#apologies for any repetition

[cloudbends]

It's been rotating in my brain for a while, so I decided to compile my thoughts about the parallels between anaxa and sunday in terms of the way their writing, personality and themes align with one another. At this point, I don't believe this is coincidental.

Anaxa sees reason and emotion as coexisting concepts instead of opposing ends. he rejects himself but he doesn't reject his humanity. he rejects his life but doesn't reject his personhood. he debatably has more faith in his students than he does in himself, because he puts so much trust in them to continue his work. to question everything. to forsake everything. to prove everything he can because he has nothing to lose. he guards his theories with his life because its literally all he has left. and i just like how antideterministic it is. they're doomed but he proves its not humanity being doomed by the gods, its humanity's ability to both doom and save itself.

the parallels between sunday and anaxa are best summed up by these two quotes from their respective trailers:

sunday: knowing there were no gods who could save people unconditionally. to change anything, you can only rely on yourself.

anaxa: gods, decry it as blasphemy - if that is all you can do [...] we alone are the true gods of this world.

How can they believe there's such a thing as a god after all they've lost? A line that particularly stuck out to me in anaxa's stories was cerces's goading of anaxa, asking him if he prayed to the titans upon seeing his hometown ruined and his sister dead. It disclosed a deeper, more personal sentiment anaxa has towards the titans than a mere desire to erase their existence. For anaxa, forsaking the gods means to wrestle control back to humanity's hands, to his hands, in the face of an uncontrollably tragic fate.

In this sense, both anaxa and sunday must deal with a desire for control, doing so by getting their respective gods out of the equation. I think Sunday's words at the grand theatre are incredibly important to this point, and indicate just how similar (if, of course, different circumstantially) their characters and arcs are:

Sunday: My desire is not to resurrect a fallen Aeon, or become one myself... my sole objective is to create a paradise free from Aeons, where the Order ensures the dignity and happiness of all humanity. A paradise exclusive to us human beings".

Sunday, for all his religious theming and imagery, wishes to forsake the gods in favour of an order of safety, to be the sole person remaining awake to guard the dreaming. I think it's very interesting that thematically, anaxa is framed as chaotic, wishing to disrupt the status quo, a perceived opposite to sunday, who in fact shares many more similarities with his mindset than you'd imagine. They both want to liberate mankind from the gods, so their fates won't be inextricably tied to the gods' whims, having grown disillusioned with them. Here however, the stark difference in their methods comes into play: while sunday's desire for humanity's happiness is regrettably robbing it of agency, anaxa's desire for humanity to gain its agency back is knowingly robbing them of their faiths.

Sunday doesn't have faith in humanity's ability to overcome hardships, and in order to be their protector, he decided to usurp the role of a god - he saw horrors so severe, that he felt he had to shoulder their protection for himself. Sunday operates by his sense of anxiety which inadvertently disclosed his lack of faith, taking things into his own hands to ensure they will go as well as possible - he can ensure the success and happiness of humanity only if he takes the burden upon himself and sees it through with his own hands. He feels only he can, or really must, be the responsible person who can shoulder the burden of protecting humanity, which inadvertently strips them of agency. Meanwhile, anaxa's entire thesis is based on his own disillusionment with the gods and faith in humanity, that his plan and eventual usurping of the titan position was in service of proving humanity's agency over the titans by their being identical beings. Anaxa has so much faith in humanity, to the point of disregarding his life and physical existence and completely trusting his students to continue what he can't finish. The blasphemer is driven by faith in humanity, while the believer is driven by distrusting the gods.

To their respective ends, they both decide to pose themselves as antagonists in the eyes of the public in order to ascend to a higher position at the expense of their own lives and well being. They're both themed and viewed as performers of sorts (depicted in stage settings, the performer and the conductor), which on the surface level, epitomise sunday as an organizer, a puppeteering figure, a follower of Order, and anaxa as the wild stage performer, a soliloquy giver, disrupting the audience's understandings of the world into chaos. I contend, however, that the complete opposite is true, making these parallels all the more compelling. Sunday's performance is entirely puppeteered and driven by his sense of anxiety, desperation, and an urge to escape reality, not being able to withstand its horrors - the order hides personal chaos. On the other side of the coin, anaxa's performance is the epitome of calculated, an argument and theory decades in the making, meant to be his final proof so he can leave the world that pained him behind to his students to nourish and give a final sacrifice for his equivalent exchange - the chaos hides personal order.

These two opposing ideas disclose the paralleling approaches anaxa and sunday take in regards to their ideals, and their differences in mental fortitude and personality. Anaxa is very self assured that his method will lead to his desired outcomes, marches entirely to the beat of his own drum, passing his thoughts to his cherished students and trusting them to continue what he doesn't believe he can survive to accomplish. Sunday, on the other hand, is defined by his insecurity, being surrounded by the hostile environment of the family, the younger figure thrust into a position of power through manipulation, and being forced to conform to it. Anaxa's figure is that of a teacher, an authority, while Sunday was inherently stuck in the position of a novice political figure, forced to sway according to the authorities around him.

Probably one of the most dominant aspects paralleling anaxa to sunday is both of their incredibly meaningful and impactful bonds they share with their sisters. While in sunday's case his bond takes central stage and in anaxa's stage we can only infer based on the little that is mentioned about it, I think it is no less significant to a thorough understanding of his character and motivations.

In both cases, two young siblings are left to fend off for themselves as their parents either die at the hands of war (sunday and robin) or decide to abandon their children (anaxa and his sister). And as such, they're each other's most meaningful connections in the world. Sunday owes robin his dream of a utopia, her ever supporter because her happiness is his, cementing his dedicating his life for the sake of others. In a similar vein, anaxa owes his sister his education, his access to knowledge, to experiments, to what is going to shape his life ambitions. However, I think what ties these characters further together is this sense of debt towards their sisters, in a way that feeds their selflessness and becomes their central means to achieve their goals.

Anaxa, in what I can infer from his character stories, genuinely views his life as disposable after his sister's death. His philosophical emphasis on equivalent exchange is, in large part, a reflection of his guilt towards his sister and her sacrifice - allowing him to study at the grove, at the expense of her own life the moment he left. In order for him to be worthy of her sacrifice - or the exchange to be equivalent - he must give away everything in order to achieve his goal. He must continuously chip away at his body, and his spirit, while insisting on retaining his heart and person, in order to make her death have meaning, for the rules of the world to make sense.

They're both so riddled with guilt, to the point it becomes their driving force. Both of their most significant human connections were to their sisters, feeling such an intense amount of debt towards both of them, that this sense of owing encourages them to keep chipping away at themselves in a subconscious effort to live up to both of their sister's "sacrifices" (robin's is more metaphorical). The kindness they received makes them eager to sacrifice more and more of themselves, creating a core of guilt that serves as their motivation to keep losing themselves for their grander goal.

The following portion of anaxa's 'chrysos' volume drew more parallels between the two in a way I can only interpret as being intentional, at the foremost through the use of the songbird motif. While sunday's charmony dove allegory bears no need to repeat, and I could write about it for hours, the following quote by anaxa is meaningful:

anaxa: I once carved a songbird that miraculously flapped its wings and took to the sky, though it circled five times at low altitude before falling...

As it is explicitly told, sunday's turning point in his life and ideology was finding the charmony dove and having to confront the moral dilemma, a choice he viewed to be between freedom and security. His anxiety began to take root, as he had to watch the bird he nursed back to health attempt to fly again, and watch it plummet to its death, cementing in his minds that the weak, those he cherishes, are better kept secure than free. Ironically, he doesn't realise that he himself is stuck in such a cage, terrified of flying, and how his thought process ends up straining his relationship with the same person he so wishes to protect.

I don't think it's coincidental that anaxa chooses to emphasize the fact that the bird he manifested into life, also met its death a short amount of time after it was created by his hands. They're both left unsatisfied - they both must strive to do better, to either preserve life (sunday) or to create life (anaxa), so long as they can make sense of death. Both of these incidents end up solidifying and crystallizing their worldviews: they must sacrifice more of themselves in order to achieve their dreams. Be it a boundless utopia in sunday's case - posing himself as the sole guarding figure who shelters humanity from the terrors of existence regardless of the gods; or achieving transcendence and reaching an absolute truth in anaxa's case - by, similarly, posing himself as the one who must chip away at himself in order to prove, and give meaning, to humanity's existence regardless of the gods.

And perhaps most tragically, eventually, both sunday and anaxa were forced to sacrifice a part of themslves and lose the things they were most scared of losing. Anaxa, who was willing to sacrifice his physical well being, is forced to sacrifice his imprints on history and theory, sacrificing others memories of him, his legacy, his achievements. Sunday, whose drive for the betterment of others arose first and foremost from how much he cherished his only family, had to sacrifice his connection to her, the person closest to him, so he could protect her - they are torn apart, while ever present in each others' minds.

Something about these two, and their relationship to faith, the gods, their families, and worldviews, is deeply compelling in its similarity. They should meet up.

[internetegoist]

Of Shidou Ryusei ; And how his character connects towards sexual trauma

(Content warning: Major mentions of SA/CSA and abuse, minor mentions for NSFW behaviour. Most of them aren't in graphic detail, but please please be wary of it 🙏 There's also spoilers for CSM and A Clockwork Orange)

Shidou's character is one of those that sticks with you throughout the entire series. It feels like we know everything about him, yet there's something so mysterious about his behaviour that makes you wonder, what's with this guy? We know how he acts, his violence and vulgarity injected in his brain and blood, but yet we don't know why he acts the way he is. It is very heavily implied that he went through a sort of restriction, born in a bird cage which he freed himself from through going to Blue Lock, but what is that restriction? What was the bird cage which trapped him? What was it that was holding him back from searching for freedom and exploring the world?

Since then, there's been a large speculation of theories on what his backstory could be. But one of them I want to talk about is about how his backstory is connected to SA, and how he could have experienced it at a young age. At first, I was extremelyyy hesitant to follow it due to how it made me a bit uncomfortable to discuss about, and how I saw a majority of people supporting the theory use it for shock value rather than a chance to devolve into darker topics. Of course, not the case for everyone who supports the theory, just from my own personal experience in the fandom.

But now, I can see the extremely, deeply discomforting vision on how this could be true in a way. From both his favourite manga and movie involving SA as an integral part in the story, to the concerning side of him being slightly revealed in the Egoist Bible. (Eg. crying at the end of the day, when he's feeling nothing or when he's empty, as well as his dislike of gifts)

Due to my heavy interests, I wanted to explore this theory into a more deeper matter. I decided to analyze more of his behaviour, as well as doing some of my own research. I must say, Shidou's behavioral manner can be one that is similar to those of SA survivors, especially male survivors.

Okay okay, enough yapping around. Let me get straight to the point.

Shidou and his instinct's responses

Generally after experiencing sexual abuse, one's entire personality will change. Every behaviour change is different for every sexual abuse survivor. Sometimes they'll isolate themselves more often, sometimes they turn into a much aggressive and violent person. Because the world has failed them, the world is putting them in a place where they are no longer safe and are more vulnerable. Because when your entire sense of self and personal power is taken away by your abuser, you are left with nothing but fear and new survival instincts. Why I bring this up is because Shidou's entire personality is built on instincts. His instant response to even the slightest hint of dislike or threat is to immediately beat them up, no matter who they are. A noteworthy thing to mention is that one of the main responses from males following sexual trauma is anger, because it is more socially acceptable for men to react that way. Attacking someone is the best way of defense, and Shidou follows this way of defense entirely. This also follows up with the stigma with the male ethic of self-reliance, in which help-seeking behaviours can be seen as cowardly or unmasculine.

It's most likely the reason why he also dislikes Kunigami's philosophy of heroes; Considering the fact his entire character is based on wanting to be free from restriction, he must have lived in an environment and/or went through a sort of restriction which influenced his ideals of "I can fend myself, I won't need anyone". The world he has grown up in was nothing but survival against the abuse he went through, so for what purpose should he believe in the principle of a savior, if he himself could have never been saved? It doesn't help either when in real time, there have been many cases where survivors of sexual abuse are either never believed when they speak out about it, or never speak out at all in fear of not being believed.

And besides the fact he uses violence as a defense method, one thing I noticed about Shidou is that during the time he was locked up by Ego for inducing violence onto Rin. We see him, perhaps for the first time, being calm and offering a promise that he'll make sure to stop fighting and hitting others, as long as he is let out of that prison he's trapped in. You see, a common reaction victims will use during the process of the SA is to freeze. To stay silent and still. It's like how animals freeze to avoid fights or further harm to themselves, or play dead in order to prevent getting eaten by predators. Although the outer self may seem to be in a calm state, the inside are on high alert, because they are afraid on what will be their abuser's next moves. The option to fight or run away may seem easy to those who haven't experienced SA, but to the victim it may seem harder than you think. Because freezing is a body's instinct response to abuse, and it'll stay frozen until the abuse is over, it's almost like a human's way of playing dead, so that the assault induced will end sooner. Among the instincts of 'fight, flight, freeze', Shidou seems to use fight the most out of the three. However, when necessary times come necessary measures, Shidou, perhaps for the first time, switches to 'freeze' instead of 'fight'. Not only because he basically, cannot physically fight anyone at that moment, but also because he is afraid. Afraid of being restricted yet again, afraid of not having the chance to live his life, which is to play football. The worst position to be in when you're being hurt or abused is limitation. You can't move, you can't fight, you can't run away from your abuse from happening. Nothing but hope that the abuse happening to you will end soon, that your abuser will stop hurting you. That's exactly what is so terrifying about the freeze responses.

Shidou and his sexual behaviour

If any fan knows anything about Shidou, it's that he's not afraid to speak out what's on his mind, especially lewd and inappropriate words. More or less, this can be connecting to something called hypersexuality. Accordingly, hypersexuality is defined as an intense focus on sexual fantasies, urges and behaviours that can't be controlled. Hypersexuality can not only cause distress, but also problems in school and workplace.

Survivors of sexual abuse cope in one of the two ways: Either by avoiding sexual or intimidate interactions entirely, or seeking said interactions on a large and unhealthy scale. According to this article, a majority of men who suffer from hypersexuality or sex addiction have been either physically or sexually abused in their childhood.

We see Shidou quite literally compare scoring a goal in football, to sexual intercourse. (And also the part where he says he's gonna blow his load, with Sae also dismissing it, but it's just partners supporting each other!)

By now, we know that two things that Shidou is unable to separate from each other is life and football. Both the act of life and the act of playing football is interconnected. Because football is something that allows him to leave a mark, allows him to be known by the world. Because football is a biological phenomenon to him, rather than just a sport.

And yes sure, this is supposed to be a connection to his philosophy of leaving a mark on others, so that you can be remembered. But also remember what he says in his monologue: "Those who create something, those who want to become something, and of course, those who make children." The way humans create life is through intimacy, through intercourse. The two people engaging leave a mark on each other through creating that life, that child.

And while speaking about his monologue of leaving a mark, Shidou also mentions that wounding others are a way of leaving behind a proof of existence. Inducing abuse whether it'd be physical, emotional or sexual, can also be one of the ways to make someone remember you.

The abuser leaves the mark on the victim, the mentioned mark left on them can be seen as PTSD or trauma symptoms.

Abuse is not something you can just simply turn away, forget or overlook. Whether the effects of trauma are short-term or long-term, they are there, they are a proof of existence that it happened. Shidou's inability to separate the physical act of football and the biological act of life's desires, especially sexual desires, can be seen as hypersexuality. Hypersexuality can also be seen as a mark left onto the victim. And it's extremely lengthy to recover and remove those marks left on you.

Of Freedom and Shidou Ryusei

I think Shidou Ryusei and his obsession with freedom is something so interesting about his character, yet so many people tend to ignore it as a significant part of him. Because imagine if one day out of the blue, your entire bodily autonomy gets taken away from you, you're trapped in a cycle of repetitive abuse onto you. When it's finally over and you have control over everything again, the world suddenly feels so utterly different. So what do you do? Of course, cling onto that freedom that is now yours.

Bite any other hand that may seem like it's trying to take it away, because if there is one thing you do not ever want to repeat, it is someone isolating you once more against the world. So hold on tightly to the freedom you now have, and make sure it stays with you for eternity.

All of Shidou's favourite things, his favourite film, manga and song, are also connected to this in a way.

