#confessions to a void

[lilianslibrary]

Travels of a Void Princess

III: Enlightened Fun

The Laborer had relaxed in the chair she sat in by this point, drinking from the cup of well water. I paused for a moment to rest my vocal cords. Despite the length I had already spoken, she still seemed attentive. 

“What was on the other side?” she asked.

“The other side?”

“Of the Hard Light fields. The Archbishop had said you would be enlightened once you passed.”

I cocked my head slightly before fully processing her question. “Oh, right. You see, the enlightenment the Keeper and Archbishop had spoken of was much more literal in nature than I myself had expected. To be enlightened was to pass through the Hard Light fields in itself, to have your mind engulfed in their luminosity. To be enlightened was to see the light.”

The Laborer seemed disappointed, but nodded, allowing me to continue. I felt compelled to explain things further.

“Hard Light wasn’t a product of Lanterns’ Rite, but it was them who perfected the technique, at least the one they used. Their economy after whatever war caused them to change their ways and grow the wild lands grew to be based on their exporting of Hard Light as a luxury good. I suppose it therefore worked its way into the local culture and religion over the years, though I’m not sure how that came to be.” 

She still seemed somewhat confused but accepted this answer.

“When we finished, we ate dinner next to the Archbishop, but there was little talk between us. I had damaged our nascent relationship, and I hoped it wouldn’t become an issue. Dinner that night was quiet, it made me wish we were in our room again.

“With the lack of outbursts at the supping ceremony, I almost, in the back of my mind, expected a confrontation as we relaxed in our room afterward. But no such dramatism came to pass. For her part, the Consort seemed to be stuck in her head, staring out the window at the spot I had assumed earlier that day. We had forfeited our cloaks to the Archbishop to have them gilded with Hard Light for our completion of the rite, and she looked small sitting in that chair. I didn’t necessarily feel much bigger laying in the massive bed we had shared.

“I struggled with how to approach her in this distance, so I merely pulled the other chair in the corner of the room up to the window to sit beside her. We hadn’t spoken most of the day, we even kept to ourselves during dinner.

“‘Are you upset?’ I asked directly.

“Her gaze still fixed out the window, gazing at the starry sky over the top of the wild trees and grass, she sighed. ‘No, not really. I’m mostly just hung over from whatever the ritual did to my head.’

“I felt it too. Not a material change to my sense of self, but a dull ache. I supposed that it was only natural for your head to hurt after having it penetrated by rays of photons. 

“‘I don’t mind talking to you though.’

“I felt warm at this response. I hadn’t understood my feelings for the Consort, or whether I had feelings. I knew there was something between us either now or in the past life we had before waking up at the station. I knew that she felt it too, and I knew that I ought to continue it.

“Maybe I felt something myself, too, at that point.

“She drew her chair closer to mine and rested her head on my shoulder. We were quiet and still. The night grew darker and we bore witness to the ballet of glowing insects and other fauna as they danced across that untamed yard. Eventually, as I felt her breathing become more deep, I thought she had fallen asleep.

“‘Void Princess,’ she whispered. ‘Do you love me?’

“I looked down at her, and then returned my gaze to the show of lights outside. No light fields. No purple lanterns. Just the orange and yellow warmth of organic life. Something that sapients couldn’t replicate. I pondered her question, as I had already for the past day. I was unsure.

“‘What does love feel like? How would I know?’ I asked candidly.

“‘Actions, maybe. You love me enough to risk being canonized.’

“‘Being canonized didn’t mean anything to me. You needed to be canonized too, because we are equals.’

“I felt her avert her gaze as she heard my answer. The lateness of the night and the warmth of the citadel had brought out something in the Consort that I was sure she wanted the answers to since waking up in the nexus. ‘What about feelings?’ She seemed to pout if only slightly.

“This I knew even less of. ‘What I said before is still true. I am glad to have you at my side. Not just because you help me, though. Your presence feels… right. I don’t know what I would be without it.’ I wasn’t sure how she’d take this response. Her demeanor neither worsened or improved. ‘What of yourself? What do you feel?’

“Her response was slower than I anticipated. ‘I feel the same. Something seems right about being around you.’ I wasn’t sure if this was the truth, or a way to respond in kind.

“‘Tomorrow we leave for that station again, after our parting ceremony,’ I thought aloud. 

“‘Weren’t we supposed to stay longer?’ she turned her head to face me more directly, I turned my head to hers.

