasm encroaching, and he can feel it too. your cunt squeezes around his fingers and he can feel you throbbing. your body tenses, and your orgasm is right there--

he removes his fingers. you slump down, tilting your head to the side and huffing in frustration when you feel so suddenly empty.

"...this proves that you're just... an asshole..." you grumble, bringing your legs together.

he's thick. slight upward curve, blushing tip and definitely not lacking in length.

there's silence on his end, and when you look at him, he's pulling his sweats and boxers down.

"can't be much of an asshole if m'gonna dick you down," he purrs. you don't look, but you feel his cock hit the side of your thigh once he takes it out. a hand wrapped around the base, he gives a few lazy pumps, smirking to himself beneath the mask when you lift up to look.

"hmm? s'this good enough for you? such a rude girl, calling me names," his voice is teasing. he shifts forward a bit and then lines himself up with you before he moves both hands to cup the back of your knees and lift them. he moves you just a bit closer. He shifts his hips, then without warning, pushing himself into you up to the hilt.

you gasp. he's big, and you wish he had told you he was going to do it so quickly, because you weren't expecting it. his size takes a bit for you to adjust to, the sting and the stretch causing you to squirm once again. he grips your hips to still you, and he hums. "shh... you can take it, can't you?" you continue to whimper, and he laughs. "so pathetic. s'it too big for you?" he mocks, leaning over you once again.

"so fuckin' messy. look at you, girl. maybe this-" he emphasizes that with another particularly hard thrust that causes his tip to attack your g-spot-- "is what you wanted all along. maybe you asked me to spar cause you wanted me to fuck the shit out of you," he huffs, his voice low and raspy and his movements aggressive. you can barely speak aside from squeaks and squeals, the feeling of his hips slamming into yours causing your vision to go white. you couldn't respond outside of gasps.

god. yes. yes, it was too big-- and it took you a while to adjust to it. he started moving once your hips started shifting into his. he tilted his head forward, tucking it into your neck and grunting quietly. you're still sensitive, so when your lips part in a moan, it all feels so intense. your back arches and your legs push apart, welcoming him. his thrusts are shallow, yet careful, (for now), and he grunts into your ear. you squeeze around him, and your head tilts back as you moan out, hands finding his shoulders and digging your nails into it. Your eyebrows knit and you whine.

"y'r pussy's noisier than you are. listen to her," he goes quiet and fucks into you harder just to emphasize the paps of his hips hitting the back of your thighs and the squelches of your pussy clenching around his cock. your slick dripped down your cunt, getting his sweats damp a bit with it-- he moved one hand up to pull your hair, tilting your head back so he could talk in your ear.

"fuck," he cursed, pulling your hair again and chuckling when you cried out. you were lost in the feeling. the feeling of him, the feeling of his cock and how roughly he fucked you.

"hah!" you mewled, your back arching up off the mat. you grabbed at his shoulders in utter desperation. your eyes crossed and you tilted your head to the side, your body jolting with each thrust he offered you- getting gradually rougher.

"y'sound so slutty, moaning for me like that... keep doin' it, pretty," he hummed, staying close as he rutted into you with a force that might as well have caused you to shriek. he let go of your leg, and both of them closed around his waist, ankles locking at his lower back.

"m'gonna cum," you whimpered, your voice soft and meek. he chuckled, and his movements got a bit more aggressive. he lifted himself up onto his hands, keeping them just over your shoulders and looking down to where your bodies met. his fat cock was pounding into you over and over, the squeezes of your pussy enough to make him moan a little bit himself. he looked up, meeting your gaze.

when he finally came, you were still on cloud nine, wailing and squirming beneath him when his hips slammed into yours and he spilled spurts of hot cum into your pussy. the sensation was almost enough to make you cum again-- especially when he ground his hips into yours, his tip grinding into your g-spot. plus his lovely groans were sending you straight to heaven. the noises he made were mostly groans as he fucked into you, making your entire body shudder from the feeling and the sensations flooding your body.

your eyes were glazed over. visibly lost in the pleasure and focused on nothing but your impending orgasm, he took that as encouragement. he took your legs again, sitting up and pulling them together but pushing them against your front. the angle allowed him to get impossibly deeper. each time he slammed into you, his tip hit your g-spot, applying enough pressure to graze the plug of your womb and create more tingling, burning pleasure.

"oh! oh, fuck--" you gasped, folding a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. your heart was pounding in your ears, and you swore you almost fainted when your orgasm finally fell over you. the feeling of the pressure releasing had you seeing stars, shaky crying moans leaving your mouth. your back arched and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. you were sure you'd be bruised on the inside by the next day.