It would take too long for me to get into detail about both Chainsaw Man and A Clockwork Orange, but I want to say that both media and their protagonists have approaches to freedom of life and choice.

In Chainsaw Man, Denji is a child that has been depraved of even the basic of human needs; Just like Shidou, he wants to claim everything in his current life and not return to when he had nothing when he was a child. In A Clockwork Orange, Alexander who in the beginning of the movie has been committing heinous crimes with no one to stop him, is captured and put through inhumane experiments in order to rehabilitate him. His entire freedom is taken away from him and for the next hour, we see him go through immense suffering and torture by those who he had wronged to the point he attempts to commit suicide through jumping off a window. In the end, it doesn't seem like his mindset has changed at all. It makes us question whether or not letting someone be free to do anything they want is the better option even if it hurts others, rather than attempt to isolate them in order to transform them into a better human being.

I would like to talk a little about his favourite artist. For a bit of context, hide is popular for being an icon of rebellion against Japan's conformist society, and one of his songs PINK SPIDER, is listed as Shidou's favourite song according to the official Blue Lock Egoist Bible. I've seen a lot of interpretations of what the song truly means, but the main story is that it's about a spider trapped within and kills anything near it. Because it wishes to free itself away, it steals a butterfly's wings. It attempts to fly, and fails, and tries again. Whether or not the spider did actually succeeded in flying away is unknown to us. But, that's not all!

Around the chapter where Shidou scores a goal, the commenter calls it a 'rocket diving header'. This can lead to one of hide's other songs in the same album as PINK SPIDER, rocket dive; a song with the similar approach of freedom but with different tones. Compared to PINK SPIDER, rocket dive has a more cheerful approach. In the end of the song, the star mentioned in rocket dive successfully flies away and appears as a new shooting star in the sky.

Which brings me to point out something: Shidou Ryusei's birthday is on Tanabata, a type of Japanese celebration called the Star Festival which is celebrated on the seventh day of the seventh month.

His name, Ryusei, is also a homophone for shooting star in Japanese.

Shidou, born as a star on the day where two lover stars meet, yet when he was born, he was not allowed to fly and join the others in the sky.

But he overcame everything, achieved that dream of having the freedom to do whatever he wants. And even though he went through all that pain, all that abuse, and most likely had to learn how to escape by himself through football before Blue Lock, he made it come true, like a spell.

And eventually, he learnt how to fly, and let the world knew who he was.

[princecassiel]

April Fools: Fart Questions

You are free to modify this to answer for characters instead.

Have there been any intense or serious moments when you needed to fart but had to hold it in?

Where was the most inappropriate place or moment where you've accidentally or purposely farted?

Have you ever farted too carelessly that it promoted into a shart instead?

If you could somehow imitate a song with your farts, what song would it be?

When was the first time you've farted around your partner or friends?

What do you think of farts?

Do you like farts or farting?

Your opinion(s) on fart jokes?

What was your longest fart?

What are your farts like in general? (Length, stink, volume, etc)

Was there a time you farted and you blamed someone else for it? Did people believe you?

When was a time that someone else farted and you got blamed instead?

Do you know how to cup a fart and throw it?

Is there someone you want to cup a fart and throw it at them? Who is it and why?

What have you done to try and hide your farts? Have they worked?

What's the longest time you've held in a farts and why?

What scents do you use to hide your farts?

Describe the funniest sounds your farts have ever made.

Have you ever choked from a fart? Or witnessed someone else choke on one?

Have you ever farted so hard that it caused your clothes or something else to shake?

Are you comfortable enough to fart around your friends?

Rank the farts in your social circle or your own farts.

Imagine fart sounds in the last YouTube video you've watched, what was it and how would the video have gone?

Have you ever spoken with someone and it's obvious that they're dying to fart and you're holding them back?

When was that time you had to hold it in and couldn't get relief because someone was talking to you/you had something important to finish in public?

Have you ever walked into a fart cloud?

Have others walked into your fart cloud?

What do you do in those moments when you fart under the blanket and it's trapped there? Do you get rid of it? Keep it trapped in there?

What do you eat/drink that makes you fart like a maniac?

What are your favourite fart sounds?

Have you ever ruined a moment with a fart?

Is there a moment where you wish you could ruin or enhance with a fart?

Are your farts strong enough to blow out a candle?

What terms do you use to call farts or the action of letting out a fart? Letting it rip? Cut the cheese? Pass gas? Wind? Something else?

Farting is a natural thing. Do you think people should do it more and without shame? Why or why not?

Has there been a time when you thought you were alone and farted but it turned out someone was there/someone came right around the corner?

What are your fart patterns?

What are your techniques to farting discreetly?

Was there a time you tried to be discreet but failed miserably?

Has there been a time when you had to hold in your laughter due to farts?

If you were to create music with your farts, how would it go?

What do your farts sound like?

What's your favourite place to fart?

Who do you know has the most amazing farts and why?

Do you have any merch related to farts?

Have you or anyone else accidentally farted during an intense moment?

Has something or someone made a sound similar to a fart and you think it's funny?

Has a fart ever gotten you/someone else in trouble?

Your thoughts/ratings on the different kinds of farts: odourless, wet, smell and frequent, etc. (Look up a list or make up your own)

Do you have a fart rival? (Someone to out-fart)

Has farting ever gotten you out of a sticky situation or put you into one?

Who would you challenge to a fart-off and why? Would you or your competitor(s) win?

Have you ever been so startled you let out a fart?

What kind of superpower would your farts grant you? (Ex: Laserfart is a hero who can fart out lasers)

If you could fart on a belonging of your menace, what would it be and why?

Describe your most rancid fart.

Has there been a time when a fart has helped you?

Any neat tricks you can do with your farts?

If you were to give your farts a color, what color would it be?

Write a fart haiku (or other type of poem).

[bepomepo33]

IM ON A ROLL

(Edit: speed paint below the cut)

[hellengomes]

Usually misenterpreted by the fandom, thinks of themselves to be an irredeemable demon/monster and attempts to behave as such, huge part of the fandom actually thinks that it's an undeniable fact that they are an irredeemable demon/monster (and that they should be punished / that they should be k*lled), fandom gives them some sort of mental illness to define their entire characters/personalities usually without thinking about all the trauma/pain/abuse they've been throught. They are literally just 14 years old which the fandom also tend to forget/ignore and continues to treat them as if they were adults who should have known better and that they should have behaved better, are quite the definition of "feels like i'm the worst so i always act like i'm the best", tend to mess with their own hair when upset/stressed/nervous(though this one might be a hc), are usually labelled as "always been a bad person" just for behaving acordingly to the situattion they are under, not very good at "comunicating accordingly", very good at analyzing/understanding other people but can't figure themselves out to save their lives, are actually very loyal, dedicated, caring and huge dorks deep down, have some major trust issues, have/had a "bubbly pink themed girl / friend" to give them the affection that they desperatedly need despite their usual cold/harsh attitude towards them, antagonizes themselves towards the ones they care about, the usually considered "questionable/wrong/bad/evil" thoughts/actions/behaviors that they have are understandable especially if you actually look by their point of view/put yourself on their shoes, they are doomed by the narrative and they deserve better.

(Some similarities between Homura Akemi and Princess Azula, as in how they are as characters, how part of the fandom views/treats them etc...)

[astralcurses]

every time i listen to the Birthday Massacre it unequivocally RADIATES A Snapping Sound vibes. like. the two are so intrinsically linked in my brain. i only read a snapping sound Once in like. early 2020, and its one of those books/fics that sticks with you for the rest of your life. i should reread it actually. but yeah music by The Birthday Massacre sounds like Amity Park but specifically from A Snapping Sound

[ssawboness]

in regards to my last post, in all honesty this is exactly why i have been distancing myself from social media. some people allow their hatred to fester unbarred but don't have the courage to take a look within themselves and find the root of it. i am genuinely and wholeheartedly sorry that you are hurting so badly you find it necessary to take it out on others, but i do not condone that kind of negativity on my blog and i will not give you the time of day. i delete comments and block because it's my responsibility to curate my own experience. your inability to do so is not my problem and it should never be thrust into my face because that only makes you worse than whatever fantasy you have projected onto me.

if anyone would like to remain in contact with me throughout the duration of my break, my discord is stoopstoopstoop. i promise that i am more lighthearted in person <3

[7rashstar]

ok nvm i got on my pc bc i cant shuffle queue on mobile (???) saurrr yea queued 156 pix from both phone aaaand....my sd card :D it survived!!!

[philosians]

ɪɴᴅᴜʟɢᴇɴᴄᴇ

a three week paid-vacation provided by your captain gave rise to the opportunity to finally show you the gift sylus had gotten you. and no, it isn’t the yacht you’re on—but he wouldn’t be opposed to giving you that either.

[ !! ] — mdni | established relationship, smut, breeding kink, pregnancy mention, fingering, oral (female receiving), praise kink, mating press, unprotected sex, sylus is soft in the bedroom okay now hush ;; alcohol mention (sylus drinks whiskey), fluff. oh did I mention soft! sylus?? uhhh maybe more tags than this idk there’s a lot going on lmao. unedited af I know that’s a warning. if y’all see cut sentences just know it’s a brain glitch >.< lol

a/n: Happy Valentine’s Day! phew i got this out before it ended hehe just in the nick of time. I do wanna forewarn everyone I don’t actively write smut so I deeply apologize for any sort of repetitiveness or just it being inaccurate and rushed overall, my apologies. but please enjoy reading! bc i wanna curl up and die and delete this after writing it actually lmao I’ll probably never write anything like this again haha

word count: roughly 4.8k

The starry expanse of sky moves quickly outside of the window of the car, nothing but a blur of cosmic colors. Where you’re going you’re not quite sure, with all the secrecy from Sylus and the twins. It’s something Sylus has clearly planned for awhile, from the way he wanted you to dress tonight, but you’re still unable to put your finger on it.

At the very least, you’re glad that Kieran is the one that’s driving instead of Luke.

“Are you two going to tell me where we’re going yet?”

“Afraid not, Miss,” Kieran replies. “That’d be against orders from Boss.”

“Are we at least almost there yet?” you ask.

“We have about ten more minutes,” Luke chirps. “Then you’ll finally get to see Boss, don’t worry.”

You’re stunned into a mild fluster and look at your hands in your lap. You heard the twins snicker and you can’t help but shake your head incredulously. Oh well. You’re almost to your destination anyway.

After the last two months of an increase in Wanderer appearances, you could most certainly use a break. It’s been nothing short of hectic, battles here and evacuations there and the occasional dumbass that doesn’t want to listen to the warnings given out that an area is too dangerous to go into.

You softly sigh. You really shouldn’t be thinking about work.

You tug the large coat on your shoulders over you further, closing your eyes and sinking into the warmth and the smell of the man it belonged to.

Whatever in the world Sylus had planned must be big, even so that he couldn’t be bothered to tell even the twins exactly what he had in store. All the three of you knew was that he had a surprise, and the two brothers were more than happy to have the opportunity to have the base to themselves.

You just wish you knew where you were going.

“Is this it?”

“I think so. Ah, there’s Boss.”

Oh, already?

True to word, you open your eyes and see a familiar patch of silver against the darkness of the world. And you also happen to see a very, very large yacht not far from him.

A marina? You blink incredulously. A private fucking marina. Good lord, how much money does this man really have?

Upon stopping, you watch as Sylus turns his head slightly to the car. Luke quickly jumps from the passenger side and opens the door for you, ushering his hand outward dramatically and says, “After you, Miss.”

The heel of your shoe clicks against pavement as you step out, holding Luke’s hand for stability until you find your balance.

“Thanks, Luke.”

“Not a problem! Enjoy the honey— Uh, vacation!”

Luke jumps back into the car, more than likely to save himself from your questioning eyes. You can’t help but shake your head and make your way toward Sylus and the man in uniform, more than likely the captain of the yacht.

“Ah, Mrs. Sylus,” greets the captain with a tilt of his hat. His eyes blink as he does a once-over on you and then laughs. “I was wondering what kind of woman would tie such a man down, and now I understand. Please, come aboard.”

Your brows raise at Sylus as the captain pivots and boards the yacht. “Care to explain that?”

Sylus, in all his audacity, simply shrugs and smiles. “Nothing to explain, sweetie. He came up with that himself after I told him my lady would be joining me.”

You scoff in disbelief, but can’t help the small smile that falls to your lips. You take Sylus’s arm, wrapped your hand in the crook of his elbow as he leads you onto the ship.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, gazing around as he takes you to the deck. And you could only imagine what it would be like when you went out to sea.

“I figured you would like it,” he murmurs. “Glad to see my instincts weren’t wrong.”

You don’t miss the way his red eyes look to you, knowing he’s waiting for your words of affirmation. You laugh behind your hand, because yeah, he’s right.

You hum, taking his hand in your own. “Thank you for considering me.”

You also don’t miss the way his large fingers eagerly twine with your own, nor the way his eyes soften and blend with devotion and affection.

“Always.”

Thirty minutes pass before the ship takes off into the open sea. You barely feel it until Sylus has you stand to take you back outside from the dining area.

“So, where are we going?” you ask, gazing up at him.

Sylus’s mouth twitches into a smirk. “It’s a surprise.”

You grumble, humoring the man. “Of course it is.”

Sylus’s coat never leaves your shoulders the couple hours you’re both out on the deck. He seems to enjoy that, too; you wearing his clothes sparks something behind his eyes that you’re all too familiar with. The thought itself has your cheeks warming and thighs pressing together.

He flicks his wrist to check his watch when a timer beeps twice. You can’t help it when your eyes linger on his hand. You’ve always had a fixation on his them—on how big and warm they are in comparison to yours, on how his long fingers stretch across your body, and how they gently wrap around you and pull you close like he’d die without touching you. Those hands that had once forced you to attempt to resonate with him for three days had become soft, remorseful and loving. And he’d more than earned your forgiveness.

“Dinner should be ready.”

You grin. “You brought your chef?”

“Just for this trip,” he retorts, standing to full height. “Come.” His hand outstretches to you and you take it without hesitation.

You don’t miss the way his eyes briefly light up at the way your fingers immediately interlace with his. It’s a small joy to you, but to him it means everything—a testament to how far the two of you have come.

Dinner, as always, is perfect. Dessert even more so. You’re not too full, but more than satisfied. You give your compliments to the chef, who in turn happily skips back to the kitchen like he’s on cloud nine. And you can’t help but look at Sylus and smile as he downs his whiskey like it’s water.

“You don’t compliment your chef enough,” you comment. “One sentence from me and he acts like he’s never heard praise.”

Sylus hums as his brows raise, humored. He chuckles with the whiskey in his mouth before swallowing it to retort, “He knows his cooking is excellent. I suppose I just have a limit to how many compliments I can give out in a day.”

You place your chin in your hand. “Oh, really? Then how many do I get to have in a day?”

Adoration fills his ruby orbs. “As many as you want, my beloved.”

His hand reaches for your left over the table. Sylus’s thumb rubs over your fingers, resting atop your ring finger.

“Have I told you that you look exquisite tonight?” he whispers.

“You haven’t,” you reply cheekily. “I think you owe me a few more, don’t you think?”

The soft music in the background dies as you begin to hear your heart thunder in your ears. You do hope that Sylus can’t hear it pounding away like you can.

“Seems like I do,” he says in an exhale, leaning back in his seat but not letting go of your hand. His eyes have changed—once filled with adoration, now filled with a fire that makes heat rise to your cheeks and desire burn between your legs. “I don’t think I’ve shown you the bedroom yet, have I?”

You grin. “You haven’t. I’d like to see it.”

But what you don’t anticipate is your man standing and abruptly lifting you into a one arm carry. Your sharply inhale in surprise, arms immediately weave around his neck for support, but you know he’d never drop you anyway.

You trail your nose under his jaw, pressing a long kiss to his skin by his ear. Your fingers dig into his shoulder, the subtle presser making him hasten his long strides.

“Sweetheart—” Sylus gulps as you press two fingers to his mouth to silence him.

You pepper slow kisses down his neck, nipping at the skin every other kiss. It’s when you reach his collarbone you hear the click of a door. And seconds later you find the plush fabric of blankets underneath you and Sylus’s firm hand cradling the back of your head as he tilts your head back to capture your lips with his.

Between each heated kiss you attempt to catch your breath, only for your lover to devour your mouth with his own again and again.