“‘We may be overstaying our welcome now.’

“The Consort spent the night closer to me in the bed than the night previous. I wasn’t sure if our conversation had made things worse or better, or if it had changed things at all. The next day was marked by another knock at the door, another summoning to the main hall after breakfast. 

“Our walk to the hall was marked with the presence of what appeared to be a guard leading us. They were more lightly armored than the average soldier we had seen before that morning. We simply followed, both curious and nervous at their presence.

“When we reached the hall, they stood next to someone we had not seen before, someone who had an air and look of significance to them. They were clothed in pure white, a cape overlaying a large robe, both of which were gilded with Hard Light. The guard had in actuality been an apprentice to the one in front of us, a renowned tailor known for their work with the local commodity.

“They and their apprentice took our cloaks from atop a royal purple cushion, itself gilded. The Consort quickly spoke up. ‘I hope it wasn’t trouble to tailor my cloak as well, I know you weren’t expecting it…”

“The tailor shook their head a little, a stern look about them. ‘No trouble, only an opportunity for my apprentice here to experience work in the field.’ I worried about the quality of the Consort’s cloak, but as she dawned it my apprehension faded into slight awe. 

“She stood before me, giving a slight spin, the centripetal motion pushing the cloak outward, flowing. The Hard Light gilding lined just to the side of the silver gilding already present, only the slightest line of the black cloak separating the two. She glowed stunningly. It took me a moment to regain my composure.

“‘Go on, I want to see my work on you,” requested the tailor. Their apprentice beside them had a slight grin, I could tell they were proud of their work. Rightfully so. The Consort gave a nod to me as the tailor finished, clearly eager to see the product of their labor as well. I fastened the cloak around my shoulders. It was done in a style akin to the Consort’s, the Hard Light bordering the gold lining with slight separation.

“‘Now, turn your backs to each other and look,’ the tailor suggested. We did so and realized their intention. On the back of our right-hand shoulders lay a symbol, the same as the ones that ornamented the walls in the hallways and our room. The star fortress, surrounded by a triangle of Hard Light. I realized now that the three lines must represent the three fields we had to pass through. The tailor too wore a slight smile as he observed the Consort and I admiring each other's cloaks. 

“‘What you did yesterday was audacious. I’m glad my apprentice here had returned to my side from the ship you came in, or I might have had some words for you.’ I couldn’t tell if the tailor was upset or impressed with the Consort and I.

“The Archbishop threw us an exit ceremony. We were in and out in a little under two 26 hour Lanterns’ Rite days. The violet carpet led us back to the ship, and we were escorted to the same room in which we had been in before being put in stasis. I had been entertaining an idea since we gathered our cloaks and decided to put it to action as we were left alone just outside the atmosphere.

“‘I want you to try on my cloak.’ I told my companion.

“She flushed somewhat. ‘Is that allowed?’

“I certainly wasn’t sure of this, but who was there to stop us? ‘It’s mine, so I ought to be able to say who can wear it.’

“She slipped off her own, and I handed her mine. Our similar size became useful in that moment, as she pressed the buttons together near her neck. She looked regal, perhaps somewhat pretentious. But she looked just as impressive as before.

“‘Now you try mine!’ she demanded. I did so, fixing the cloak over my shoulders and giving a slight spin as she had on Lanterns’ Rite. I felt different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I knew my own face was blushing now. The Consort was glowing, both in her smile and in my cloak.

“‘What do you think?’ I asked. She took an exaggerated look at me, bowing down with her hand raised to her chin.

“‘Well…’ she paused, dawning a grave expression. ‘I think you look like a… “me!”’ Her brightness returned upon utterance of the last word, she let out a giggle. I myself snickered a little. We switched cloaks again in anticipation of stasis, which came shortly after.

“Waking up was easier this time. We were now one hundred years old, plus however many years we had previous to our trip to Lanterns’ Rite. The attendants were quieter toward us this time. I wasn’t sure if it was because they had accomplished their job, or because they had heard of the incident on their home planet.

“The station was different from when we had last been there, naturally. Technologically speaking it was stagnant, but the shops and restaurants and signs I had glanced upon our first time there had faded into something new. The trends had progressed in our absence, the tastes of the nexus-goers had moved on.