"that's it baby," he hissed, his grip on your legs tightening. "atta girl..." he purred, his tone tense with his own incoming orgasm. he wanted to help you ride out yours first, so he did. his hips kept that brutal, hungry pace, slamming into your drooling pussy with a fervor he didn't even know he had. he wasn't much of a talker in the midst... you didn't notice that he'd gone quiet, though, too absorbed in the aftermath of your orgasm.

he groaned out, his eyebrows knitting beneath the mask as he tilted his head forward to watch himself pound you. "take it... that's it, fuck..." his tone was still encouraging, but it faded as his pace started to slow. your entire body was still ebbing with pleasure and tingling with the overstimulation of your orgasm, and you were almost struggling to come back to the earth. you were both still panting.

when he pulled out of you and tucked his cock away and fixed his sweats, he looked at you-- his tone was full of pride. "well... fuck... look at you, huh?" he tilted his head, sounding awfully smug. he retrieved your pants and panties and helped you get re-dressed.

"you know... that wasn't the kind of session i was expecting, but damn... i think that was the best i've had in a while." he stood up and helped you to your feet, patting your ass once or twice as he held you up while you regained your bearings.

"...whatever, ghost," you grumbled, still holding onto your stubbornness even after you'd been sent to heaven and brought back.

"you know where to find me. don't be afraid to come get some if you're in need," he hummed, "not like i'm in a position to deny ya."

#simon ghost riley #callsign datura #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw3

1K notes · View notes

shotmrmiller · 1 year ago

Text

hate sex (is what you call it almost like you're trying to convince yourself) would go crazy with ex bf simon.

when he texts you at work that he's landing in 2 hours, you realize you forgot to block him after the breakup. that'd been almost a year ago. the last message you don't even bother reading. simply delete and block.

i'll see you at home.

when you finally go home after working a grueling corporate job that always leaves you with frayed nerves and your teeth on edge, you stand by the door, instantly realizing something's wrong different.

mud-caked boots sit by the door. the lights inside are on and when you walk in, you find out why.

simon's sprawled on your couch, asleep, his large frame making it seem like a child's bed instead of living room furniture. his snoring scrapes over your already tender nerves, thinning the already wisp-like thread of patience you're barely dangling from.

you grab a cushion and toss it at his head. (you do not miss the way he snores. it's like a hibernating bear in a cave. resounding. grating.)

"get up and get out."

to your astounding surprise, he doesn't. instead, he groggily asks what's for dinner. when you bark out, "nothing. i'm exhausted and going to sleep", he gets up with an agility no man his size should possess and blocks your path.

you've always loved hated the way he makes you feel small.

"either we eat takeout or i eat you out." that solves that. you've got boundaries to keep. maybe he'll eat his fill and piss off.

he doesn't. he eats you out anyway, legs perched on the kitchen counter as he slurps up your slick like a starved man at a bountiful feast. doesn't care that you're pelting his broad back with your small fists, slurring how much you hate him.

"course you do, pet."

he thinks your ire is endearing, like a spirited kitten that needs to expend their energy before settling down for the night. he makes you ride him on the couch, the burn of him stretching you feeling as intense as very first time he took you.

"tight cunt's forgotten me. it's alrigh', i'll carve out a space in 'ere jus' f'me." (again.)

when you sit flush on his thighs, balls pressed against your arse, he bucks up, feeling his cock in your throat, the oxygen stolen from your lungs.

"show me how much ya hate me."

(somewhere down the line, when your hair is damp with sweat and your neck's marked purple, he tells you that even if you don't like him, your cunt loves him. so much so it's gripping him like it never wants him to leave. so he doesn't. stays over for a night. then two. a week. a month. until it's time to go to work again.)

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

6K notes · View notes

greenlaut · 9 months ago

Text

the four hunters 🗡🌿

extras + rambles below cut

yipeee i finally finished this illustration 🎉🎉

this is my personal take on the hunters gang (we will ignore that boromir died). honestly, i had a lot of fun thinking of the designs.

had to bring back my aragorn with his silly braid and blue hair ribbon. he's a ranger for most of his life, so he'd definitely go for practicality and what he's already familiar with—so no armour nor gambeson. he probably had a small fight with elrond before they left for the quest; where elrond tried to make him swap his gear for better, newer ones and aragorn just adamantly refusing because he's a lot more familiar (and more comfortable) with his own. which is why he's wearing tattered and worn rags. his red tunic is the only new thing he allowed elrond to swap to a new one. boromir definitely got exhasperated and somewhere down the line, he loaned aragorn his pair of arm bracers.

boromir (and faramir's (not featured here)) design changed a lot since the past years. it's a mash-up of both movie!boromir and lore accurate book!boromir. his hair is a lot darker and he has more of a storm blue-grey eyes as a nod towards his elendil ancestry. his clothing is heavily based off the movie. as for his cloak; since he's The son of gondor and denethor's favourite, i think he'd definitely get the fortune of wearing a fur cloak. the clasp has the white tree engraved on it.