“Mmmh— Sylus, let me—” another kiss “—catch my breath.”

He has a hard time pulling away. Sylus rests on one knee at the edge of the bed, hands grasping at the back of your bare calves as he catches his own breath and tries to pull himself back to his senses before he finishes himself off early.

While you toss your head back and close your eyes, trying to let oxygen catch up to your brain, Sylus lifts his head to look at you. He drinks in your appearance—the starry night sky sewn into the strapless obsidian dress (one that he had specially made for you) accentuated your body exactly the way he envisioned.

As he watches your breasts rise and fall with every breath, he feels his pants tighten even more. He’s so painfully hard just from simply kissing you—a testament to what you do to him, how deeply you affect him.

He rests his head against the plush of your thigh. As he trails his hand down your leg, he realizes you still have your heels on.

Your head snaps up at the feeling of one heel coming off, then the other.

“Sylus, what— Oh, shit.”

The momentum of him lifting your body further up the bed and hiking your dress up catches you off guard. His mouth latches to your thighs, kissing and biting all the way up until he reaches the fabric of your panties—the only thing between him and what he wants.

“Such a dark red, darling,” he hums. “Was this for me?”

“It might’ve been,” you tease.

As his finger loops around the red fabric covering you, Evol ready to help rip it off, your hand makes its way into his hair and tugs, forcing his eyes to attention.

“Rip these, I’m okay with that. Rip the dress, and I’ll kill you,” you say, half-joking. But damn did you really like this dress.

He chuckles, eyes glazed with lust. “Understood.”

As soon as he tears them away and hikes your dress even further around your hips, Sylus’s mouth does nothing short of devour your pussy. You let out the loudest, wanton moan you’ve ever heard from yourself as his tongue buries itself in and against your folds. Your head falls back against the pillows, hands moving to grip the sheets beneath you to maintain some semblance of being grounded as Sylus eats you out like a starved man. Your legs are over his shoulders, allowing him the best access to your womanhood.

“Oh— Fuuuck, Sylus. Ohmygod, please don’t stop,” you beg, threading one hand through his hair again, grip tighter than earlier.

His reply comes in the form of him pushing his thick middle finger inside of you and mouth sucking on your clit. You wail, bucking your hips into his mouth. His ring finger promptly follows, stretching your cunt and sinking deep inside of your walls. Tears of overstimulation line your eyes as you grasp at then pillow behind your head.

Both hands twine into his silver locks of hair, pressing him deeper into you. What you miss amidst your own haze of ecstasy is Sylus grinding himself against the mattress to find some sense of relief. His mind is at war, wanting nothing more than to cum right then and there versus wanting to watch his seed spill from your hole. It takes every ounce of self-control of his own body to not climax while he simultaneously loses his mind while his mouth is attached to your cunt.

“Don’t— Please— Sylus! Sylus, I’m gonna—”

Your back arches off of the bed, and you can’t help but press him further into you and grind against his face. Sylus’s arms wrap around your thighs, holding you steady. The deep groan of his satisfaction that leaves him only spurs you on further and further and further until your thighs clench around his head and you cum. Hard.

And Sylus more than enjoys sucking and licking away at your release as you climax, prolonging it as much as he can. He lifts your lower body into the air as he continues his onslaught of your pussy with his mouth and tongue, the pressure of your thighs on either side of his head making him dizzy. Your essence coats his chin and nose, your scent driving all his senses wild and pulls the remainder of his blood down to his cock.

He gains a free hand as you tighten your legs around his shoulders. He unbuckles his belt and slips it off with practiced ease before moving to unzip and unbutton his pants, tugging away at them.

When your hips stop shaking is when Sylus grabs your thighs with both hands and sets your body back down on the mattress. He hovers over you once again, taking in your disheveled appearance and partially-lidded eyes. His long fingers brush your skin and cradle your jaw.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he asks.

You pant and gaze up at him. “Barely.” You swallow. “That tongue of yours is brutal.”

Sylus laughs. It’s almost enough to make him forget about the painful fact that his cock is straining against his pants. Until your knee brushes against it when you lift yourself from the bed and he groans.

You giggle as his head presses against your shoulder.

“You really shouldn’t neglect yourself like that,” you hum, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

Sylus’s lips meet your neck opposite of your arm wrapped around him and presses a long kiss to your sweaty skin, murmuring hotly into your ear, “There’s no one to blame but you, beloved. And I highly suggest you take responsibility.”

You moan and arch into him as his hands work on your dress, unzipping the back entirely and lowering it just below your breasts. You arch your back so he can undo the bra, and as soon as it’s on the floor, his mouth is on your chest. Sylus sucks and bites at your nipples, worshipping them and your breasts as he grinds his clothed erection into your bare pussy, soaking his dress pants in your juices.

You begin unbutton his shirt through the haze of your desire… before you slip your hands through the remaining buttons and fully rip his dress shirt apart, exposing his thick torso. You both chuckle at the sound of the buttons hitting the floor.

“Impatient?”

“Like you aren’t,” you remark.

Sylus shrugs off his shirt in a fluid motion and tosses it to the side from one arm. You manage to slide off your dress within a few moments, just as Sylus manages to get off his pants and briefs and… Oh…

You’d almost forgotten how big he is. Sure, the two of you have spent a couple more… sensual evenings together since you had him use your place as a safe house (and then him bringing you to his), but it always makes you shudder when your eyes land between the apex of his muscular thighs.

His tip weeps with precum, heavy cock red and flushed and—

Sylus’s breath is hot against your ear as he asks, “Like what you see, darling?”

—goddamn it you need it inside of you.

Your nails dig into his bicep, your other hand wrapping around his neck to pull him into a heated kiss, and Sylus is more than happy to oblige. His kiss is deep and reverent. A small moan escapes him as you two briefly pull apart for air before diving back into one another.

Everything is hot; your cheeks are flushed with the heat of desire and your pussy aches to have Sylus buried inside of you.

You pull him down on top of you with the arm around his neck, your other hand grasping his cock and positioning it at your entrance. Sylus hisses, hips bucking slightly as his fingers clench at his attempts at restraint.

“Fuck,” he pants. His red eyes clear for a moment, turning into a gentleness reserved for you as he asks, “You think you can take it?”

“I think you ate me out enough earlier I’ll manage,” you joke. Then your nails dig into the meat of his back, the sensation making him softly hiss again. “But if you don’t I’ll be doing it for you then.”

Sylus chuckles, nose dipping to your collarbone.

“My beloved is always so greedy, isn’t she?”

There is no retort from you—only a loud moan as Sylus’s tip enters you fills the room. He stops after that though, and as you look up to him to ask him why he stopped, you’re stunned at the sight before you.

Sylus is flushed red, panting and sweating as his muscles flex.

“Sylus?”

“Don’t,” he warns, shaking his head. “Give me… a moment. You feel… too good.”

The implication is clear. Sylus’s head falls as he inches himself a little further, delighting in hearing you gasp as he sinks more and more inches of himself inside of you. It takes all he has not to just cum at the feel of you; every ounce of self-control he has is being tested. He’s never been harder in his life, and being inside of the woman he loves—who feels like heaven wrapped around his cock—only proceeds to spiral him into a deeper pit of pleasure.

“Sylus… Sylus, more, please,” you hears you beg.

He’s halfway in, trying to take his time and let the romance of the evening last. But at that, and the sensation of your nails digging into his back, he finds himself a goner and lets his hips fall into yours, sinking the remainder of his fat cock into the depths of your wet pussy. A deep shudder passes through him, bliss running through his body.

“Fuck. Fuck, you feel divine,” Sylus says in a deep exhale.

“You’re so big,” you gasp, eyes clouded with the haze of lust. “Oh, Sy, you feel so good.”

The praise goes to his head immediately. He drags his cock back out slowly and a whine escapes you, hating the emptiness. But when Sylus places your legs over his shoulders and leans over you, it’s over for you both.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Sylus rolls his hips, sliding his full length back into the warm expanse of your pussy. His head falls back, and the pace he sets proceeds to bury you both alive underneath overwhelming ecstasy.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he pants, clenching his fist into the sheet. “How I feel every time I look at you? Utter perfection is all I see. Do you feel what you do to me, darling?”

All you can feel is Sylus’s weight on top of you and the feel of his heavy cock inside of you as he stretches you open on him, carving your pussy into the shape of his cock. His pelvis rubs against your clit deliciously, spurring you on further. As much as you want to drive your hips up to meet his thrusts, Sylus has you pinned down into a mating press and all you can do is take what he’s giving you.

The papping noises of your bodies meeting filled the room, sending your thoughts into an even dirtier place. He feels so good reaching so deep inside of you, tip rubbing against that special spot perfectly, like you’re made to be perfect for each other. You clench around Sylus at another thought and he inhales sharply.

“What’re you thinking about?” he questions.

You shake your head. “N-Nothing.”

His long fingers grab your jaw gently. “Tell me.”

And then he slows his pace. “No, Sylus—”

“Then tell me what my beloved is thinking in that pretty head of hers,” he murmurs into your ear. “Or else.”

“I was thinking… about… Uhm…” Sylus rolls his hips back into you, his heavy balls pressing against your ass as he awaits your answer.

“Well?”

“I, uh— A baby.”

At the word, you shy away into your arm. But Sylus doesn’t say anything, which makes you confused. After a couple seconds, you gaze back up at him. His eyes show how stunned he is, pupils blown as no doubt the word also revolves around his own mind.

“Sylus, I— Oh, fuucckk.”

His body weight presses your body into the mattress further, leaving you at his mercy as Sylus’s pace becomes brutal, like he’s let his base instincts take over. His big hand finds yours and twines your fingers together as he drives his cock into your pussy over and over and over again, the squelching noises only growing louder and louder in your ears.

“My kitten… wants a baby then?” He hums into your ear. “She wants me to cum inside of her and carry my baby, is that right?”

“It was… just a thought.”

He laughs as your pussy clenches around him more at his words.

“Seems like it’s more than just a thought.”

Sylus’s mouth meets yours in another kiss, powered by something more than just lust. Your brain turns fuzzy and hot, reality beginning to finally blur as another climax ascends from the depths of your core.

Your eyes shut as his mouth finds the sweet spot on your neck. He sucks and nips at the skin with his teeth and you’ve no doubt that there’ll be plenty of love bites scattered across your skin for days after tonight.

When he nips at your ear, you squeak and clench around him again. Sylus groans into your ear, “Do that again.”

You oblige, clenching down on him and making him piston himself in and out of you faster. Every thrust turns into one that pushes the air from your lungs. All you can see, all you can feel is Sylus—feel his body heat as he presses your body down with his; feel the thickness of his cock stretch you open and the weight of his balls as they slap against your ass.

And it feels so good. The shlick and pap noises are getting to you. The coil that’s been winding up all night finally feels like it’s about to burst. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pressing into Sylus’s firm chest.

“Ohmygod, Sy, gonna cum, gonna cum fuckfuckfuuucckkk!”

He nips at your earlobe, biting down on it gently before whispering into your ear, “Indulge, my love. Indulge and I’ll fulfill every single one of your desires tonight.”

At long last, the coil snaps. Euphoria pilots itself to your brain and all across your body. You shake from the intensity, having to wrap your arms around Sylus to ground yourself as you reach your high.

Your orgasm sends him over the edge. He thrusts a few more times before he finds himself pressing himself as deep as he can possibly go and releasing his seed inside of your pussy. It’s almost too much, even for him. He doesn’t think he’s ever cum harder than tonight.

Your bodies rock together as you both fall from the heights of cloud nine. Sylus peppers your sweaty skin with kisses, across the bruised love bites he’d left earlier.

It’s only when he feels himself soft enough to slip out of you does he ask, “A family?”

Sylus’s voice is soft. So soft in fact that you barely hear him. You take a moment to reply, only to find yourself being easily lifted from the bed and onto Sylus’s chest.

“It’s… Something that’s crossed my mind a few times,” you admit bashfully.

Silence fills the air for a moment before he asks again, in the same, quiet tone he’d just used.

“With me?”

Your smile stretches across your face instantly. Your lips meet his chest, right over his heart. Your eyes meet his—uncertainty meeting unconditional love.

“And no one else.”

The next three days after are filled with you and Sylus partaking in all the activities that his yacht has to offer (plus more intimate times across the boat and it’s other rooms). He’d told you at one point that he would’ve just used the one he sails on regularly. But due to him wanting to spend more time with you than anything, and for you to have fun during the trip, he’d bought another and hired the captain to ensure safe passage.

Tonight however, was the night that you both were supposed to be arriving at your destination. You tried to help the anxiety and giddiness inside of you, trying to flatten it under a cool demeanor but Sylus just saw right through you.

Of course he would.

“There’s no reason to be nervous. It’s not like I’m taking you into enemy territory,” he jokes, gaze flicking to you from the stars in the open sky.

“I know that. I just can’t help it,” you mutter.

You shiver from the cold breeze, and Sylus shrugs off his leather jacket and places it over your shoulders. He leans down and zips it partway, resting his chin atop your head.

“Those hunter instincts of yours need to settle down,” he hums.

“I wish they would— Sylus!”

A hearty chuckle leaves him as you bounce away from his hold. Your eyes narrow at his treachery.

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“Don’t you try and tickle me,” you warn playfully. You slip your arms through the sleeves of his leather jacket, trying to pull the sleeves back from over your palms to point at him. “Or I’m gonna tickle you back.”

Sylus smirks and rubs his fingers together. “Is that a challenge?”

“Mr. Sylus, Mrs. Sylus,” greets a familiar voice.

Embarrassment makes you duck your head away from the captain for a brief moment before you look at him.

“Just thought I’d come and let you know we’ll be docking soon.” The captain takes his hat off and bows before you both. “Thank you for allowing me the chance to sail you both for the last three days.”

Sylus nods his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you for giving us safe passage, Arthur.”

Arthur nods, reapplies his cap and heads back to steer the ship into the upcoming port.

You don’t get to watch as he disappears since Sylus wraps his arms around you, pulling your chin to his chest. He presses a sweet kiss to your temple and murmurs, “I do believe we’re here.”

The distraction of the captain was long enough that the scenery before you had changed into the moonlit sea into a large landmass illuminated by the full moon above.

Your jaw drops open at the sight, eyes lighting up as you get closer and closer to the port where the ship would dock.

“Sylus, where are we?” you ask quietly.

“It’s an island,” he states. “One that I bought awhile back and was making… renovations for.”

“Renovations? For what?”

He laughs softly and looks at you like you’re a goddess. “For whom, you mean.”

Your eyes widen into saucers. Is he…? Could he seriously mean…?

“Sylus, you bought me an island?” you inquire, utterly flabbergasted.

“I can’t exactly un-buy it, so I do hope you’ll like it,” he replies. To your ears and yours alone you can hear his wavering tone, like he’s awaiting your disappointment. You can’t have that.

You cup his cheeks and force him to look at you again.

“Sylus, I love it; even if it’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever been gifted, I love it. It’s just going to take me time to get used to it,” you tell him. Then you step on your tippy-toes and give him an eskimo kiss. “Thank you. I love you.”

You kiss him there at the front of the ship, wrapped in his warm, protective embrace, momentarily oblivious to the world and your surroundings.

What you’re also oblivious to, and have been since the start of the trip, is the fat diamond ring that’s been tucked away, hidden in Sylus’s bottom drawer to his dresser. And also to the fact of his other reason of being nervous.

To him hoping that you’ll say “yes” when he gets down on one knee to ask you to marry him.

But he’ll save that for later. Right now he intends to indulge and savor your lips on his and you being tucked into him, safe from the world to be loved and worshipped by him.

And hopefully, for the rest of this lifetime.

[adelliet]

Bob reynolds x f!reader

FATAL ACCIDENT

Summary: When Bob accidentally caught you in a deeply inappropriate moment, he decided to make it up to you. He brought muffins and suggested a movie night. Neither of you expected what would happen next… or how everything would change between you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, unprotected sex (piv), dry humping, multiple orgasms, stimulating through clothes, cum in pants, soft sex, creampie, sleeping inside of each other, sweet ending, sub!Bob, use of Y/N

A/n: Hi there! I hope you'll like this story/smut! I really tried my best so…anyways, if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

It was late, well past midnight, when Bob found himself standing outside your door. The rest of the tower had gone quiet hours ago, wrapped in the peaceful hush that only came once the chaos of the day had settled. Lights were dimmed, hallways empty, and the low hum of distant generators was the only thing keeping him company. But he knew you. You were a night owl, always the last one to go to sleep. That’s what brought him here in the first place.