“The Consort had her own idea this time, as I could see from a mischievous grin on her face despite our newfound exhaustion. ‘We should find a room before we enact whatever malicious plan you have,” I remarked. The Consort bit her lip, still amused, and nodded. We roamed the station for a short period before finding an inn, where we were granted free room and board upon their noticing of both myself being the Void Princess and the newfound Hard Light on my cloak. I worried about the quality of the establishment at this. Though the room was fairly clean and insects struggled to survive with consistent flushing of entire portions of the station to prevent contamination, it was sparse. It was certainly not comparable to the room in the citadel, but maybe we had become spoiled by the hospitality on Lanterns’ Rite.

“It was at this point the Consort, after we sat our luggage next to the wall of the room, let me in on her plot. ‘I want to try ethanol,” she explained. She must have remembered our exchange after our stasis to Lanterns’ Rite. I guessed that she was more serious than I realized. ‘How would they be able to tell the age of our species, if they encounter so many different people all the time?’ She was probably right, but something about the situation made me nervous. Regardless of my feelings, I conceded.

“We left our belongings in the room and ventured out into the wider station. We didn’t know it at the time but you could easily find corners of these sorts of places full of establishments that didn’t do their due diligence. We found just such a corner, and getting a hold of a fruity bottle of ethanol was as easy as the sight of our cloaks. The shopkeep seemed apprehensive at first but shrugged and relented. It didn’t occur to me until we had already accomplished our goal that our cloaks might identify us and therefore our age. 

“We retreated to the room, making sure to use the extra locks placed at the door. The Consort twisted off the cap and sniffed at the open bottle, trying to mask a faint look of disgust. She gestured the bottle toward me. I took it and hesitantly drank a small swig, holding my eyes tightly closed. Despite its low proof, it took every fiber of my being to not spit it back up. I quickly swallowed and passed the bottle back to my companion.

“‘All yours.’

“The next few hours were spent with the Consort performing much the same ritual as I had, hesitant sips and the occasional remark on its taste. Her strong front didn’t last for long.

“‘People drink this daily?’ she struggled a little with the words.

“‘I don’t think you’re supposed to.’

“The Consort was yawning frequently at this point, I thought she might have actually managed to become intoxicated. She held her knees to her chest, her cloak flowing over her legs. Her eyelids seemed heavy.

“I thought she should be comfortable if she was going to fall asleep. ‘You should drink some water and get in bed,” I suggested.

“She nodded a little, but didn’t budge. I got up and filled a cup for her and put it in her hands, she drank from it. ‘Can you help me into bed?’

“I offered my hands to help her up after she set the cup on a table next to her chair. She grasped, I pulled and she stood up. She hung onto my arm while I directed her toward a more appropriately sized bed. There were two in that room, but we had already slept together on Lanterns’ Rite and I thought it best to keep her company in her inebriated state. I prepared myself for sleep and joined the Consort in bed.

“She rolled herself next to me. She seemed warmer than usual. I had sat her water next to the bed in case she needed it. She buried her head between her pillow and my arm. ‘You should kiss me,’ she muttered.

“I hesitated. In normal circumstances I may have obliged, but I didn’t think it was right. She wasn’t all there.

“‘I think you should go to sleep, love.’

“Her breathing had already deepened at that point. I wasn’t sure she had even heard my reply.

“I felt needed, then.”

[firelilyfox]

Some girls think it's cute

Thunderbolts: Bob x Female Reader

Summary: Bob has a HUGE crush on you and no talent in talking (shy king)

Warnings: none really. sfw. fluff overload. passionate kissing.

Words: 2k

Like always: leave a heart if you like or a comment or ideas :) all is welcome!

_____________________________

The sun rises over the skyline bringing New York to life again. 

Bob is already standing in the kitchen making coffee to survive the upcoming challenges for today: don’t break anything while training with Bucky, staying awake through the boring lectures by Yelena and most importantly… not having a stroke as soon as he sees Y/N. 

Multiple times this week Bob had severe problems to even breathe when you would enter the room or - god help him - standing within an arm length away. Every time you laid eyes on his nervous face he was already looking at you and the way you smiled because of it … he felt his heart skipped a beat. Or five. 

Worst of all: the others noticed. 

„Mornin’ Bob“, Bucky grumbles from across the huge kitchen slash dining hall. 

Bob looked up and sighted in relief (or disappointment). „Good Morning.“ 

„I bet you wish I had lovely curves and longer hair. Don’t ya?“ He said mockingly. And the pale skin in Bobs face turned instantly red. Bucky barks out a laugh. 