gimli is by far my favourite. i always wanted to draw my take of gimli in his regalia. as a dwarven royalty, i think he'd groom his hair and beard really well, and he would've put on a lot of accessories to show his status. but since he's on a quest, he's not fully decked out in jewelries—wearing very practical clothing: gambeson with chainmail underneath. also, i like the dwarven fighting style they did in the hobbit movie where they go around and knock people off with melee. so gimli got hefty arm bracers and knuckle weights to really punch the shit out of some orcs.

for legolas; i think despite being an elf, he has the factors of being (1) mirkwood elf and (2) lowkey autistic coded. so he doesn't dress "like an elf"—not that the company would've known, with how limited their interactions with elves in general already. this meant that he dressed too casually despite going on a life-or-death quest. very light leather armour to support his speed and agility. he's not even wearing boots; just a pair of tree-climbing canvas shoes that he wrapped tightly. god knows how he survived this far. he's mostly a right handed archer—but since he lived for quite a long while, he taught himself to shoot with left hand too for emergencies. since his left hand isn't as stable as his right hand, he has a left-shoulder-pad.

THEY ALL HAVE SCARS because who doesn't get scars when you're literal warriors be fr. legolas' are more faded out though, because he's old as fuck.

close-ups:

fin.

3K notes · View notes

clonehub · 3 months ago

Text

I want to see how clones are generally more athletic than the average human. The strength, the speed, the flexibility and agility. The stamina especially. I think it'd be interesting if the average human can go three days without food and clones have a "starvation mode" that can be activated under low-food, stressful situations where their metabolism momentarily drops to conserve energy.

I also want to see the downsides, of course. Yes clones are very strong and they can go long periods of time without eating or drinking, but that need to build of that muscle and those fat reserves somehow. Their daily caloric intake is HIGH, especially because they work out every day and go to battle. Ration bars? Like two and a half meals worth of dense calories. They'd make a regular person sick, probably. Definitely not recommended for children. Jedi get their own set unless they're burning similar amounts of calories on average. The daily meals in the mess hall are less intense.

Maybe their eyes can adjust quickly to the dark or other changes in ambient light. Maybe this also increases the risk of certain eye problems later in life (but since the majority of clones don't reach even middle ages, this isn't a problem).

They're smarter by training/education and have very strong memories because of that. That also means they can't forget traumatizing things that happen to them -- or it's harder to forget, at least.

#ch posts #star wars #the clone wars #most of this through conditioning rather than genetic tampering ofc #clone trooper #captain rex #commander cody #arc fives

735 notes · View notes

athenalvss · 9 days ago

Text

TOMORROW? ( Bruce wayne! )

requested!

summary: On his first patrol as Robin, Dick can't keep his mouth shut and tries to set his mentor up with Detective Gordon's assistant, but there are things the boy doesn't know.

pairing: Bruce wayne x fem reader

open request - dc masterlist

The rain was barely felt from the roof of the building, but the lights of Gotham City flickered as if they were also afraid. You adjusted your coat, watching the Bat-signal projected onto the clouds. Gordon hadn't arrived yet, but you were there, as always, ready.

You didn't wait long for it to arrive.

The dark figure emerged from the edge of the building without a sound. Imposing, wrapped in his black cape, Batman strode toward you with a presence that commanded even without saying a word.

You'd been working for the police department for almost three years, Commissioner Gordon's right-hand man since he handpicked you for the position. You were no ordinary officer. Your reports were accurate, your deductions sharp, and, most importantly, you weren't intimidated by the city... or the shadows that loomed over it.

That was one of the reasons Batman started trusting you.

At first, there were only short, dry exchanges. He wasn't exactly the life of the party. But over time, the conversations lengthened. There was a silent understanding between you. Gordon had even started sending you in his place to some meetings with the Dark Knight, fully trusting your judgment.

And that night was one of those.

You didn't have to wait long until he appeared.

The dark figure emerged from the edge of the building without a sound. Imposing, wrapped in his black cape, Batman walked toward you with a presence that commanded even without saying a word.

"At time as always" you said with a slight smile, breaking the silence as if it were an old habit among you. "Gordon's stuck in a scene across town. He asked me to deliver this to you."

You handed him an envelope. It was open, revealing a deck of poker cards inside: two hearts, two Jacks, and a two, all stained with red ink.

Batman watched them closely. "Did this arrive today?"

"Earlier today, it was left at the station, addressed to you, and I dared to open it early."

"Cards, games. Could be Nigma or Two Face," he murmured, running his fingers over the ace.

"I thought the same thing. But there's no message, no threat. Just the letters."

I was about to make another observation when something landed with a thud on the roof of the parked patrol car. You instinctively turned, hand near your gun. But the one who appeared on top of the vehicle wasn't a threat. Or at least, not yet.

A teenager, or barely more. His black hair was tangled, his mask was worn, and his shiny suit stood in stark contrast to the darkness of Gotham City. He slid to the ground with an agility that reminded you of a circus acrobat.

"Am I interrupting something?! Are you receiving love letters at work?" he asked with a smile, his voice young and clear.