He told himself it was just a small question about the mission briefing tomorrow. Something minor. Something he could’ve asked anyone else, sure—but not at this hour. And not with the way his brain kept coming back to you, no matter how many reasons he tried to invent.

So, he knocked. A quick, rhythmic tap. Nothing.

He paused, waiting for your voice, footsteps, any movement. Silence. He knocked again—same rhythm, a little firmer this time. Still, nothing.

He called out your name gently, voice soft but just loud enough to carry through the door. Not a yell, but enough that you would’ve heard it if you were in there.

Still no answer.

That ache in his chest started to grow—tight, warm, and completely irrational. He knew you were probably just asleep, headphones in maybe, passed out after a long day. Nothing bad had happened. He told himself that twice, then again, like repetition would make it true.

But it didn’t ease the tension building behind his ribs. It didn’t stop the way his fingers curled against his palm or the faint pull in his stomach as the silence stretched on. And still—no sound from the other side of the door.

Bob’s worry was growing by the second. He knew that you were probably fine. But still, that uncomfortable knot in his chest didn’t go away. He lingered by the door, biting the inside of his cheek before clearing his throat softly.

“Can I come in?” he asked, still hopeful for a response.

Nothing.

He hesitated only a second longer before his hand reached for the doorknob. He turned it slowly, carefully, as though the metal itself might protest. The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open, just a crack at first.

He peeked inside, half-expecting to catch you mid-change or in a situation where he absolutely should not be present. But the room was empty.

No one in sight.

He stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him with a soft click. The room smelled faintly like your perfume and something warm, like vanilla and fabric softener. Familiar and comforting.

But then he heard it. The sound of running water. A soft, steady stream. His eyes darted toward the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar, just enough for steam to be drifting out and curling into the air.

You were in the shower.

Relief rushed through him like a wave. You were safe. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and smiled to himself, already turning to quietly slip back out of the room. He could talk to you tomorrow. No big deal.

“Y/N?” Yelena’s voice rang out from down the hall.

Bob froze. Panic hit him like a truck. The sound of footsteps rushed toward the door. She was heading this way. Fast.

“Oh no no no,” Bob whispered under his breath, looking around in a frantic circle. His brain went blank. If Yelena saw him in your room, especially this late, especially without you even in the room, well, that would definitely send a message. One he wasn’t ready to explain.

His eyes darted to your closet. No good. Not enough room. Under the bed? He’d never fit. His thoughts were racing. The doorknob outside jiggled slightly as Yelena neared—

And in a moment of sheer panic, Bob made the only decision he could. He turned and slipped into your bathroom. The steam hit him like a wall and before his brain could yell STOP, he realized where he was. Inyour bathroom while you were still in the shower.

Bob’s hands were up like he was surrendering to an armed SWAT team, his fingers trembling as sheer panic rushed through his entire body. His chest was tight, breathing shallow, and every cell in his brain was screaming, Why are you here? Why the hell did you think this would be a good idea?

He stood frozen, wide-eyed and pale, as the sound of the shower continued, taunting him. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. He was in the bathroom. With you. While you were still in the damn shower.

And before he could even string together a plan, or even a thought, he heard her again.

“Y/N!” Yelena’s voice echoed louder now, clearly already inside your bedroom.

Bob’s soul practically left his body. From inside the shower, your annoyed voice finally rang out over the sound of the water.

“I’m coming!” you shouted, clearly frustrated.

Then the stream shut off. Bob’s heart jumped into his throat. His tongue felt dry as sand. His skin was burning and cold at the same time. Oh no. Oh no. Oh God.

He stared helplessly at the fogged-up glass of the shower door, and when you slid it open— he saw you.

Completely naked.

Water still clung to your skin in droplets, sliding down the curve of your neck, your collarbones, gliding along your thighs like liquid silk. You hadn’t seen him yet, but he was already about to combust from embarrassment and sheer secondhand shame.

And then your eyes landed on him.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” you screamed, your voice pure panic and fury as you instinctively reached for a towel and yanked it around your dripping frame.

“I—I’m sorry—I didn’t—” Bob choked out, immediately spinning around to face the wall, his entire face a violent shade of red. His hands went back up, this time like he was trying to blot himself out of existence.

But fate wasn’t done dragging him through hell just yet. Because just then, Yelena pushed the bathroom door open. And paused.

“Woah. What the fuck is happening here?” she asked in her signature deadpan tone, heavy Russian accent slicing through the awkwardness like a hot knife through shame.

You, still clutching your towel and dripping on the floor, looked absolutely stunned. “I have no idea what he’s doing in here!” you snapped, eyes wide with a cocktail of betrayal and pure what-the-actual-hell.

Bob didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He was practically vibrating with anxiety, lips pressed into a thin, miserable line. His whole body was trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.

He was so unbelievably screwed.

It was the next afternoon when you heard a soft knock on your door. You didn’t even need to ask who it was. You knew instantly.

“Come in,” you called calmly, already anticipating the awkwardness that was about to step through the door.

Bob peeked his head in first, like he was making sure it was safe before fully entering. Then, with a hesitant “Hey…” he stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him.

He looked… guilty. Shy.

His cheeks were flushed pink, his posture small and careful, and his legs? Slightly shaking. He was holding a plate of something in his hands—and the second he came closer, the sweet scent of freshly baked muffins filled the room like a warm, edible apology.

You were sitting on your bed, a book in your lap, one brow raised as you watched him silently. You weren’t mad anymore—but you were curious. And you were definitely going to make him squirm a little first.

For a moment, the room was wrapped in silence. Bob shifted awkwardly, his weight bouncing between his feet, clearly searching for the right words.

“I, uh…” he started, eyes flicking to yours then immediately down again. “I wanted to apologize… for yesterday. I—I didn’t mean for any of that to happen and… as an apology, I… got you these.”

He stepped forward, extending the plate like a peace offering, holding it out to you with a hopeful look in his eyes.

The muffins smelled amazing—still warm, soft in the center with little chunks of what looked like chocolate and banana. You looked up at him and took a deep breath.

He looked so genuinely remorseful. That kicked-puppy look on his face nearly made your heart melt. You knew he didn’t mean to barge in on you, and you definitely knew he wasn’t some creep.

Still. You had one burning question.

“Why were you even in there?” you asked gently, but there was still a bit of edge in your tone. You needed to hear it straight from him.

Bob’s arms retreated slightly as he clutched the plate back toward his chest, like the question caught him off-guard.

“I—I just wanted to ask if you were coming with us to the England mission,” he said honestly, blinking fast. “That’s all. I swear.”

Ah. That explained it. That put the final puzzle piece into place.

You nodded slowly, letting out a small breath and placing your book aside. You scooted forward, settling on the edge of your bed, resting your hands down on the mattress beside you.

Your expression shifted, now more playful than stern.

“So…” you said, tilting your head just slightly. “How much did you see?”

Bob blinked, clearly caught off guard by your question.

His eyes widened just a bit, and his shoulders tensed.

“Uh—I didn’t see anything,” he said too quickly. Way too quickly. “Like… nothing at all. Swear.”

You raised a brow. Just stared at him. That stare that you knew always made people squirm. Bob shifted awkwardly, the plate of muffins now looking like the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

You didn’t say anything. You just waited and it worked. Eventually, he cracked. His shoulders slumped as he sighed, gaze flickering down to the floor like it was the only thing willing to forgive him.

“Okay… I—I saw a little. But I barely remember, I swear. It was just a second.”

His voice was soft, guilty. And you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head with a smile and stood up from the bed.

“It’s fine, Bob,” you said with a gentle wave of your hand. “I’m over it.”

You walked up to him, close enough to smell the sugar and chocolate clinging to the muffins.

“You made these?” you asked, nodding toward the plate.

He nodded sheepishly. You narrowed your eyes, suspicious.

“You don’t bake.”

“I don’t,” he admitted with a shy chuckle. “But… I looked up your favorite recipe. I figured if I’m gonna apologize, I should at least do it right.”

His voice was so genuine, and there was something so… stupidly sweet about the way he stood there, just hoping they were edible.

You smiled again, softer this time, and reached out to pick up one of the muffins. You took a bite. It was warm, fluffy, and the flavor hit perfectly. Just the right balance of chocolate and banana.

Honestly? Kind of impressive.

“They’re actually really good,” you said, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thanks.”

There was a moment. A quiet beat between you where something sparked. You looked at him. Really looked at him.

“Try one,” you offered, nudging the plate toward him.

“Oh, no, I—” Bob took a tiny step back. “They’re for you.”

Before he could make another excuse, you rolled your eyes, grabbed the plate from his hands and picked up another muffin.

“You’re eating it,” you said, no room for negotiation.

He opened his mouth to protest, but you were already pushing the muffin into it.

Literally.

He choked out a laugh as you shoved it into his face. He bit down instinctively, chewing with his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, crumbs already on his lips. You giggled, watching him use his fingers to wipe his mouth, and that’s when something shifted.

Suddenly, time slowed. The laughter died down, but that flutter in your stomach didn’t. A pulse between your legs sparked to life, and you became acutely aware of the heat building inside you.

You watched the way Bob chewed, the way his jaw moved, the way his tongue darted out to catch a crumb near the corner of his mouth.

And just like that… you were wet. Soaking.

And all you could think about was how pretty he looked. How soft and gentle.

Of course, Bob had always been cute to you. From the very first time you saw him, with that messy hair and his little giggle that felt too soft for someone who flew jets and handled missions like a pro.

He was sweet. But never hot. Not in a “I want to drag you into bed and ruin you” kind of way. But now? Something had shifted.

You didn’t know if it was the ovulation hormones messing with your brain chemistry, or the fact that he saw you naked in the shower, or maybe it was his maddeningly addictive cologne, but something clicked.

And suddenly… he was sexy. Like, you-couldn’t-stop-thinking-about-his-mouth sexy.

You bit your lip and watched as Bob finished chewing the piece of muffin you’d shoved into his mouth. His lips moved slowly, tongue catching a few crumbs.

He swallowed, glanced at you and said, “It’s not that bad, actually.”

His voice pulled you out of your internal spiral. You nodded a little too quickly, letting out a soft hum in agreement, a smile playing at your lips. He smiled back, a little shy, a little unsure.

“Well…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should probably let you get back to your book.”

You tilted your head. “You’re not bothering me.”

But he still insisted. “Yeah, but… I mean—you probably wanna, y’know, process everything. I just—yeah.”

He moved toward the door, slowly, awkwardly, and you returned to your bed, settling into the pillows with your book in one hand and another muffin in the other, though your eyes weren’t exactly on the page.

Bob was halfway out the door when he paused and turned back.

“Oh! Uh—one more thing,” he said, his voice just a bit higher than usual. “Bucky finally helped me set up that TV in my room, so… I was thinking maybe, tonight, if you’re not busy, we could watch a movie?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You want me to be your test subject?”

He shrugged, smiling nervously. “I just don’t wanna sit there and watch it alone like a loser.”

You laughed softly. “Sure, Bob. I’m in.”

His smile widened, that same boyish grin that somehow made your stomach twist now in a very different way.

“Cool. Uh—great. I’ll… come get you later then?”

You nodded, trying not to look too eager. “Sounds good.”

He gave you one last smile before he disappeared behind the door, and the second he was gone your book was forgotten. Your thighs pressed together, the ghost of that look he gave you still lingering.

The lights were dimmed in Bob’s room, the only real glow coming from the soft flicker of the TV screen. You were both sitting on his bed, technically his bed, but it didn’t really feel like that now. Not with the way you were both perched on the edge of it, backs resting lightly against the wall, a shared blanket covering your legs.

You sat just far enough apart for it to be considered “friendly.” A safe distance. But god, you wanted to move closer.

The movie playing was some classic, older film, one of those feel-good, slightly cheesy ones with warm lighting and 90s nostalgia oozing out of every frame. It was so Bob. Of course he’d like something like this. Comforting, predictable and sweet. Just like him.

From time to time, your eyes would drift toward him. He was so focused on the screen, eyebrows twitching ever so slightly during tense scenes, mouth curled just faintly at the corners when something funny happened.

And maybe that was the problem. Because his pure, oblivious cuteness was driving you insane.

Your eyes trailed down to his hands, resting in his lap. To the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. To the way his Adam’s apple bobbed whenever he swallowed. You could practically hear the blood rushing in your ears.

You licked your lips, trying to focus on the movie, but the images blurred. You weren’t even listening anymore.

Why the hell was this happening to you? Why are you suddenly feeling like this? Was it the way his thigh was just barely brushing against yours under the blanket? Or maybe it was that familiar soft scent of his cologne, sweet and woodsy and him?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t fair. Not when he looked that innocent, completely unaware of the storm building inside you.

You’d been pretending to watch the movie for the last ten minutes, but let’s be honest—you hadn’t registered a single scene. Your mind was elsewhere. On him. The steady warmth beside you, the way his scent filled your lungs, the shape of his jaw in the soft glow of the screen.

And then… you cracked. You turned your head slightly, looking at him from under your lashes, your voice soft—almost too soft.

“Hey… um, I’m kinda cold. Mind if I scoot closer?”

It wasn’t even cold.

Bob’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, like you’d just asked him to recite Shakespeare in Russian. He blinked, then gave the tiniest nod.

“Y-Yeah. Sure. Of course.”

You moved closer, slow and deliberate. Your shoulder brushed his. He didn’t flinch—didn’t pull away. Good. But his whole body tensed like a drawn bow.

And then came the real move, you gently laid your head on his shoulder.

Bob didn’t breathe. Like literally, he just froze. His fists clenched in his lap, not from discomfort—but from sheer sensory overload.

He could feel you. All of you. Your warmth sinking into his hoodie, your hair brushing his jaw, your scent melting into the air around him. His brain short-circuited.

This wasn’t a dream, right? You weren’t just… doing this?

He swallowed hard, throat dry, trying not to move or ruin the moment. Your thighs were just barely touching under the blanket. That soft friction, the tension—goddamn.

You noticed everything. The way his jaw clenched. The shudder that ran down his spine. The way his breath stuttered ever so slightly.

Your lips curled into a small smile. He was nervous—but not in a bad way. Not because he was uncomfortable. He was nervous because it mattered to him. And maybe that made it all the more intoxicating.

The sexual tension was practically radiating off his skin—buzzing in the tiny space between your bodies, where your arms nearly touched.

You shifted just a little closer. So close now that you could hear his heartbeat pounding like a drum.

The movie was still playing, but your focus had drifted miles away. Not on the screen. Not on the plot. But on Bob.

The air felt thicker somehow, heavier with something unspoken. Every small glance at him only made it worse. That gentle look on his face, the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks when he blinked, his throat bobbing every time he swallowed—everything was unbearable in the best kind of way. You had this ache, low and steady, impossible to ignore.

So you moved.

Under the blanket, slow and casual, your hand found his thigh. Just a gentle rest, as if you needed a place to land. Bob tensed immediately, his whole body reacting like a live wire being sparked. His breath hitched, but he didn’t stop you. Not even a flinch. He stayed still, as though frozen in place, except for the way his chest was rising just a bit too fast to be calm.

Your thumb began to brush soft circles along the fabric of his sweatpants. Just small, teasing motions, and yet you could feel how it made him react—his thigh twitching slightly beneath your touch, his jaw clenched tight, lips slightly parted as though he didn’t trust himself to breathe through his nose anymore.

You turned your head and whispered, slow and velvety, “By the way… those muffins? They were amazing.”

Bob blinked, once, twice, and barely managed a grunt of a response, like speaking full words would crack him wide open. He gave a slight nod, clearly trying to keep his composure, but failing beautifully.

You smiled, wickedly pleased, and lifted your head from his shoulder so you could really look at him. His eyes locked on yours immediately, wide and uncertain—but undeniably filled with heat. And hope.

“Did you…” you started, voice dipped low like velvet on skin, “like what you saw yesterday?”

He froze.

His lips parted, but no sound came out. His hands, still clenched in his lap, curled even tighter. It was obvious he was trying to say something, trying to figure out if this was real or a fever dream he was about to wake from. The red on his cheeks deepened, and his eyes darted from your face to your lips and back again.