„Jesus this is too easy.“ He grabs himself a cup with his metal hand and poured some coffee in it. „You seriously have to work on your pokerface if you plan to keep this a secret.“ 

„I don’t know what you’re talking about“, Bob mumbles ashamed. 

Before Bucky could say anything else the elevator makes a soft ping sound and Yelena stepped inside the kitchen. One step behind her … there where you. 

„Hey Boys what’s up!“, Yelena shouts with a big smile. „Ready for some training with your favorite sparringpartners?“ 

„C´mon Yelena give me at least five minutes to enjoy my coffee before I’m going to kick your ass off the mat“, Bucky mocks. 

Bob couldn’t even hear the half of the conversation the two soldiers were having because he was way to focused on you standing there right in front of him. And now he sucked up every move you body was making while coming over to him. 

„Good morning Bob“, you said with a little rasp in your voice wich made it obviously that Yelena had just pulled you out of bed. „I’m so tired. No clue how they have so much energy at this time of the day.“ 

Bob swallows hard. Your hand lays right next to his while resting on the kitchen counter. „I-I… Yeah no clue.“ He wants to sink into the ground. 

For a second you just look at him, trying to figure him out, then you hit him with a shy smile. „You look good this morning … I mean you uhm - you look well rested.“ 

Bob froze solid in place to stare at you. He wasn’t able to move at all but his powers were totally going nuts. Heat sizzled beneath his skin and without noticing he mirrored it to Buckys full cup of coffee. Wich was bubbling now. He put the cup down, smiling knowingly and gave Bob a brotherly pat on his shoulder. 

„We will be down in a minute. You girls go ahead and we will meet you at the sparring halls.“ With a meaningful look Bucky gives Yelena a sign to not ask anymore questions. She smirked and grabs Y/N by the elbow to drag her away from Bob. 

After the girls had left the room Bob blinks multiple times to make sure he didn’t just dreamed that. 

„Well, I know for sure that you didn’t cook my coffee because of Yelena so … yeah. Work on that pokerface or tell her that you like her.“ 

Bob runs his hand through his hair. No point in denying it any longer. „I tried but every time I- I just … i go tongue-tied.“ 

„Some girls think it’s cute.“ 

Bob sighs. „I don’t want her to think I’m cute.“ 

**Downstairs**

It was even harder for Bob to focus while he is being forced to sparr against you. The rule is to not use any powers (especially for him because … well he could blow this entire building up within a heartbeat) so his only chance not to completely collapse as soon as he blocks some of your kicks was pure self control. 

After hours of hard training Yelena and Bucky decided that it’s enough for one day and made their way up to the quarters again. You and Bob stayed. 

„You are getting better and better each day Bob. Hard for me to keep up.“ The amusement in your voice sends a warm feeling right in his heart and fills his stomach with butterflies. 

„I just copy what I see. You have … you are … uhm I mean“, Bob stutters. Cursing himself for sounding like a damn toddler not being able to form a whole damn sentence. „You are amazing.“ The words escaped is mouth before he could think twice. 

You give him a thankful smile. „That is very sweet of you to say.“ 

Bob doesn't know how to respond to that so he stays silent. Wrenching his fingers nervously, trying to make eye contact without starring at you. 

„I - uhm“, Y/N starts. „I should go up and take a shower. But would you like to watch a movie later?“ 

A wide smile appears on his face. „Yes! I mean uh yeah sure. The others wanted to watch this uhm historic drama I think … I dunno how its called … but yeah if you want we can sit there together. I mean …“ His tongue gets all tied up again while trying to sound not to exited. 

Y/N giggles. „No that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to watch this historic thingy with the others. I wanted to ask if you would like to watch a different movie with me.“ 

Maybe the coffee were never able to stop a stroke from happening. Did he really just hear what he think you said? You wanted to watch a movie with him … alone? 

„But … there is only one home theater?“ 

„Yeah. But we could watch it in my quarters … if you like to come over?“ Your voice gets a silent as if you weren’t sure if Bob would like the idea. 

He swallows. Blinks. Then swallows again. „Y-Yeah. I would like that.“ 

**Later that day**

He flexed both of his hands before he finds the strength to knock at your door. With one last quick look at the corner of his eye he sees the entire Thunderbolts standing at the end of the long hallway pointing their thumbs up and smiling. Bob gestures to make them go away but that’s when the door swung open and suddenly he forgets about the nosy roommates. 