"And you are...?" you asked, eyebrows raised.

The boy stood proudly in front of you. "I'm Robin. First official night. Impressive, huh?"

"Robin," Batman chimed in with a small sigh. "She works with Gordon."

"Oh," Robin looked at you more closely. "Nice to meet you. I thought you'd be more... I don't know, old."

"Thanks... I think"

"one more question, I mean, ummm, are you single?"

Silence fell like a bomb. Batman turned slowly toward him, his jaw tense.

You raised an eyebrow, not moving. “Pardon?”

"I mean Br... Batman" Robin clarified, awkwardly jerking his thumb. "He's always alone, you're so cool, you know about crime... you two have chemistry. Just connecting the dots."

Batman turned to him very slowly. He said nothing. But that silence was worth a hundred warnings. "Robin," he finally murmured.

—What?! I'm just saying you two could make a great couple, you could solve crimes together all the time.

You crossed your arms and looked at the horizon, pretending to hold back a smile.

"Watch the perimeter, now," Batman ordered without raising his voice.

"Okay, okay, I'm going now," Robin spoke in a tone of resignation at the rejection of both adults to his great idea, and went jumping across the roofs.

"You didn't tell me he was so cute..." You turned to him, with a smile that was barely noticeable, but that shone in your eyes.

Batman barely turned his head, the shadow of a smile crossing his face, fleeting like everything that isn't made to last. "I wanted you to meet him for yourself."

In the distance, a small figure peeked out from behind a water tank. Robin. Peeking out with an expression somewhere between curiosity and confusion.

"He's watching us," you murmured, not moving.

"I know, I trained him" he replied calmly.

You adjusted your coat and spoke without looking at him: "Same place tomorrow for lunch?"

"If you make it in time this time," he replied, still maintaining his neutral tone, although his eyes shone a second brighter than usual.

"This time you won't have to wait for me"

"We'll see, I can call Alfred to pick you up."

Your smile barely grew, showing a hint of indignation. "See you tomorrow, bats, be careful please."

And you walked away into the shadows, letting him watch you as you went down the stairs to enter the station again.

#dc masterlist #bruce wayne x reader #imagine bruce wayne #dick grayson x reader #batman x reader #batman imagine #dick grayson #robin #robin dick grayson #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne fluff

490 notes · View notes

uncharismatic-fauna · 3 months ago

Text

Olm

Habitat: Freshwater cave systems

Strengths:

Capable of sensing organic compounds in the water through highly developed receptors in the mouth and nose

Can also detect sound waves, vibrations, and electric fields through water

Agile swimmers

Weaknesses:

Severely reduced eyes; only able to sense light

No claws and very reduced teeth

Very small; reaches only 20 cm (12 in) in length and 150 g (5.3 oz) in weight

Photo by Balázs Lerner and Gergely Balázs

#olm #march mammal madness #mmm2025

867 notes · View notes

mapis-putellas · 30 days ago

Text

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒚 // 𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Let’s just pretend this didnt take a whole week to write. Spanish is in Italics.

It was nearly midnight when the front door swung open with significantly more force than necessary, followed by a loud thud and muffled giggling. You looked up from your book, a knowing grin quirking onto your lips. Alexia was home from the team celebration dinner, and apparently, she was absolutely wasted.

"My love I’m home" she calls out, her voice ringing through the apartment.

You set your book down and pad to the entryway, finding your wife leaning heavily against the wall, one shoe off, the other dangling precariously from her toes. Her blonde hair was tousled in a way that suggests she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly, something she only does when particularly relaxed or, in this case, incredibly intoxicated.

"Hey, baby," you say, unable to suppress your amused smile. "Looks like someone had a good time."

Alexia's face lights up when she see’s you, her eyes brightening as she pushes herself away from the wall only to immediately stumble forward. You move quickly, catching her before she could faceplant onto the hardwood floor.

“How beautiful you are!” she exclaims, her hands immediately finding your face, squishing your cheeks together. "My wife. The most beautiful in the world.”

You laugh, steadying her with an arm around her waist. "Thank you, but let's get your other shoe off before you break an ankle."

"No, no, no," she insists, pulling away from you and attempting what appears to be a twirl but looked more like an uncoordinated wobble. “Let’s dance first!”

"Dance?" you echo, raising an eyebrow. "Baby, it's late, and you can barely stand up straight."

She pouts dramatically, her bottom lip jutting out in a way that was both ridiculous and endearing on her normally stoic face. "You never want to have fun with me.”

"That's not true and you know it," you reply, carefully guiding her to sit on the bench in the entryway. "We'll have plenty of fun tomorrow when you're not seeing double."

With surprising agility for someone so intoxicated, she catches your wrist and pulls you down onto her lap, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist. “I missed you.” she murmurs against your neck, her breath hot and smelling strongly of tequila.

"I missed you too," you respond softly, brushing her hair back from her forehead and tucking it behind her ears. "How was the celebration?"