“I—uh—I didn’t mean to—I mean—I didn’t really see—”

You leaned in closer, your hand still warm and steady on his thigh.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I don’t mind.”

And then you moved your hand. Just a little higher, right where his twitching dick was.

Bob let out a shaky breath—one of those breaths that almost sounded like a prayer, or a curse, or both. He looked like a man on the edge, hanging by a thread spun from every suppressed feeling he’d ever had for you. The tension in his body, the nervous flicker in his eyes, the way his lips parted and didn’t quite close again—all of it screamed one thing:

He wanted you. Badly. And you knew. You leaned in, lips inches from his ear, and asked one last question, barely more than a breath:

“Do you want me to stop?”

Your fingers moved slowly, so slowly it almost felt like an accident. A barely-there stroke through the soft fabric of his sweats. He twitched. You felt it. And still, he didn’t move. He just stayed still, frozen, his breath hitching in his throat and he couldn't even answer you.

Bob’s eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. His lips parted slightly, a quiet sound slipping from his mouth—a mix between a gasp and a helpless whimper.

You turned your head just enough to see his face. His brows were drawn together, his jaw tight, and he looked so unbelievably vulnerable. Lost. Struggling. But not stopping you.

“You like it?” you whispered, voice low and warm.

He nodded, quickly, too quickly, but didn’t speak. You kept going, slowly, tenderly, through the fabric, feeling the way his whole body reacted to your touch. He was holding onto the edge of the blanket with white knuckles, his other hand hovering, as if unsure where to go or what to do.

“And did you like yesterday?” you asked softly, meaning the shower incident. You leaned a little closer, lips brushing his ear.

Bob choked on a breath, and his head tilted back slightly. “I-I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to— I mean—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His voice cracked.

You smiled.

“I think you did,” you murmured.

And then, just as his breath caught and his hips gave the tiniest, helpless twitch beneath the blanket, you felt it. His whole body tensing, stuttering, a soft, broken noise escaping his throat as he came apart completely under your hand.

Bob froze, then practically curled into himself. Face flushed deep red, breathing erratic, shame washing over him like a wave.

“I—I’m so sorry,” he whispered. His voice was small, strained, like he wanted to disappear.

“No I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” you felt guilty, more than Bob did. You just wanted to tease him a bit, just a few touches. Who knew Bob was that sensitive, but in the end you didn't mind.

“I uh…it's been a while since I've been with someone…” Bob tried to explain himself, even tho he didn't need to. You understand. You smiled at him, sighing.

“It's okay…we can go slow,” your sweet tone calmed Bob down, his chest wasn't raising that fast, and his eyes softened.

The eye contact was so loud, but at the same time so quiet. Soft and gentle, barely brushing your lips against his, just testing the waters, but when you kissed him again, he melted. Your lips were making wet sounds, as you explored your mouths, touching your tongues and mixing your salivas.

After a long make out session, you slowly swung one leg over his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, the quiet rustle of your clothes and the soft shift of the bed were the only sounds for a moment.

Settling on top of him carefully, you totally made him forget everything else but the feeling of you, the heat between you, the way your mouths moved together like they were made for this.

His hands finally moved to your hips, trembling just slightly, like he needed the confirmation that this was real.

The pressure of you settling onto him was electric. Your bodies fit together like matching puzzle pieces, your chest pressed gently to his, and you could feel the way his breath stuttered beneath you. Your forehead met his for a moment, just a shared breath, your fingers tangling in his tousled hair.

Then, really gently, you began to move. Not urgently, not to finish something, but to explore. The softest grind of your hips into his, dragging fabric against fabric, building friction that made his lips part in a quiet, broken gasp. His eyes fluttered closed, lashes kissing his cheeks, and his hands clutched your sides like he needed grounding.

You could feel it all. The growing heat pooling low in your belly, the ache between your legs intensifying with each shift, and the clear tension in Bob’s body as he whimpered helplessly. His head tipped back against the wall, exposing the long line of his neck, and his thighs tensed beneath yours.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly, your voice breathless but sure.

He nodded quickly, voice cracking. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, please.”

The desperation in his whisper made your stomach flip. You leaned forward, kissed along his jaw, his ear, and then back to his lips—this time slower, deeper, letting him feel how much you meant it. How much you wanted him.

And still, your hips moved. Measured rolls that made his breath catch and his hands dig just a little harder into your waist. The tension between you thickened like honey, sticky and warm, and everything slowed down.

He whispered your name like a prayer, and when you whispered his in return, voice thick with want and wonder, he shivered, completely undone beneath you.

Your fingers moved cautiously, tracing the hem of his shirt. You paused, eyes flicking up to meet his, giving him a silent chance to pull back. But he didn’t, he just nodded slightly, and that was all you needed.

You slid your hand under his shirt, your palm meeting the heat of his skin. He shivered immediately, muscles twitching beneath your touch, and you felt him grip your hips just a little tighter — not to stop you, but to anchor himself.

“Still okay?” you murmured against his lips.

He swallowed thickly, nodding. “More than okay.”

Piece by piece, you began to remove each other’s clothing, slowly, like unwrapping a secret. Every inch of exposed skin felt like a discovery. His shirt first, then yours. His eyes widened when he saw your chest, and for a moment, he just stared, completely speechless.

You smiled softly, brushing his cheek with your fingers. “You’ve seen me before, remember?”

“Not like this,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent.

His hands ghosted over your sides, hesitant at first, as if afraid you might vanish. But you didn’t, you leaned into his touch, and his hesitation melted into something bolder.

The more skin you revealed, the more the tension between you tightened, until it was a living, breathing thing. And when the last layer of clothing fell away, when you were both completely bare, there was nothing left to hold back.

Bob looked up at you, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on your hips. His eyes, full of something deep, searched yours, like he needed your permission again, even though you were already here, already his.

You leaned down to kiss him, slow and deep, your lips moving against his in a way that made both of you sigh quietly into the space between. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell faster, how his body tensed beneath yours as you slowly rolled your hips, letting the sensation build gently, teasingly.

He moaned — not loud, but broken, like the sound had been pulled out of him without warning. His hands flexed against your skin, not guiding you, just holding, grounding himself in the reality that this was happening. That you were here. That you wanted him.

“God… you feel so good,” he breathed, voice low and shaky.

You smiled softly against his neck, then whispered, “So do you.”

When he finally slid into you, it was careful — almost reverent. There was no rush. No hunger to claim. Just the slow, aching press of bodies coming together, like a deep breath being exhaled after being held too long.

Both of you stilled for a moment, your foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in sync. You were full of him — not just physically, but emotionally. And in that moment, you swore you felt something inside you settle. Like a missing piece had finally found where it belonged.

You began to move together, slow and deliberate, each thrust more about connection than release. His hands roamed up your back, fingers splaying across your shoulder blades, like he couldn’t bear to let go of even an inch of you. Every time your hips met, a soft gasp or whimper left your lips, answered by the way Bob groaned low in his throat, utterly overwhelmed by how good you felt around him.

The air between you was thick with warmth, your bodies slick with sweat but never frantic. The way you kissed him between moans, the way his hands stroked your sides with a trembling tenderness, it all spoke louder than anything you could’ve said out loud.

“I’ve never—” he choked out, voice cracking, “—never felt anything like this.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Me neither.”

Your pace quickened slightly, not from desperation but because your bodies knew each other now, moved together naturally. You could feel yourself getting closer, and from the way Bob’s grip on you tightened and his hips stuttered slightly, you knew he was too.

But neither of you chased it. You let it build, let it take its time, let it matter.

And when you finally came — together, as if perfectly timed — it wasn’t explosive. It was soft. Like sinking into something that had always been waiting for you. You held each other through it, every muscle trembling, your mouths finding each other again and again as if to say, I’m here. I’m still here.

Even as your breathing slowed and your bodies softened, you didn’t pull away. You just stayed there, tangled together in warmth and silence, hearts thudding gently in the same rhythm.

The world had gone quiet. Neither of you spoke for a while. There was no need to. You were both still coming down from the high, your minds slow, your bodies heavy and satisfied.

Bob’s chest rose and fell beneath you, his heartbeat echoing faintly in your ear where your head rested against him. You could feel that he was still inside you, the connection unbroken, and neither of you seemed in a hurry to move.

You shifted just slightly, a tiny sigh escaping your lips as your thighs twitched from the lingering tension. Bob pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, the gentlest thing, like he was afraid he’d wake you even though you were still very much awake but fading.

Your voice was quiet, half-murmured against his chest. “You okay?”

He let out a breath, almost a laugh, and nodded slowly. “Yeah… I just… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this calm before.”

You smiled, your eyes closing at the sound of his voice, that low, warm rasp that made your chest flutter even now. “Me neither.”

There was a pause. Not awkward, not heavy, just peaceful. The kind of pause where two people are so content, silence feels like part of the conversation.

You felt yourself drifting, your body melting further into his. Your legs tangled with his, your arms limp, every inch of you relaxed in a way you hadn’t known you needed. You were safe. You were full — in every sense of the word. And his presence beneath you was like an anchor, a soft place to land after everything.

Your breath started to slow. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy. Sleep pulled at you like the tide.

And then, just as you began to slip under, Bob’s voice, barely there, a whisper made of breath and feeling, broke the stillness.

“I love you.”

He didn’t say it like he expected an answer. He didn’t even say it like he meant for you to hear. It was quiet. Almost scared. Like a secret that had waited far too long to be set free.

But you didn’t stir. You were already gone, lost to sleep in the safety of his arms, your face soft and peaceful against his chest.

Bob looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, then full of something tender, something real. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, let his fingers rest against your naked back, and closed his eyes.

He will never forget this moment.

And so do you.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

HAVE A LOVELY DAY,

BYEEE🫑🍋‍🟩

[amomentsescape]

Reader runs behind slasher because someone else is harassing/chasing/stalking them. They don't even know they hid behind a killer for help and apologized to the killer for their awkward action of hiding behind them.

Imagine if reader is so polite that they do a apologetic bending bow.

Slashers Being the Protector (Rather than the Killer)

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, & Bo

Warnings: Being chased/stalked, maybe a couple cuss words?

A/N: Thank you for the request! I didn't do the bow for every Slasher since I felt like it would get repetitive after a while. But I hope you enjoy either way!

Obviously, walking home alone is never your first choice, but it's not like you had an option.

Your job kept you late. And as much as you wished you could have just set some damn boundaries for yourself, you couldn't say no. You were probably the only one that actually cared about your job.

You kept a fast pace, holding your head down as to not make eye contact with anyone you passed by.

And this worked for a while. You were at a point in your journey home where you found yourself completely alone. However, there was still a part of you that felt uneasy. They always say that humans are able to tell when someone is watching them, and you were clearly no exception to this.

You finally took a deep breath and paused, mustering up the courage to look at your surroundings.

The woods were beside you, the darkness only allowing you to see a few trees at a time, but thankfully, no one seemed to be there.

Ahead of you was just more concrete and not a single street lamp in view.

And behind you... was someone.

You hadn't expected to see anyone there, but of course your luck would prove otherwise.

Your eyes widened and your breath got caught in your throat. Why were they just standing there?

Without taking your eyes off of them, you took one step backwards.

They took one forwards.

You took another step.

They did too.

It was in that moment that you knew you had to think quickly.

Should you just turn around and keep running straight ahead? No, that would prove useless. They would surely outrun you and grab ahold of you in no time.

Or should you turn and run to the woods, hiding behind trees for long enough that they give up?

You didn't like this idea much more than the first, but you figured this was probably the only option that got you out of this unharmed.

With your eyes watering and jaw clenching, you sprinted towards the woods.

You could hear their footsteps behind you, branches and leaves snapping in the distance.

They were catching up.

A sob slipped from your lips as you could feel your legs burn.

Keep pushing. Keep going.

And you did, right towards a figure in the distance.

Freddy Krueger

He could hear your sporadic heartbeat from a mile away

He was already smiling, hoping that you were about to be another easy victim

But something about your fright felt off

Someone else was after you

The moment you came into view, his smile softened a bit

You looked so desperate and scared

In any other context, he would have loved to see it, but it wasn't him making you feel this way

Plus, you weren't repulsive to him like everyone else

He could see the split second of hesitation on your face when you saw his gnarled skin and sharp gloves

But clearly that other person had spooked you more

You were already apologizing, begging for some sort of help

You weren't even six feet from Freddy when he raised his arm and a sudden thud could be heard behind you

The person who was once following you no longer had a head

You turned back to the burnt man, suddenly feeling worried that you would be next, but instead, he grabbed the side of your face

"I can't blame the guy. I would have wanted to snatch you up too," he cackled

Michael Myers

Michael raised a single brow under his mask

Clearly, you were terrified of the person chasing after you, but was seeing another large man holding a bloody knife of no concern to you?

You ran up to him, coming to an immediate stop when you saw the blade glinting back at you

"I-I need help. Please," you could barely choke out

He could tell you were trying to figure out who to be more afraid of

It's not like Michael really cared that you were being chased, but this was his territory, no one else is allowed to do his job for him

He stepped in front of you, watching as the other person slowly came to a halt

He grabbed your arm and began to drag you towards the figure

You started to cry at this, thinking he was about to give you up

Instead, his knife plunged deeply into the other person's neck, their body collapsing to the ground

You had blood splattered on you, and you could still feel the fear in your chest

You gave him a soft bow, wordlessly thanking him before stumbling back out

It was only when you heard a branch snap behind you that you turned around

He was still behind you

As you kept walking, he kept following

You really thought he'd just help you without something in return?

Jason Voorhees

He thought he killed everyone already, so how did he miss you?

How did he miss someone so cute too?

Oh, you're running towards him instead of away

This is odd

If he had been any other average sized person, you would have tackled him to the ground with how hard you collided with him

"I-I need help. Please!" you cried out, rushing behind him

He quickly took notice of the person chasing after you, them stopping in their tracks at the sight of Jason

Now, who's being hunted?

The stalker began to run the other way, not failing to notice the freshly bloodied machete like you did

However, with Jason's stride, it didn't take long for him to catch up and knock the person's head clean off in one swipe

He took a deep breath and turned back to face you, expecting you to be running for the hills

Instead, you ran up and hugged him, thanking him through your tears

You weren't... scared?

He had no idea what to do, so he just stood there while you cried into him

At least he was right about his earlier judgment

You were cute

Too cute to turn into just another victim

Thomas Hewitt

He was actually making his way towards you both

He thought you two would be good additions to tonight's menu

But the moment he saw you look at him in relief instead of terror...

Something in him shook

Before you could even say anything, he was guiding you behind him, some protective instinct overriding his usual hunter side

The person who was following put their hands up, saying that they "didn't want any trouble"

And in response, Thomas through a meat cleaver at their head

You about screamed but he turned around, looking at you softly

"I-I'm sorry. You didn't have to d-do that," you said barely above a whisper

He just shook his head and continued to watch you, some internal battle waging inside him

He really really didn't want to kill you

But what would his family think?

Only one way to find out, he supposes

With that, he hoists you up and into his arms bridal style, carrying back home

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba is about three times the size of the guy chasing you

So despite the unpleasant mask, you felt like he was your only chance at safety

He tilted his head in confusion

Normally, people like you run the opposite way from him

So the moment you're in front of him, heaving and shakily explaining what's going on, he feels angry

He might be a murderous cannibal, but Mama taught him some manners

He quickly whips out the chainsaw beside him, causing you to jump at the sight

Now it was the stalker's turn to be afraid

You were left in the woods for probably 15 minutes alone, still too scared to unfreeze yourself from the spot

It was only when you saw a large figure in the distance carrying something that you finally got your bearings

Bubba walked a little past you, holding the body of the man prior

He stops for a second and looks at you, motioning his head for you to follow

And what were you going to do?

Say "no" to the man holding a chainsaw and a dead body?