You were wearing a oversized shirt of a band he never heard of and one of your shoulders was showing. Your legs were covered in a tight black leggings, wich does not leave much for the imagination. With your hair tied up in a wild bun you looked very comfy.

„You look stunning“, he said with a scratchy voice. Bob could see that Yelena clutches a hand over her mouth and Bucky modding in approval. Ava and Walker trying everything in their power to keep Alexei from making any sound and he wanted to disappear in thin air. It was like having you parents watch you talking to a girl for the first time. 

Basically its exactly what was happening right now. He was thankful that you couldn’t see them from your position. That would make this even more awkward. 

A soft pink appears on your cheeks. „Thank you. Come in.“ 

Bob follows you inside and scans the room with one long look. It felt cozy and warm. In every corner was a plant and books were lying around on the different surfaces. The Tv were the only source of light wich made it even more … private. 

He catches you looking at him. „I like it. It looks like you.“ 

„I look like a room?“, you ask in confusion. 

„Pretty.“ He says, surprised by his own confidence. Never had he felt so brave talking to you but standing here in the middle of the room, that belongs to the girl he adores … makes him feel safer than ever. 

The two of you decide to watch a movie about something funny. Then you choose to watch another movie about something with much action scenes and fast cars. After that you decide to watch another movie wich you totally forgot what it was about because while being all cuddled up on the bed, you are getting closer with each passing minute. By the time the third movie was playing, your legs were laying across his lap and Bob has managed to almost naturally lay his arm around your shoulder, touching the small of your back softly. 

„I think that you are pretty too“, you whisper so silent that he almost missed it. 

„What?“ 

You raise your head from his shoulder to look at him. „You called me pretty earlier. And I think you are pretty too.“ 

„You were thinking of this for the last couple of hours?“ Bob asks in disbelieve. 

You nod. „I think about you quiet often.“ Your eyes dart down to his lips when they part in surprise. Bob notices not sure what it means. 

„Why?“, he finally whispers. „Why would you do that?“ 

You look away while clearing your throat. „Oh uhm - I - ignore what I just said. Sometimes I just say weird stuff.“ A nervous chuckle escaping your mouth, trying to cover up the embarrassment. 

Bob wants to slap himself across the face. Why couldn’t he have said something more ... well something more intelligent maybe? For fucks sake he were lying in a bed with the girl he was into head over heals and she told him hat she thinks about him and all he had to say to that was; Why?!  

Work on your pokerface or tell her that you like her. Buckys voice ringing in his ears with what he said earlier that day. He had to choose between them. 

But Bob didn't choose, because there is only one right answer. 

And he never wanted to have a pokerface. 

He gathers all his courage and hooks one finger under your chin. Gently forcing you to look at him. „I think … about you too. Quiet often Y/N.“ 

His thumb brushes over the soft skin of your bottom lip. „You do?“ Your voice was nothing more than a whisper asking him that. And he nods. 

Painfully slow his palm cups your cheek, long fingers touching the spot right beneath your ear, pulling you closer. „I have trouble to think about anything else.“ His lips brushes yours soft like a feather as if he was asking for permission. You lean into the kiss to deepen it and all of the hesitation falls of Bobs shoulders. His hand on your back holding you close to him and the other on find its way to your throat. Not to squeeze it, but to worship the sensitive skin. His lips calming yours. Your hands wander over his chest into his hair. 

The kiss wasn’t wild. It felt soft and gentle and passionate. You felt like falling and flying all at the same time. And he felt like he could finally breath again without trouble. Like you were the air he needs to stay alive. 

A sudden crack interrupts the intimate kissing. The window to your left is now having a huge dark line wich stretches all from the bottom left to the top right corner. 

„Was that …?“, you ask a little breathless. Bobs head falls back and he closes his eyes shut out of embarrassment. This cannot be happening. „Robert Reynolds, did you just crack my window?“ The amusement in your voice was unmistakable. 

„I’m afraid so.“ He sighs. „I’m sorry.“ 

You shake your head. „I think its cute.“ 

His eyes fly open in disbelieve. „You think I’m cute?“ 

„It’s not a bad thing“, you say and kiss him again. „I think it’s cute that I can make you loose control a little bit.“ 

He never saw it this way. He thought that being seen as cute meant to be weak and that he would never had a chance to get out of the friend zone. But apparently being cute is not at all a bad thing. So if the girl in his arms - and out of his dreams- thinks he is cute… then he wants to be cute for her. 