Alexia's eyes widen as she launches into an animated recounting of the evening, switching rapidly between Spanish and broken English, her hands gesturing wildly when they weren't firmly attached to some part of your body.

“...And then Mapi, she says that I can’t-that I cannot-drink three shots in a row, but I showed her...”

You listen with fond amusement, catching maybe half of what she was saying through her slurred speech and language hopping. Alexia, the usual dignified captain, was now a giggly, touchy mess, completely unreserved in a way only you and a select few others ever witnessed.

"Sounds like you put Mapi in her place," you comment when she pauses for breath. "Now, let's get you ready for bed, okay?"

Her hands slid under your t-shirt, fingers splaying across your bare back. "I’m not tired." She grins mischievously, attempting to look seductive but achieving something closer to comical with her slightly unfocused gaze.

"Mhmm, sure you're not," you retort, easing her hands out from under your shirt. "But I think a shower might help you feel better."

It takes considerable effort to extract yourself from her grasp and get her standing up again. You manage to remove her remaining shoe and begin guiding her toward the bathroom, one arm firmly around her waist.

"Wait, wait, wait," she says suddenly, stopping dead in her tracks. "It’s hot. Very hot.”

Before you can respond, she was tugging at the buttons of her blouse, her fingers fumbling with the simple task.

"Let me help you with that," you offer, reaching for the buttons.

She bats your hands away. "I can do it myself.”

You step back, crossing your arms as you watched her struggle for nearly a full minute before she lets out a frustrated groan.

"It’s broken," she declares seriously.

"The button aren’t broken, baby. You're just a little uncoordinated right now."

Her response was to simply grab both sides of her blouse and yank, sending buttons flying across the hardwood floor. She looks immensely pleased with herself as she shrugs out of the now ruined garment.

"Was that really necessary?" you ask, trying to sound stern but failing to hide your amusement.

Alexia doesn’t answer, instead focusing intently on removing her pants, which proved to be an even greater challenge. She hopped on one foot, then the other, nearly toppling over several times before finally kicking the pants across the room with a triumphant "Ha!”

Now standing in just her bra and underwear, she grins at you. “Are you going to help me with the rest?”

"Let's get you to the bathroom first," you suggest, knowing from experience that once Alexia was fully undressed, getting her to move anywhere would become exponentially more difficult.

You manage to corral her into the bathroom, where she immediately begins fiddling with the clasp of her bra.

"Shower time, baby," you remind her as you start the water, turning to adjust the temperature.

When you turn back around, Alexia has successfully removed both remaining items of clothing and was now completely naked, examining herself critically in the full length mirror on the back of the door.

"I think I need to work out more. she mutters, poking at her perfectly toned abdomen.

You roll your eyes. "You're literally a professional athlete in peak physical condition."

She continues as if she hadn't heard you. "Look at these legs. They're not strong enough.”

"Your legs are incredible," you assure her, guiding her toward the shower. "Now get in. The water's ready.

Alexia freezes, staring at the shower as if it had personally offended her. "No." The word was small but definitive.

"No? What do you mean 'no'?"

"don't want to shower.” She crosses her arms over her chest, looking surprisingly intimidating despite her complete lack of clothing and slightly swaying posture.

"Baby, you smell like tequila and bar. A quick shower will make you feel better."

She shook her head vigorously. "No shower. I want the bed.”’

Recognizing the stubborn set of her jaw (the same expression she wears when arguing with referees on the pitch) you decide it would probably be best to just change tactics.

"Okay, no shower," you concede. "But let's at least put on some pajamas."

You leave her standing in the bathroom while you went to retrieve a clean t-shirt and sleep shorts from the bedroom. When you return, she was sitting on the closed toilet lid, looking dangerously close to nodding off.

"Arms up," you instructed, holding out the shirt.

Alexia's eyes snapp open, and she regards the clothing with sudden hostility. "No. Without clothes.”

"You can't sleep naked tonight, baby. You're going to get cold."

"I don’t want clothes.” Her voice rises dramatically, and to your shock, her eyes well with tears.

"Hey, hey," you said softly, kneeling in front of her. "What's wrong?"

"You’re ruining my dreams" she says, a tear spilling down her cheek as her lower lip trembles.”

You blink, thoroughly confused. "I'm...ruining your dreams? What dreams?"

"Of being naked. It's freedom.”

You stare at her for a moment, processing this declaration. "You have dreams about being naked?"

She nods solemnly, tears still streaming down her face. "It’s important.”

Fighting back laughter, you stroke her cheek gently. "I didn't realize nudity was so important to you, baby."

"It is," she insists. “Very important.”

Shaking your head, you decide this particular battle wasn't worth fighting. "Alright, no clothes. But you need to use the bathroom before bed, okay?"

Alexia considers this, then nods her agreement. You stand, offering your hands to help her up from the toilet seat. Instead of taking them, she simply stars at you, making no move to stand.