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms was already on edge

He never strayed this far from the mansion, and the fact that he was out this far made him feel very jumpy

So when he saw you running straight for him, he was ready to attack

Until he saw the desperation on your face

"Help! Please!" you begged him

And a cute thing like yourself would be difficult for him to deny

He saw the figure stalking after you, slowing down when they realized they had company

Brahms stepped in front of you and gave the person a challenged look

And it seemed to have worked, because the person began to back off almost immediately

He could have killed the guy, sure

But he wasn't going to be a threat anymore

Why? Because you were coming home with him

And once you're in his territory, there's no leaving

He'll make sure of it

Norman Bates

Norman wasn't even sure how he got there in the first place

All he remembers was being at home when suddenly everything went black

And now he was here, watching as some person runs up to him him in a panic

Before he could say a word, you were holding onto him, spinning yourself around so you were behind him

And that's when he saw another figure in the distance

"P-please," you suddenly croaked, "I don't know who that is. I was just walking home alone and I-"

He shushes you, his eyes still locked on the man

He could feel your head bump into his back as you bowed, muttering apologies to him

"It's okay," he reassured. "They're not going to do anything."

His brows furrowed as his face twitched

Maybe it was your cute panicked face, or the way your soft hands were gripping his back

But either way, Norman could feel his conscious fading out

He won't hurt you, though the same can't be said for the other person

He just hopes you'll still be there when he comes to

Billy Loomis

You were terrified, that was obvious

But he was honestly surprised that you seemed more scared of a random weirdo behind you than the notorious serial killer straight ahead

You grabbed his arm, not failing to notice the sharp blade in his dominant hand

"I-if you're going to kill me," you gulped, "Then fine, but can you please kill them first?" you motioned

This may have been an odd suggestion to most, but the worst Ghostface was going to do was stab you, but you had no idea what the other person's intentions were

The creep was only a few feet away now, their hand also donning a sharp blade

Billy wouldn't have normally entertained such an idea, but he knew you from school

And God, were you pretty

"Shit," he whispered

He twirled the knife around as he approached the figure, the latter already stepping back

It was an easy kill, and Billy was back to your side in no time

"Thank you," you bowed, head down and awaiting your fate

Instead, he grabbed your chin and made you look at his mask

He couldn't wait to see you at school the next day

Stu Macher

He could see you freeze the moment you were in sight

The Ghostface attire was already pretty notorious in the town, and he could see the worry on your face at the realization

And clearly, the person chasing you also felt the same, because the moment they saw him, they ran off the other direction

Tears began to stream down your face at this

Although, he couldn't tell if they were from relief or fear at that point

He stepped a little closer to you as you stumbled back

"P-please, don't, I-"

He dropped his knife and reached out to you in response

You shakily took his hand, obviously scared of what he was going to do

But he simply began walking you out of the woods, checking around for the creep

He walked you all the way home before giving you a small wave and running off, leaving you completely dumbfounded

He spared you?

It took you a few days afterwards to almost forget about the situation

Until you turned on the news

There was a report of a dead body found in the same woods you were just in a couple nights before

Another apparent criminal from the area...

You gulped, realizing it was your stalker as the phone suddenly rang

"Unknown caller"

Huh, weird

Vincent Sinclair

Bo somehow got him to leave that musty old building

But of course, he ran off to God knows where and left Vincent alone

So the moment he saw your figure sprinting closer, he assumed that Bo would be the one to follow

However, he quickly noticed that the man behind you was not his brother, and he suddenly felt dumbfounded on what to do

Bo would surely be pissed, but something about you told him you shouldn't become just another wax figure in his collection

So the moment you were close enough, he was stepping in front of you, some newfound confidence leading him

The stalker hesitated for a moment before finally stumbling back, leaving the two of you alone

"Thank you, thank you!" you repeated, your head instinctively shifting downwards

Vincent took a deep breath in while looking at you

Yep, Bo was definitely going to be angry

But oh well

You were just too sweet to let go stale

Bo Sinclair

He could hear your erratic footsteps rushing closer to him

And unlike most of the others on this list, he comes off as a seemingly normal guy, so of course you wouldn't hesitate to go to him

His cocky smile only widens when he gets a look at your face

A mighty cute thing, you are

"Excuse me? Sir, I think I'm being followed and-" your voice cracked

How precious

Surely too pretty and too soft to be made into hard wax, hmm?

He steps towards you, and you think he's about to help you

But no

He grabs ahold of your shirt tightly, muttering some smooth nonsense to your stalker about finding "a good place for this one"

Tears begin to stream down you face

How could you have so blindly trusted a stranger?

He leads the both of you back to some empty building that you assume will be the last place you'll be alive

But the moment Bo turns back around, a pipe is swung into the other man's head

He'd be a great addition to the museum

You turn to your "savior" in confusion

"Can't let a pretty thing like you go to waste, huh darlin'?"

All you can do is tilt your head down in a silent "thank you"

[ssapphosviolets]

Acts of Service

Sevika x gf!reader

Inspired by part of my recent work:

Sevika's job is cruel and grueling, but providing small acts of service makes her feel like a normal person at the end of the day. It's a reminder to herself that she's a lover, that she hasn't lost her way of caring, that she is more than her job. If it was up to her, her girlfriend wouldn't ever have to lift a finger again.

or; Sevika's acts of service

(lowk adhd coded reader bc samesies)

.oOo.

Sevika sighs when she steps foot into her and her partners shared closet, or should she say stepped foot onto her partners clothes. She sighs; not out of annoyance or frustration, maybe a little out of inconvenience, but she's unable to feel any real malice behind it. She's always known, even before moving in together, how forgetful and messy her partner could be.

Messy isn't Sevika's choice of words though. Her girlfriend certainly isn't dirty or slobbish. She just has a tendency to become very easily distracted, often leaving traces of her forgetfulness behind as her brain had already moved on to its next task. Maybe disorganized was a better word. But that didn't seem right either. It's not the first time Sevika has failed to capture her partner in words though.

It's not uncommon that there's forgotten clothes left behind as her girlfriend rushed to get ready for work earlier that morning. Or that there's jackets and sweaters left on the couch and the backs of chairs that had been forgotten about. Or that only Sevika's side of the bathroom sink has more than an inch of visible counter space. Or that there's a pile of laundry sitting on top of the dryer that her partner swore she would put away "tomorrow".

Sevika loves this about her partner. While at first her girlfriend was shameful of this forgetfulness, always profusely apologizing at the realization of her mess, Sevika had done more than enough to reassure her that she really doesn't mind. Sometimes to this day her partner does feel apologetic, but it's no longer from guilt or anxiety, it's more so out of frustration with herself.

Sevika appreciates that it gives her an easy service to do. For most people, coming home from work to almost tripping over a small pile of clothes would be enough to set them off. When Sevika comes home from a long day to a pile of clothes, she uses this task to allow herself a release from that hard and rough front she puts on all day at her job. It took 10 seconds to put away her girlfriend's clothes, and 10 seconds to be reminded of who she really is. She's still a human who has the ability to do no harm. Who is not only capable of loving, but also of being loved.

This mess is an indicator of her and her girlfriend's safety. She's safe, in their own home, where expectations and pressures are non-existent. Her girlfriend is safe, even feels safe enough to leave a mess in the first place. The ability to let yourself be messy around someone is something only a deep trust can bring about.

Sevika turns those 10 seconds into 30 as she chooses to fold up one of her own shirts, placing it on top of her girlfriend's side for when she gets home from work.

.oOo.

While her partner may be forgetful, Sevika always remembered. She never minded having to remember for the both of them. Though sometimes the questions of "Do you know where-?" can get quite repetitive, Sevika knows it's only asked because her girlfriend knows she has it handled. Sevika takes great pride in the underlying confidence and trust that her girlfriend has in her to take care of things.

"Do you know where my lighter is?" Sevika looks up from her place on the couch, where her eyes were buried in a book. "You have probably 10 around the house, babe. Which one?" She easily averts all of her attention towards her partner, not minding the interruption one bit. Not from her, at least.

"I don't know, just any of them?" She hears the opening and closing of drawers as she searches. Sevika sighs and shifts, her hand grasping onto the circular clipper lighter, and she gets a quick flash of pink and grey in between her fingers as she pulls it out. It's one of her girlfriend's lighters, to be exact.

"Here, Hun." She holds the lighter above her head so the girl can see it from behind the couch. She hears the immediate footsteps on the creaking wood of their living room, until the lighter is gleefully snatched from Sevika's fingers. Her partner leans over the back of the couch, pressing a kiss to the top of Sevika's head. Sevika's own hand snakes around to hold the back of her girlfriend's neck, and she tilts her head up to capture her lips before she has a chance to pull away.

"I want that one back though, it's always my backup for when you lose your other nine." Sevika teases, nothing but adoration showing through not only her eyes but her tone as well. She can't hide the smile that graces her dark tinted lips when she sees how flustered the girl gets.

.oOo.

Sevika has a love-hate relationships with mornings. She loves the quiet moments she spends with her girlfriend as they get ready together, but hates when they inevitably have to part ways for the day. So she cherishes every second of their quiet mornings.

She finally rolls out of bed when the bathroom light has remained on for a couple minutes too long, sleepily trudging through their shared bedroom to reach the light. She's met with her favorite sight: her girlfriend leaned over the sink as she does her makeup for the day.

Sevika was never one for makeup, but there was something so attractive to her about watching a partner do it. Maybe it was because she loves the femininity of it, or maybe it was the intimacy of being allowed to share such an important part of a daily routine with someone. She's too tired to really consider the "why's" at the moment.

She takes a step towards her girlfriend and presses her own front to her back, her arms wrapping around the girls waist. Sevika watches in the mirror as her girlfriend's smile grows. "Morning, Vika." Her partner mumbles tiredly, adoringly. "Morning, hun." Sevika responds in a similar tone.

She stays where she is as she watches her girlfriend brush on her mascara, before deciding she should stop being a lovesick little puppy and actually help out a bit. She pulls back only slightly, just enough to reach for the necklace laying down on the counter beside her. The necklace her girlfriend has had for years, that one piece of staple jewelry that she is never seen without.

Sevika wordlessly wraps it around her girlfriend's front, and carefully clasps it around her neck. Her girlfriend had moved on to her lipstick by the time the chain and charm rested firmly against her chest. Sevika grabs her rings next, and once she's sure her girlfriend can finish her task with a single hand, she softly grabs the other in her own.

She slides on each of the rings, knowing the exact placement of each one. She intertwines her fingers as the last ring is in place, and repeats the same process on her other hand as soon as the lipstick is set back down on the counter. Not a single word has to be spoken, but when they lock eyes in the bathroom mirror, a silent appreciation is made known.

[sastielsfandom]

Happy pride month. I don't get to celebrate much because I'm currently homeless with my family. Two of my sisters, my mom, her mom, and I are all just trying to make it by. We've all been in abusive situations recently and are trying to escape these cycles of abuse. I swear I'm on here constantly begging for help to keep us afloat as we're being tugged down. We deal with so much bullshit on a day to day basis if I didn't live it, I wouldn't believe it. We have people stalking us, stealing from us, trying to take advantage of my sisters car. All we want to do is have a roof over our heads, piece our family back together, and never be bothered by our abusers ever again. One was in jail but is getting out this month. The other is supposed to be going to jail but is evading the police and hiding my other sister. She is disabled and non-verbal, and is being physically and emotionally abused. It is torture knowing that no one is protecting her but everyone is protecting her abuser. We're drowning over here just trying to get on steady ground once again. Tonight we have nowhere to sleep and will probably run out of gas. We're running low on sleep because every night we're unsure where the hell we're going to sleep. This heat is killing us. And every step we take forward, we're knocked ten feet back. This isn't a battle we can afford to lose but we are. We just need help. If you can spare a dollar or two, maybe even five, it makes a difference. A dollar can be the difference between shelter, having money for food, or making sure we don't run out of gas on the side of the road. I'm putting a large amount down, because it's how much we do need to just keep going. I don't expect anyone to give us the full amount. Not with this economy. But if you have a dollar you can throw our way, and you do. Well, that'll mean the world to us. This is so long, and probably repetitive but I am exhausted and just trying to make it to the next day. So apologies for anything that doesn't make sense. Below is where you can help send us money. I appreciate you just sharing this if you have nothing to offer. It means a lot getting this out there.

0/$5,000

Paypal

Venmo

Cashapp

Kofi

I appreciate any help, from small to large donations, reblogs and shares. It all makes a difference even if you don't believe it does.

[echo-exco]

❝DOCTOR, I'M CHASIN' A GHOST, DO I LOOK LIKE HIM?❞

୨⎯ ┊BATFAM X NEGLECTED!HEALER!READER ꒱

✰ ৎ──────SYPNOPSIS: all you ever wanted was a purpose. something that would give meaning to your existence, your power. healing others was the only thing that ever made you feel alive, needed… until you ended up in that awful place.

✰ ৎ────── masterlist. | prev. | next.

You were in the same corner as always, sitting by the desk, your feet dangling slightly from the seat, elbows resting on the wooden surface, an open notebook in front of you and a pencil between your fingers. You weren’t writing at that moment. Just reading. One of the many pages you seemed to have copied and rewritten over and over again.

Medical records. Detailed, meticulous, with personal notes and small fragments of thoughts the patients themselves had said out loud without realizing it. Those were your favorites. You liked jotting down those details, even when they were repetitive or confusing. Masashi always said that was a good thing, that using boredom for something “productive” was a valuable habit for someone like you.

Back then, you almost laughed in his face. Not out of any personal contempt, really, it just struck you as funny, ironic, that Masashi, of all people, would talk about productivity like he actually knew what it meant.

Sometimes you wondered if he even understood what work really was. You loved him, of course you did. After all, he had saved you, given you a purpose, a name, a pretty room, white coats with sleeves that were just a little too long. But you also knew that, no matter how fond you were of him, he was downright hopeless at certain things.

If anyone was shouldering the responsibility in that clinic, it was you. Always you. The one who organized the files, the one who remembered to clean the instruments, the one who had to go fetch him because he forgot he had surgery scheduled with a new patient. The worst part wasn’t his messiness—it was the way he reacted when you tried to point out the problem. He laughed. Apologized. Sometimes he picked you up and spun you around like an angry little pet. “Oh, my grumpy little doctor, you scold me more than my supervisor in med school,” he’d say, as if that were somehow endearing.

You were grateful to be here, away from him. At least for now. Sometimes it was just too exhausting to deal with his pleas. You supposed it was because Masashi had a very peculiar way of asking you for things. They weren’t orders. He never phrased them that way. It was more like… “Wouldn’t you like to wear this for me?” or “Wouldn’t it be nice if you sat on my lap while I read your reports?” And since it wasn’t an order, it wasn’t that easy to say no. He asked with that gentle voice, like it was for your own good.

You, of course, wanted to do things right. You wanted him to be happy.

Even with Charlotte around, a girl who was brilliant, efficient, and didn’t have the annoying habit of talking in her sleep, Masashi still kept chasing after you to accompany him in things that had absolutely no clinical purpose. As if only you could meet his ridiculously specific standards for companionship. He said Charlotte was “too artificial.” That he could actually talk with you. That your complaints were endearing.

Charlotte was useful, sure, but she didn’t have a “soul,” he sometimes said. She lacked your charisma and sweetness. Masashi said it while laughing, but also a little too seriously. You, on the other hand, had a soul. And expression. And soft hands, he’d say.

You theorized that maybe that’s why Masashi preferred asking you to try on a new dress in front of the mirror, or to sit with him while he fed you like an ill infant. Sometimes he even held the spoon for you. You always said you could do it yourself, but he insisted you’d get tired.

It was obvious he cared about you deeply. You knew it because he said things like, “Can you smile a little more? My head hurts when you look sad.” And you didn’t want him to hurt. So you smiled, even if it didn’t always come out naturally. He noticed, of course. But he’d say you’d look beautiful when you smiled for real.

Still, you thought it would be wonderful if he put that same level of care and enthusiasm into his work as a doctor. He had so much talent. You’d seen him operate. When he focused, he was brilliant. But it was rare. Lately, he seemed far more preoccupied with you than with his patients. Sometimes you worried he wasn’t sleeping well because of you.

Once again, all you truly wished for was that he’d put that same effort into his medical duties. How many times had you had to remind him that scalpels don’t belong in drawers with pencils? Or that lab reports do not make good bookmarks? It frustrated you sometimes, how he didn’t seem to realize just how important he could be if he simply did what he was supposed to do.

But instead, he came looking for you to ask how you’d slept. Or to fix your hair with those combs he collected like they were family heirlooms. “You look so serious when you frown. It’s adorable,” he’d say. Adorable? What part of asking him for the fifth time to prep the operating room was supposed to be adorable?

But he said it with such affection that it felt rude to say no. Besides, who else would go through so much trouble just for you?

Still, there you were. Sitting with your feet dangling, going over a page full of names and symptoms, trying not to think about the fact that you kind of missed having to scold him.

Just a little. A very, very little.

You quickly straightened up in your seat when you saw Alfred entering your room silently, carrying a box of tissues and a set of fresh bedsheets. Not because anything was dirty, you hadn’t stained anything, or made a mess, or moved a single thing in all those days, months, but because he found it unbearable that your room felt so... inert.

Almost as if you were purposefully avoiding leaving any trace behind.

“Good afternoon, master Y/N.” He greeted in a soft voice.

You didn’t answer. You only lifted your head a few centimeters and gave the faintest nod, as if speaking would have been asking too much of you.

Alfred walked over to your desk. He began wiping the edges with a dry cloth, even though there wasn’t a speck of dust. He adjusted the pencils that were already perfectly aligned. He picked up a folded sheet of paper with a tiny butterfly drawn in the corner.

“You don’t have to do that.” You murmured suddenly, without looking at him.

Alfred gave a faint smile. “I assure you, this is part of my job, master Y/N.”

“There’s nothing to clean. I don’t make a mess. I don’t even use the desk. You can skip this room.”

“Impossible.” He replied with a slight bow of his head. “It would be a grave discourtesy to a resident of this house. Everyone has their space. And their space must be properly cared for.”

You shrank in on yourself a little more. Your shoulders dropped slightly, as if the mere presence of another person in your room made you uncomfortable. As if someone choosing to spend time with you was some sort of overdue obligation.

Alfred didn’t say it out loud, but he’d thought it before: she’s just like Master Bruce.

The way you withdrew. The silence that clung to you. The expression of someone who had accepted that they shouldn’t ask for anything, or need anything. Who believed that simply existing was already a burden to others.

It was the same look he’d seen on a little boy standing in front of two coffins, with an empty face and trembling hands doing their best not to reach out for comfort.

Only now, it was on the face of his daughter.

It was like watching time in reverse. As if the past had returned with a new face—but the same eyes.

And it hurt. He didn’t say it. He never would. But it hurt.

“Can I ask you something, Mr. Alfred?” you said suddenly, your voice soft, seeking permission.

“Always. And there’s no need to be so formal with me, Master Y/N.”

“Why… do you help me?” You asked out of nowhere. It wasn’t a question laced with bitterness or sadness, and certainly not with scorn or hatred toward the butler.

It was a genuine question. You were simply curious about the strange and direct care Alfred always showed you. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this, you’d long since lost count of how many times you’d tried to make him stop, tried to let him know you didn’t need to be treated like someone who belonged to this family.

You can’t understand it. You thought you’d made it perfectly clear that your relationship with this person was strictly formal. You didn’t need him to clean anything in your room or help you with anything, no matter how small or insignificant. You had no power over the city, and you didn’t do anything like your other siblings.

You’re not useful in this house.

And you’re definitely not anyone in this family.

Alfred paused for a second, without lifting his head. He pretended to adjust the corner of a notebook.

“I do it because you live here.” He said with all the solemnity of a butler. But his voice was lower than usual—gentle, as if he were speaking to a small, frightened animal. “And because you deserve to be comfortable. It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you need help. Sometimes, it’s simply okay to receive it. After all, you’re family.”

You lowered your gaze. You didn’t argue. You just sighed, with a kind of childish resignation.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him.

It was that you didn’t even know how to believe it in the first place.

Because the moment you show your true self… will Alfred really be able to look you in the eyes and say those same words? Gotham is no place for beings like you. This city, your own family, they would all deny your power, your purpose, your very existence and reason for being alive.

It’s painful, suffocating even, to think about what will happen if Bruce or anyone else in this house ever finds out about your powers. You don’t think they’d be capable of understanding. You had to find Masashi just to give meaning to everything you were, something to keep you sane and delay your inevitable collapse.

But was that enough? Was it really worth having that purpose at the cost of your innocence?

You can’t save yourself, so how do you still expect to save anyone else?

Alfred finished straightening the desk, crossed the room, cracked the window open to let in a bit of breeze, and then moved to check the wardrobe to make sure everything was in order. There was no need, of course. Every garment was folded as if no one had ever touched them.

“Would you like me to prepare something for tea?” He asked softly, pausing near the door. “Perhaps some vanilla cookies. Or a bit of fresh fruit.”

“I’m fine.” You murmured. “Thank you.”

You always said that. Always with that same awkward tone. As if being around him, or anyone else in this family, was somehow improper.

Alfred nodded. He didn’t press.

As he closed the door, he stopped in the hallway, hand still on the doorknob. He allowed himself a sigh.

Have I failed her too?

I failed Bruce… and now I’m failing his daughter?

Or is this family simply doomed to grow up believing they’re not allowed to ask for anything?

He knew Bruce was doing everything he could. That he was obsessed with that figure in the shadows, the nameless man who might still be out there, posing a threat to your safety while he remained free.

From the moment you arrived, you kept to the sidelines. Not out of rebellion, or visible pain, or even shyness. You simply acted like someone who was… passing through. As if it didn’t matter whether you got used to this place or not, because you weren’t planning to stay.

According to the files, you’d been through several families. None of them were especially terrible. No marks, no signs of neglect��just returns. The kind that never get recorded as damage, but leave scars on the soul. Families that “didn’t connect,” or “weren’t ready.” Families that got tired.

Alfred had read those reports on a night when Bruce couldn’t sleep. Because he couldn’t sleep either.

And yet… something didn’t sit right. Something felt artificial about the entire sequence of events. Alfred was far too old not to suspect when a story seemed too carefully designed to be harmless.

You… you knew it wasn’t true.

You had seen those documents by accident, stumbled across them by mistake. You flipped through those reports like they were silly stories someone else had written about your life.

You’d never been in any family at all. You don’t even think you’re capable of remembering your own mother.

Masashi had mentioned that he knew your mother. Apparently, they were close friends. Unfortunately, the woman died during childbirth, and poor Masashi took a couple of years to learn of your existence so he could help you.

Of course, there’s no reason for your newly discovered family to ever know about that.

Alfred knew Bruce felt guilty, for whatever you had been through and whatever uncertain future might still await you—even without knowing the details.

He understood.

Because he felt it too.

Maybe you would never see him as more than an old butler. Maybe you’d never understand why he changed your sheets every week or left a glass of warm water by your bed. But he would do it anyway.

Because you are part of this house.

Even if you didn’t believe it.

Master Bruce, he thought as he finally stepped out of the room, this time you won’t be able to postpone the conversation. She looks too much like her for you not to see it.

He closed the door carefully.

The tray remained on the table.

The cookies, untouched.

The tea, lukewarm.

You looked at the butler for a brief moment, then at the snack, a quiet gesture of goodwill. You lowered your gaze. You didn’t nod, didn’t refuse. You just went back to writing a note in your notebook, as if the conversation had never happened.

Eventually, Alfred would forget this conversation.

At least, that’s what you hoped.

Damian knew before the others. Not because Bruce told him first, but because he noticed.

The hushed voices between Alfred and his father. The long phone calls. The sealed file on the Batcomputer with restricted access. The closed-door meetings that not even Nightwing knew about. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together—not when you’d been trained by the League of Assassins.

A daughter.

A biological daughter.

Another one.

He said nothing for an entire day. He just thought about it.

He remembered his mother’s voice, sharp as a blade over tempered steel, repeating for years what he already knew: “You are the only son of Bruce Wayne. The rightful one. The heir.”

But it wasn’t true.

Now there was another.

A blood daughter.

A sister.

Damian felt a strange stab in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy exactly. It was… disorder. Something was wrong with the world, and it needed to be corrected.

He met you three days later.

He expected something. A threat. A fraud. Someone who walked with the arrogance of someone claiming what wasn’t theirs.

But no.

He saw you sitting in the corner, feet dangling from the couch, a cup far too big between your hands. Your gaze still, almost vacant.

You didn’t try to speak to the others. You didn’t approach when he walked in. You didn’t even look at him properly.

Damian felt irritated by that. By your calm. By your weakness. By your silence.

You were… soft. Fragile. Kind, even. When you spoke, your voice was patient. Nothing like what he expected.

You didn’t challenge him.

You didn’t confront him.

You didn’t look at him like an equal.

She knows her place, Damian thought with satisfaction.

That was good. That was right. The world needed order.

And you weren’t part of his world. Not really.

He watched you for days. Always on the sidelines. Never interrupting. You didn’t train. You didn’t ask for missions. You didn’t even complain when the others ignored or interrupted you. Not a grimace. Not a single unnecessary word.

You weren’t useful, but at least you knew you weren’t.

Damian clung to that idea tightly. He needed to believe it.

Not necessarily because he hated you. Not yet.

If you weren’t a threat to his family, then there was no need to eliminate you.

Only to keep an eye on you.

Sometimes he found you alone, reading medical reports or staring out the window. You always pulled away when someone entered. Including him.

That bothered him, too.

Not because he wanted to talk to you. Not because you wanted to talk to him. But because you were supposed to be his sister. Blood. And yet you slipped away like you weren’t.

He convinced himself that it was fine. That it was for the best. That you knew your place. That he, as the true son, the one meant to protect the legacy, would protect you, too.

Even if you were weak. Even if you didn’t deserve it.

Because now, you were part of this, too. And he wasn’t going to let anyone else touch what was already his— his family.

Not even you.

Damian couldn’t fully explain it. It was irritating. Exasperating.

The way you were always there, so quiet, so… out of place.

He had expected anger. Competition. A challenge. Something to prove you had the right to be under the same roof as him. But all he got was that damn look.

That look that held no fear, no defiance, not even a hint of submission.

Just… pity.

The same look he sometimes saw in civilians’ eyes when he returned from a mission covered in blood, before they recognized him as Robin. A blend of judgment and unwanted sympathy.

But from you, it was worse. Because you kept it to yourself. Barely looked at him, and still, you knew. As if you understood before he even spoke.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” He asked once. His voice low, barely a whisper.

It wasn’t a real question. It was meant to provoke.

You only looked at him from the floor, rubbing the arm he had twisted. “…Because you didn’t want to kill me.”

The answer froze him. Froze his chest and burned his ribs all at once.

What the hell did you mean by that?

You had said it in the same voice one would use to list a dosage, to recommend rest, professional. That’s what sickened him the most. That it sounded like you’d lived through it before. Someone yelling at you. Someone hitting you. Someone hurting you.

You just... accepted it.

"...It’s like you’ve dealt with tantrums before." He muttered later, alone in the training room, throwing his katana with such force that one ended up embedded in the steel wall.

Tantrums, he thought bitterly. You made him feel like a spoiled child, not the blood heir to the Assassin League’s throne he once was, not the son worthy of his father.

Still, no one said anything. No one took your side at that moment.

Not even Alfred.

As if everyone agreed. As if you had done something to deserve it.

And that sealed his idea.

You weren’t worthy. You weren’t strong. You weren’t useful. You had no training.

You had no instinct. You had no history. You were just... Bruce’s biological daughter.

That was enough.

Enough to be in his house. Enough for everyone to pretend they cared about you. Enough to take a seat at the table you hadn’t earned.

Damian didn’t want you in his house. He didn’t want you near, but he wasn’t going to let you go either.

It wasn’t because he didn’t want you. It wasn’t because you were his sister. Damian had already seen what the world does to the weak. If you were going to be so stupidly fragile, so pathetically useless, then he would handle it. He would watch you. He would decide what to do with you.

You were his responsibility. His burden.

His sister.

Later, when he recalls that first time he threw you to the ground, he realizes that what made him angriest was your emotional distance. You weren’t a victim. You didn’t cry. You didn’t run away. You didn’t even shake.

You just... waited for it to pass.

As if you already knew him. As if you knew that this too, over time, would heal.

The worst part was that, deep down, he was right.

Cassandra was never good with words.

Nor did she care to be.

She never considered them reliable. She saw them as disguises: fragile tools people used to hide, not to reveal themselves. She had learned from a very young age that lips could lie with elegance, but the body rarely knew how to do the same.

That’s why she didn’t need them.

That’s why she never relied on them to understand someone.

She preferred silence. The stillness between one breath and the next. The tremor in the fingers, the tension in the shoulders, the stiffness of a back, or the way someone avoided a glance. All of that spoke louder, with more sincerity, than any carefully crafted conversation.

With you, from the very first moment, everything was painfully clear.

No greetings or long introductions were necessary. Just a few seconds. Barely ten. That was all she needed to understand you.

You didn’t want to be there.

You didn’t want to talk.

You didn’t want company.

And the most obvious thing: you didn’t want her.

But she didn’t take it personally. It didn’t feel like a direct rejection. It was more like an old barrier, a resistance built with years of experience. A discomfort without a clear name, but dense, thick… as if you had been carrying a weariness for so long that you no longer knew how to let it go.

You were no stranger to the feeling of not fitting in.

She, who also understood that weight, decided not to push you. She didn’t force closeness. She didn’t try to sit next to you at the table, nor did she offer you forced conversations while you flipped through a book or ate in silence. She kept close, yes, but always on the periphery. She measured her steps. She guarded her presence like someone trying not to scare a wounded animal.

Because every time her footsteps got too close, you would tense up.

And that, though she tried not to admit it, hurt.

Not out of ego. Not because she felt rejected by you. What truly hurt her was seeing how that discomfort seemed more directed at yourself. As if being there, surrounded by people who wanted to accept you, was some kind of punishment you had to endure in silence.

Cassandra understood that. And decided she wouldn’t add her shadow to the pile. She wouldn’t be another burden, nor a presence that forced itself.

As the days passed, something started to change. Very little. Almost imperceptible, like the first hints of dawn after a long night.

Your eyes would follow her briefly. You lingered in the common spaces for a few seconds longer. Sometimes, you stayed in the living room, behind the couch, saying nothing, as if simply being near her was already an effort. A silent way of saying you wanted to belong, even if you didn’t know how.

As if you were trying to fit into a home you still found too painful to face directly.

Cassandra didn’t reproach you for it. But she noticed.

She observed how each of your attempts seemed to be born out of exhaustion. How your smiles seemed borrowed. How every word you spoke seemed to come from a corner of obligation, never from a genuine desire to be part of things.

You were forcing yourself to fit in.

That... that was what frustrated her. Not the fact that you kept your distance. Not your silence. Not your emotional awkwardness.

What infuriated her was the falseness of your effort. That lukewarm performance that tried to show affection, but only revealed your guilt. Or your fear.

Cassandra, who had spent her life deciphering these masks, couldn’t ignore it.

One night, she just couldn’t take it anymore.

She found you in the kitchen. You were holding your notebook tightly, pressed against your chest like it was an invisible armor. She had only gone to get a glass of water. She wasn’t expecting anything. She wasn’t looking for a conversation.

But you spoke.

"Do you like jasmine tea?"

It was a light phrase. Empty. Like a rope thrown into the abyss, with no intention of anyone grabbing it.

Cassandra, who had been watching you pretend a closeness you didn’t feel for weeks, responded without embellishment. Without softness.

"Why are you pretending you want to be here?"

The question wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t sharp. But it cut deeper than any scream.

And she knew it.

You didn’t answer. You just lowered your gaze, as if you’d been caught hurting someone, when in reality, you were just lost. Confused. Unable to fully understand why you were pretending something you didn’t even get yourself.

The silence that followed was thick, unbearable.

"You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to." She added. Her voice was still firm, but it no longer sounded like an accusation. "Just… stop pretending you’re trying. It’s fake. And you know it."

That’s what hurt the most.

Not your distance. Not your walls. What really stung was your insistence on faking an affection you didn’t feel. That small lie, repeated in every gesture, every look, every awkward effort.

For Cassandra, who could recognize good intentions disguised as lies, it was the breaking point.

She didn’t speak to you again. For days, not a word, not a glance, not a greeting. Nothing.

If she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t remember looking at you the same way after that.

Cassandra didn’t hate you.

It wasn’t hatred.

It was incomprehension.

It was helplessness in the face of your silent pain and your determination to keep pretending you wanted to be a part of it, even though every action screamed the opposite.

What bothered her the most… was that she still wished you would try for real.

But she did the right thing. She repeated that to herself many times.