"Alexia," you prompt, "you need to get up so you can use the toilet."

"I can't.”

"What do you mean you can't?"

"My legs don't work.”

You sigh, realizing she had entered the "completely helpless" stage of drunkenness. "You were dancing around the apartment just fine a few minutes ago."

She shrugs dramatically, then lets her body go completely limp, sliding slowly off the toilet seat. You lunge forward, catching her before she hit the floor, but not quite managing to keep her upright. You ease her down, and her bare backside makes contact with the cold tile.

"¡AY!" she yelps., suddenly finding the strength in her legs again as she kicks them wildly in protest. "Cold! Cold!”

"I told you to stay on the toilet," you remind her, struggling to maintain your grip as she flails.

With considerable effort, you manage to haul her up, supporting most of her weight as you position her on the toilet. "Now pee."

Miraculously, she complies without further argument, looking up at you with an innocent expression like she hadn't just spent five minutes fighting you on this very issue.

You help her wash her hands, which turns into another ordeal as she becomes fascinated with the soap bubbles, attempting to blow them from her palms and giggling when they land on your face.

"Bed time," you announce firmly, putting an end to the impromptu bubble play.

"I’m not sleepy," she protests, but allows you to lead her toward the bedroom anyway.

You had just reached the hallway when she suddenly pulls away from you, a determined look on her face. "Where is the kitchen.” She demands.

"You know where the kitchen is. We've lived here for three years."

"I want ice cream.”

"We don't have any ice cream," you tell her, trying to redirect her toward the bedroom.

But Alexia was a woman on a mission now, breaking free from your grasp and making a wobbly beeline for the kitchen, her naked form disappearing around the corner before you can catch her.

By the time you reach the kitchen, she has already opened the refrigerator and was reaching for something on the bottom shelf.

"I found the ice cream!" she announces triumphantly, holding up a stick of butter.

"That's not ice cream, baby," you say, quickly moving to intercept her before she could take a bite. "That's butter."

She frowns, examining the yellow block in her hand. "It looks like ice cream.”

"Trust me, it's not," you assur, gently prying the butter from her fingers and returning it to the refrigerator. "And even if we had ice cream, you shouldn't eat it right now. You'll feel sick."

Her bottom lip juts out in that dramatic pout again. "You're mean.”

"I know, I'm terrible," you agree, guiding her away from the kitchen. "The absolute worst."

She seems to accept this assessment, leaning heavily against you as you steer her back toward the bedroom. You were just starting to think you might actually get her to bed without further incident when she suddenly straightens up, her eyes wide with excitement.

"I have an idea,” she exclaims.

The gleam in her eye immediately sets off warning bells in your head. "What kind of idea?"

"Let's go swimming!”

Before you could process what was happening, she had broken free from your hold and was running surprisingly steadily for someone who'd claimed her legs didn't work minutes ago, toward the back door that led to your small fenced yard and pool.

"Alexia, no!" you call after her, giving chase. "It's the middle of the night, and you're naked!"

"I want to dip skinny" she shouts over her shoulder, fumbling with the door lock.

"You want to what?" you ask, momentarily confused by the mangled English phrase before realization dawned. "Oh, skinny dip. No, absolutely not."

But it was too late. She had managed to unlock the door and was now sprinting across the yard, her skin glowing under the moonlight as she makes a beeline for the pool.

"Alexia Putellas!" you yell, rushing after her. "Don't you dare get in that pool!"

She pauses at the edge, turning to face you with a mischievous grin that was visible even in the dim light. "Are you going to stop me?”

"Yes, I am," you say firmly, approaching her slowly as if she were a spooked animal. "Come back inside now, and we can go to bed."

She pretends to consider this, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm...no." And with that, she turns as if to jump into the water.

You lunge forward, catching her around the waist just as she was about to leap. The momentum carriesyou both dangerously close to the edge, and for a heart-stopping moment, you thought you were both going in. Somehow, you manage to plant your feet firmly and pull you both back from the brink.

"Let me to!" she protests, squirming in your grip.

"Not happening," you reply through gritted teeth, tightening your hold as you begin half dragging, half carrying her back toward the house.

After a brief struggle, you give up on finesse and simply hoist her over your shoulder in a fireman's carry, one arm securely wrapped around the backs of her thighs to prevent escape.

"Put me down!" she demands, pounding her fists against your back.

"Stop hitting me, or I'll drop you," you warn, though you had no intention of actually doing so.

Her response was to deliver a sharp smack to your behind, followed by a delighted giggle.

"Oh, you think that's funny?" you asked, delivering a light swat to her exposed backside in return.

"¡Oye!" she yelps, though you could hear the laughter in her voice.

Somehow, you manage to get her back into the house and lock the door behind you. By this point, you were both breathing heavily from the exertion, and your patience was wearing dangerously thin.

"Alexia," you say, your voice deadly serious as you set her back on her feet. "We are going to bed. Now."

Perhaps something in your tone finally gets through to her, because she nods meekly. "Okay.”

Relief floods through you as you guid her toward the bedroom once more. You had almost reached the door when she suddenly stops, a familiar stubborn expression settling on her face.

"I’m not tired," she insists again.

That was the final straw. You'd been patient, you'd been understanding, but after chasing your naked, drunk wife around the house for nearly an hour, preventing her from eating butter, and stopping her from diving into a cold pool at midnight, your limits had been reached.

"That's it," you declare, changing course and steering her firmly toward the bathroom instead. "Shower time."

"No-“

But you were done negotiating. With a strength born of pure exasperation, you lift her into the shower stall, step in after her still fully clothed, and turn on the water.

The cold spray hits you both, and while you had been expecting it, Alexia clearly wasn't. She goes rigid in your arms, her back arching as she lets out a shocked gasp that quickly turns into a wail.

“COLD! IT’S COLD!” she cries, trying to escape the spray but finding herself trapped between the shower wall and your body.

"I know," you said, reaching around her to gradually adjust the temperature to something more bearable. "Just give it a minute."

As the water warmed, her struggles subsided, replaced by pathetic sniffles that tugged at your heartstrings despite your frustration.

"Yoire mean.” she says again, her voice small and wounded as she turns to face you, water streaming down her face mixing with what you suspect were actual tears. “I want a divorce.”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the declaration. "You want a divorce because I made you take a shower?"

She nods solemnly, water droplets flying from her hair with the movement. "Very bad wife.”

"I see," you said, trying to keep a straight face. "Well, we can discuss that in the morning when you're sober."

She opens her mouth as if to continue her complaint, but then her gaze drops to your chest, where your white sleep shirt had become completely transparent under the shower spray, clinging to your skin in a way that left little to the imagination.

"Your boobs" she breathed, previous grievances apparently forgotten as she stares openly.

"Yes, thank you for noticing," you said dryly. "Can we focus on getting you clean now?"

But Alexia was thoroughly distracted, her hands moving to cup your breasts through the wet fabric with a look of awe that would have been comical if it hadn't been so familiar. For all her sophistication and poise in public, your wife turned into an absolute cliché when drunk. A shameless boob woman through and through.

"Beautiful," she murmurs, fingers kneading gently.

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all…standing fully clothed in the shower with your naked, drunk wife feeling you up as if she were discovering your body for the first time, despite having seen and touched every inch of you countless times before.

"You're ridiculous," you tell her affectionately, brushing wet strands of hair from her face.

She looks up at you with such earnest adoration that your irritation melts away completely. "I love you so mych," she says, suddenly emotional again.

"I love you too, baby," you reply, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Now let's get you clean."

Taking advantage of her newfound docility, you quickly shampoo her hair and run a soapy washcloth over her body. She allows this without protest, seemingly content to stand under the warm spray with her hands still firmly attached to your chest.

Once she was reasonably clean, you turn off the water and wrap her in a large towel before quickly stripping off your own soaked clothing and grabbing another towel for yourself.

"Tired now?" you ask hopefully as you dry her off.

She nodded, her eyelids already drooping. "Bed.”

Not bothering with the pajamas that had caused such drama earlier, you guid her naked form to the bed and help her climb under the covers. You quickly towel off your own hair and slipp in beside her, immediately feeling her gravitate toward you in the darkness.

Her bare chest presses against yours as she tucks her face into the crook of your neck, one of her favorite sleeping positions despite her height advantage.

"This is nice," you murmur, thinking perhaps you had finally reached the end of the night's adventures.

You are wrong.

Just as you were drifting off, you feel the unmistakable sensation of teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Alexia," you warn, fully awake again. "Don't you dare bite me."

She ignores the warning, nipping sharply at your collarbone.

Without thinking, you deliver a quick smack to her bare backside, harder than the playful swat from earlier.

"Ay!" she yelp, pulling back to stare at you with wide, surprised eyes.

"It's bedtime," you say firmly, holding her gaze. "No biting. Sleep."

For a moment, you thought she might argue, but then her expression softens into a pout. "I’m sorry," she mumbles, settling back against you.

"It's okay," you reply, gently rubbing the spot you'd just smacked before starting to trace soothing circles across her back. "Just go to sleep, baby."

She nods against your neck, one hand sliding up to cup your breast again in what appeared to be her preferred sleeping arrangement for the night. "Goodnight, my love.”

"Goodnight, baby."

You feel her body gradually relax against yours, her breathing slowing to a steady rhythm...and then it happened. The first snore rumbles through her chest, vibrating against yours, a peculiar phenomenon that only occurrs when she was thoroughly intoxicated.

You roll your eyes and sigh, knowing from experience that the snoring would continue for most of the night. Yet despite your exhaustion and the guaranteed disruption to your sleep, you couldn't help but smile as you tightened your arms around her.