You, on your part, never sought her again. There were no more words directed at her. Not even a glance, not even one of those tense sighs you used to let out when her presence overwhelmed you. You became a shadow that avoided hers. You slipped through the house as if she were a presence that hurt you.

In a cruel irony, that hurt even more.

Cassandra clung to the idea that she had done the right thing. That telling the truth, even if it was brutal, was better than continuing to feed a comfortable lie. That at least now you were honest. That you no longer pretended you wanted to be close.

Clearly, you didn’t want her company. Clearly, you couldn’t stand her. Clearly, you had stopped pretending.

So… why didn’t it feel better?

Why did she wake up in a foul mood? Why, when she saw you walking down the halls with your head down and your steps measured like you were an intruder in your own home, did she feel a twinge of frustration she couldn’t shake off?

Why did she keep watching you in the room, alone, hugging that notebook like it was an excuse to exist, her eyes lost in a dead point... and filled with rage?

It wasn’t at you.

She had already resigned herself to your presence. To the way you didn’t truly be there. To your absences even when you were right in front of her.

The rage was with herself.

With that part of her that kept waiting. That wished, at least once, you would turn around. That you would look at her. That you would say something real. That you would make that rejection, at least, feel personal. That it would hurt for the right reasons.

Because before, you used to pretend you wanted to stay.

That hurt.

But now, she couldn’t even have that.

Now, you were a wall.

Cassandra knew she should feel at peace with it.

She should.

Because she hadn’t pressured you. She hadn’t insisted. She hadn’t become a burden. She had done what was supposed to be right: leaving you in peace.

But every time she saw you interact with others in the same distant way, every time you disappeared for hours, every time you avoided any emotional connection as if breathing out loud hurt, she felt something inside her grow heavier.

Sharper.

It wasn’t guilt. Not like what others felt.

It was something else. A dull premonition. Like her intuition, the one that always guided her with such precision, was telling her that the wall was no longer just yours.

That now she was on the other side, too. That she had helped build it. That she, too, hid behind it.

Because it hurt.

Because she didn’t know how to face the pain with words.

So, she did the only thing she knew how to do: she ignored it.

Or at least pretended she could.

She told herself that it was just a matter of time. That you would eventually open up. That you couldn’t stay alone forever. That one day you would sit with them, without fear. That maybe, just maybe, you’d look at her again without that shadow in your eyes.

That one day, you would speak… with truth.

She would be there, waiting.

Because she did the right thing.

Right?

Right?

Even if now, for the first time, she no longer knew how to read you.

taglist. ( closed ! )

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[itsquakey]

In advance apologies for any grammar, spelling or weird repetitive writing- that's my schizoaffective disorder and it's kind hard to catch lol.

Well...happy 33rd birthday Kirby. I decided maybe now's the time to talk about the creation of this blog and my attachment to the series. This, unlike my past artist social medias when I was WAY too young to be posting art, is an account I have positive memories of. And the Kirby series is obviously something I've become attached to. The unique character designs and very convoluted lore is something my autism brain loves.

This year I'll officially be on Tumblr and in this community for five years, and even though once I'm out of college in mid-2026 I won't be able to be as active as I used to be I'd love to stay for another five years if you'd all have me.

I'm hoping to-once I'm out of school for the summer- continue the Nextgen AU I've had for a while, as well and introduce a new AU for fun, non-AU fanart both of the Kirby series and other Kirby artist's stuff, do artfight, etc because I'd love to try and get back into it all as much as I was able to do many years ago when I didn't have to worry about crazy college stuff. I really want to continue to befriend other Kirby artists in this community, so if you've been wanting to talk to me I'm free to dm anywhere.

Thanks to my followers, supporters, and friends I've made in this community.

[babydoll372]

Could u do the Wanda stalker one but inersex em x reader 🧎 please

Paparazzi

Pairings: stalker!wanda maximoff x governor!reader

Word count: 2776

Warnings: dark fic, stalking, smut, Wanda has a penis, audio recordings, masturbating (w), bratty!r, dom!wanda, jealousy, slight internalized homophobia (r), p in v, slight breeding kink, slightttt humiliation kink, some arguing, obsessive!wanda

The cameras flashed repetitively in your face as you held your hand up to block them out. You sighed as you stepped onto the podium stand, adjusting the microphone to your level and giving a half-grin to the audience of paparazzi and reporters. You wore suit pants and a respectable white blouse that had only one button undone, your makeup fresh along with your hair. Wanda was losing it.

Wanda stood behind one of the cameras, watching your every move through the lens with a smile. You weren’t popular, no, you weren’t liked at all due to your ferocious attitude as people proclaimed; but she loved you. She loved the way your lips moved with every sentence, the way you shut down inappropriately asked questions, the way you smiled sarcastically at men who aggravated you, and the way you still held so much power over the people who despised you. And best of all, you knew it. You knew it and you were unbelievably cocky about it.

“I will now take questions,” She heard your angelic voice speak, followed by a stampede of inquiries about different policies. She watched you subtly roll your eyes, giggling quietly to herself as she could imagine you strutting backstage to her someday and venting about the annoying antics you faced daily. At the same time, she’d simply kiss your lips softly and apologize that you ever had to face such an issue. After all, you were heaven-sent to her, she couldn’t handle the idea of you struggling.

“Y/N, when will you start handling the complaints of tax dollars being spent carelessly in this state?” She heard a small scoff from your end before you inched closer to the microphone, your eyes boring into the man’s soul.

“First off I’d appreciate it if everyone could actually listen to what I say when I speak. I clearly stated the answer to that already and I will not be repeating myself today. Next question.” Hands raised instantly again, everyone desperately wanting your attention on them for just a moment while Wanda could only stand back with the large camera in her hands, wishing you'd hear her and speak directly to her with intent.

“Ms. Y/L/N, the upcoming election is nearing and you are the only person we know of who is yet to sign up. My question is, do you plan to run again for the next four years or do you believe your time here is done?”

“I don’t believe that has any correlation to what we are speaking of today…but I’m not sure yet. And I still have a week to decide so I will be using them wisely.” You took about three more questions before stating your goodbyes, and Wanda hopelessly watched as you left the scene, your eyes never once trailing to hers. She could hear her neighboring cameraman speaking about your appearance once you left and the cameras quieted down again, and she felt anger boiling deep inside of her. How could he? Doesn’t he know you’re off-limits?

Later that day Wanda took her camera home and uploaded them to her computer. She was an independent journalist and photographer, so luckily no pictures of you taken by her were sent off to a company before she could admire them. While they were uploading she opened her email and took a shaky sigh as she copied and pasted your contact from a website she found, her fingers anxiously typing away each letter. She felt as though she was holding her breath for too long when she finished the paragraph, letting out a deep sigh of relief as she analyzed each word and sentence multiple times. She didn’t want to embarrass herself on her only try with you. The email read:

Hello Ms. Y/L/N,

My name is Wanda Maximoff, the founder of Journal Today. I have written to you today in hopes that you will extend your services in an interview with me. I would love to capture a side of you that people often overlook. I know that you are unsure about electing this coming term but I believe this interview will guarantee a new insight from the outside world about you and your purposeful work, making you a great candidate in the election.

I am available through email or phone, which is listed below. If you agree to this interview, you will be given the option to come alone or with any additional protective persons. You will be granted a free meal including drinks, appetizers, entrees, and desserts if requested. You will be allowed to look over my questions before the meeting and agree upon removals and replacements. Along with this, you will be able to choose the time and day. If you have any questions or an interest, please feel free to contact me whenever you are best accessible. Have a lovely rest of your night!

Wanda Maximoff

She clicked send with her eyes closed so she wouldn’t second guess herself even more, averting her tab to the files of photos now mostly uploaded. She quickly started to search them for the best-suited ones, yet had trouble getting through them with the growing tension beneath her boxers and with her inefficient timing to roam each one.

“Fuck, baby…you look so good…” She muttered under her breath as she continued scrolling, her palm suddenly finding her crotch as she let out a small, quiet moan. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, yet the image of you didn’t disappear as it played out in her mind while she leaned back in her chair, slowly unzipping her pants and easing her cock out of the confinements. She wasn’t entirely erect, but she was definitely growing harder by the second. She imagined your talkative mouth being shut up her length, replacing her hand that was slowly stroking herself. Your tongue enveloping her tip and soaking up her pre cum furiously as if you were driven off of it. She wanted your bratty attitude to change for her and only her. She wanted everyone to believe you demanded such high respect and class, yet only for her would you get on your knees and let yourself succumb to the degradation.

And as she came she moaned your name loudly, not caring if her neighbors somehow heard each syllable because soon they would memorize it. Once she got her hands on you…

—

“I’m so glad you took up the offer of meeting with me, Ms. Y/L/N.” Wanda giddily spoke, trying but failing to keep herself professional and requiring to take a sip of her hot coffee to hide her blush.

“Let’s please speed this up, I have a meeting in an hour and the ride is half of that.” You sighed, swirling your drink around as if you were uninterested. Wanda nodded and grabbed her audio recorder and started the quickened questions, also taking any notes she needed to remember later on, even if she’d never forget a thing you said to her.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking-“

“I hate when people start with that, just ask your damn question, Whitney.”

“I-it’s Wanda, actually…uhm, anyways, people have been wondering why the governor is lacking a significant other. While it may not seem to matter, it usually presents as a greater quality in a candidate when they are tied down to someone because it shows they are committed and usually a nicer person. Do you believe this may be a quality that’s been holding you back considering you are the only female in the running?” You stopped stirring your drink the moment a lover was suggested and brushed a hair behind your ear, trying to remain stoic.

“I…didn’t really think people considered that when candidates were running. Would you say you consider it?” You asked in a slightly quieter, more hushed tone, almost embarrassed at the lack of knowledge on the piece.

“Well…yes, generally speaking. It usually takes longer to get a sense of someone’s character when they are single compared to when they are married if they’re running for office. Even if you’re up against a cruel old man and anyone could tell you are the better option with more research, it just always helps to have a wife or, in your case, a husband.”

“How do you know I’d want a husband?” Her eyes widened and her face turned pale, her heart suddenly beating with an increased pace. Does that mean you like women? Or were you just teasing?

“I- I didn’t mean to assume, ma’am, I’m very sorry-“

“It would ruin anyone’s campaign if people knew they were gay, Whitney. I would love a wife, but that’s not in my future if I want to hold some sort of power and make some sort of change around here.” Your voice grew slightly higher, yet still in a hushed tone. Clearly, the topic upset you, the thought of never being able to love someone freely and being questioned on it hurt Wanda too. Especially when she thought of that being with you.

“Again, it’s Wanda…” She muttered under her breath, looking down in slight guilt at how you reacted. She didn’t receive a complaint on any questions she sent over to you, but she guessed you probably decided at the last minute to do it because your PR manager forced you to and didn’t even glance at the questions. Suddenly you stood up and grabbed your belongings, speaking as you did so.

“I don’t know why I just told you that- fucking idiot. Don’t you dare leak a thing I just told you!” Wanda quickly stood up beside you, trying to assure you silently that she wouldn’t, but she didn’t know what to say. Seeing you mad at her like this…infuriated her.

“Please don’t leave, ma’am-“ She grabbed your arm as you turned. “Don’t you dare fucking leave. I have worked my ass off to speak with you, I deserve a lot more than the disrespect you’ve been shoving in my face!” She yelled out, making others stare with curious gazes. You looked up at her with wide eyes, slowly looking around you and gulping your nerves away. For some reason, maybe it was her overpowering stance or her gorgeous face directly against yours, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no.

“…okay. Okay, I’ll…I’ll give you a few more minutes then.” You meekly got out, and Wanda grabbed her items and left some money on the table before taking you with her. You kept trying to ask where she was guiding you, but she didn’t answer. You ended up in her car with the audio recorder on the dashboard, Wanda’s eyes holding a frustrated look to them.

“Why are we in your car, Wanda…?” She scoffed, crumbling up her paper full of questions before throwing it on the dashboard as well.

“Now you want to remember my name? Huh? Who the fuck is Whitney?” You didn’t stare her in the eyes, your body feeling shrunken in her seat and under her intense stare. Suddenly, you felt her hand on your chin and gasped as she was suddenly much closer, her breath against your face with each word spoken as she forced your eyes onto hers.

“I asked you a question, so fucking answer me! Who the fuck is Whitney?! And why won’t you shut up and answer my fucking questions like I asked?!” You flinched at her tone but instantly responded in a quieter voice.

“I- I don’t know a Whitney, okay?! It was just to make you mad. And I don’t know why…I just- got upset, I guess.” She took a deep inhale through her nose and before you knew it you were off, her car speeding down the road as she’d shut your questions up. You arrived at an apartment not long after, and it didn’t take long for her to rush you in, the audio recording still going.

—

“Yeah? That feel good, Ms. Y/L/N?” You heard Wanda’s name faintly through the pleasure you felt. Your eyes rolled back as her cock pounded into your tight hole that greedily held onto her. She huffed with each thrust, smirking to herself as she watched your tits bounce back and forth and reached forward to grope them. Your nipples were painfully tweaked between her fingertips and you could only moan louder.

“Mm- more!” You desperately cried out, your mascara smudged around your eyelids. “Please…call me Y-Y/N…” She chuckled coldly, keeping one hand on your supple breasts as the other trailed down to your neglected clitoris. You whimpered in overstimulation, your orgasm nearing and ready to hit as your hips jutted and your waist moved with the rhythm she fostered.

“Oh, what did I do to earn this privilege? Tell me, was it this,” She pinched your sensitive bud and watched your mouth fall open in a joyful agony. “Or this?” She then lifted your thighs, letting them inch closer to your upper body as your legs fell near her shoulders, allowing her a new access point as she rocked her hips into your body. Her crotch collided with your pelvic bone that was covered in your smooth skin which would most likely bruise later on.

“T-that! Please let me cum, Wanda- I…fuck!” You felt her hand come down on your cheek, eliciting a further whimper.

“Don’t speak to me like that, baby. You beg me the right way or you won't get anything at all.” You nodded hopelessly as your eyes squeezed shut, your mind fogged with the impending orgasm you were chasing.

“Please, Wanda, I- I really need to cum! Please let me cum all over your cock!” She hummed, moaning under her breath, the noise making you shudder.

“What’s in it for me?” She had a dirty smirk on her face that you’d regularly want to wipe off, but currently, all you wanted to do was prove to her that you were good enough to deserve this.

“I’ll let you cum inside me, p-please! Please, I’ll do anything if you let me cum…”

“Yeah? You’ll have my babies? You’ll let me fill your womb up with my cum until everyone’s wondering who the dirty mistress is that knocked up the oh-so bratty Ms. Y/L/N?” You felt a tear roll down your cheek at not only the humiliation of your following nod, but by the edge you were held on.

“Oh, you’re so desperate for me…c’mon, you dirty little whore…cum all over my cock.” There were nearly no seconds wasted, your release soaking her length as she stuttered inside of you, her semen painting your walls a thick coat. She gripped onto your leg tightly, kissing along the skin of your ankle and calf as it was the nearest in sight to silence her moans. It took a few minutes before either of you were breathing normally again, and she slowly pulled out of you once you were ready.

“I’ll get you a change of clothes?” She asked, to which you tiredly nodded, the meeting you were meant to attend had long been forgotten about. You let your eyes shut, not watching as Wanda grabbed the voice recorder from her jeans pocket that laid on the floor. She then went to her room, took out the hard drive quickly and connected it to her laptop, pressing upload in mere seconds. She grabbed one of her shirts and shorts and returned, handing them to you along with a water she grabbed from the kitchen.

“I’ll let you rest for now but once you’re up we need to shower. That sound good, baby?”

“Yeah…Yeah, that sounds great, Wanda, thank you.” You lazily kissed her cheek as she grinned, helping you change into the clothing before announcing she’d be going to the bathroom really quickly. She walked back into her room and smiled at the wall in front of her, her fingers grazing over the hundreds of photos of you. Each one held importance. Some were when you didn’t know anyone was there, some were when you thought you were home alone, and some were from conferences similar to the one a few days ago.

“You are so beautiful, Y/N…I can’t wait to show you how much I love you.” She whispered to herself, slowly leaning closer as she pressed her lips to a few of the images, the ones that were her favorites. She glanced over to the computer still downloading the long recording and grinned wider.

“And I can’t wait to hear your voice all day long, my love…you’re never leaving me now.”