Morning arrives with harsh sunlight streaming through the windows you'd forgotten to close in last night's chaos. You awake to find yourself in exactly the same position you'd fallen asleep in, though Alexia had slid down slightly, her cheek now squished against your breast while her hand still cupped the other one possessively.

You smile down at her sleeping form, taking a moment to appreciate how peaceful she looked. Her hair was a tangled mess, fanning out across your chest, and there was still a faint smudge of mascara beneath one eye that hadn't quite washed away in the shower.

As if sensing your gaze, her eyelids flutter open, immediately squinting against the bright light. She groans, burying her face deeper against your chest.

"Why is there so mych sun?" she mumbles, her voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," you reply, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. "How's your head feeling?"

She groans again in response, finally seeming to register her position and the fact that she was completely naked. Slowly, she lifts her head to look at you, wincing with the movement.

"What happened last night?” She asks cautiously, though her hand remains firmly in place on your breast, apparently comfortable there even in her confused state.

You grin down at her. "What's the last thing you remember?"

She furrowed her brow in concentration. "Dinner with the team. Mapi brought tequila...”

"And after that?"

"I got home?” she asks hopefully.

Your grin widens, “Oh, you definitely got home. And then you tried to eat butter because you thought it was ice cream, attempted to go skinny dipping in our pool at midnight, and told me you wanted a divorce because I made you take a shower."

Horror dawns on her face as fragments of memories apparently began to surface. "That's not true.”

"It absolutely is," you assure her. "You also cried when I tried to get you to wear pajamas because apparently clothing was 'ruining your dreams.'"

She groans, hiding her face against your chest again. "My God.”

"Don't worry, there's more," you continue cheerfully. "You refused to use the toilet until I physically put you on it, then acted like you hadn't just spent five minutes fighting me about it."

"Stop, olease" she begs, her voice muffled against your skin.

"And let's not forget how you became absolutely fascinated with my boobs in the shower, despite having seen them literally thousands of times before."

She raises her head just enough to glance down at her hand, still cupping your breast. With a sheepish expression, she starts to pull away, but you catch her wrist.

"I didn't say I minded," you tell her with a playful wink.

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth despite her obvious discomfort. “I’m sorry,”," she murmurs, her voice softand genuinely apologetic.

"For what specifically? There's quite a list to choose from."

She winces. "For...everything?“

You laugh, pulling her back down to rest against you. "It's okay. Though you owe me at least three uninterrupted bubble baths and a massage for the emotional labor of preventing you from diving naked into a cold pool."

"Did I really do that?" she asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

"You really did. You're surprisingly quick when you're drunk and determined."

She was quiet for a moment, then asks in a small voice, “Did I really ask you for a divorce?*

You stroked her tangled hair gently. "You did, but only because I got you wet."

She looks up sharply, eyes wide. "What?”

"In the shower," you clarify, enjoying her confusion perhaps a bit too much. "You got mad because I put you in the shower with your cold water."

"Oh," she relaxes, then immediately tenses again. "Wait, you put me in the shower with cold water?”

"After you'd spent an hour running around the house naked, refusing to go to bed, trying to eat butter, and attempting to go swimming at midnight, yes, I did. And I got in with you, fully clothed, I might add."

She buries her face in her hands. "I'm an idiot.”

"No argument here," you agreed cheerfully. "But you're my idiota, so it's okay."

She peeked through her fingers at you. "You're not angry?”

"Baby, if I got genuinely angry every time you did something ridiculous when drunk, we'd have serious problems," you tell her, gently pulling her hands away from her face. "Besides, it makes for a great story to tell at team gatherings."

"You wouldn’t dare," she gasps, looking horrified.

"Try me," you challenge, raising an eyebrow. "I've got years of material stored up."

She pouts, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “You’re mean," she grumbles, echoing her drunken accusation from the night before.

"So you keep telling me," you reply, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "How about I make us some coffee and get you some painkillers for that headache I know you have?"

"Yes, please.” she mumbles, reluctantly releasing her hold on you so you could get up.

As you slide out of bed, you glance back at her sprawled naked across the sheets, her hair a golden mess against the white pillowcase. Despite the drinking, despite the chaos of the previous night, despite the fact that you'd gotten maybe four hours of interrupted sleep, you couldn't help but feel your chest ache with affection.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks, pulling the sheet up selfconsciously.

"Because I love you," you answer simply. "All versions of you. Even the one who tries to eat butter and calls me mean for not letting her skinny dip at midnight."

Her expression softened, a smile spreading across her face despite the pain you knew she must be feeling. "I love you too,” she murmurs softly. "Even though I'm apparently a nightmare when I'm drunk.”

"The best kind of nightmare," you assure her, heading for the door. "And definitely worth every minute."

Tags:

@simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

#alexia putellas x you #soft alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas x y/n #woso community #woso x reader #woso appreciation #woso imagine

724 notes · View notes