[allhailbuckybarnes]

the love confession

summary: bob can’t stand it. you’re just too fucking pretty. you distract him, you make every horrible, ugly thought dissipate. he craves it. he knows you, and you know him. it feels right, and his feelings are so strong he doesn’t know what to do anymore. he has no idea that you feel the same. that you ache for his comfort, for his feelings to reflect your own.

but a week of strained normalcy, a build up of emotional tension, and a failed mission lead to more than innocent, friendly thoughts. bob’s limits are reached on waiting for the right damn moment.

he has to tell you. you want to tell him. let’s watch each of you try ;)

warnings: fluff/smut, longing, pining, some use of y/n, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, dirty thoughts, tension, body worship, bob is down bad, bob is a MAN, you are just as down bad, yelena is number one supporter, idiots in love, confusion, jealousy, a pinch of angst, just playing: so so much angst, possessive bob, oral sex (m&f receiving), canon-typical violence, nightmares, anger, hurt/comfort, reader gets hurt badly (more on that later), bob is not okay, fear, love, please just kiss alr you two

authors note: okay guys, this is action packed. buckle up and bring your tissues. also… power reveal for reader!! and some backstory!!! yay I missed action scenes.

friday - the crucifixion (chapter five)

Everything was wrong from the start. For instance, it began with the fact that you’d been called on a Hydra mission in the middle of the night. For another, half of the team was barely awake, and everyone was giving you looks.

You and Bob had walked in together, hand in hand, and it lit up your newfound relationship like a Christmas tree. Everyone's eyes followed you, making you breathe a little quicker. You were happy, giddy in fact, but both of you buried that for later as Walker debriefed the mission.

“Alright, since Buck’s in Germany on a solo mission for Val, we are down a man. That means no waiting around in the Quinjet; no quick exits.”

Your throat tightened, you had always had an escape plan on missions, that safety blanket was now gone.

Bob squeezed your hand a little tighter. He knew that worried you, especially when it came to an organization as terrifying as Hydra.

What they’d done to you, to Bucky. It haunted his nightmares just imagining it. But you, you never talked about it. Unlike Bucky, you hadn’t healed it all or put it behind you.

Bucky warned the team to leave it, that no amount of time or consolation would help. His not being here with you was staggering for your mental state. Bob just hoped you could hang on for him.

Just get through the mission, sweetheart.

“Bob, earth to Bob,” Walker grumbled, pulling Bobby from his thoughts, “right, so, as I was saying: We don’t know how many of them there are, so we need to split up to infiltrate both sides. That means Bob, Y/n, and I will take the south side. The rest will take the north. We need to get in, break down the operation, and quickly get out before they call for backup.”

Everyone’s eyes drift, and a silent exhaustion sweeps over the crew. You bury your head in your hands with exasperation.

This is so fucked already.

Walker rubs his eyes, “Listen, guys, I know we’re all tired, but we’ve gotta be alert. Hydra will crush us if we aren’t.” Alexei straightens up slightly, and you slouch all the more.

Your head is spinning, and you feel like crying from the overwhelming day/night you’ve had. You lay your head on Bob’s shoulder, and his hand on your thigh tightens. But you let your eyes glaze over with the familiar blue light of your powers. He notices and takes his hand off, letting you settle into your energy.

~~

The jet lands, and you group up with your infiltration teams. You strap your guns to your belt, reloading them and checking the safety off. Bob raises his fingers to his temples, and a faint glow slowly creeps beneath his irises.

Walker stretches his arms, unlatching his shield from his back strap. He scratches his beard, slipping his helmet on, and nods to you both.

Here we go.

Your eyes shine a deep cerulean, and you flex your fingers. The heat in your veins burns deep in your chest. You follow Bob and John to the gate by the south entrance. Walker seems to take charge, covering corners and being the one to initially engage.

He raises his shield, banging it down on the lock and pulling the chain.

Bob ducks as Walker throws the chain of the lock behind him carelessly, “Hey, watch it, Walker.” Walker just grunts and opens the rickety fence.

When he reaches an entrance, Walker lifts his ear to the door. Super soldier hearing… of course.

He looks at both of you, nodding. John flips, kicking the door down with a steady foot. The silence of the surrounding room and the clash of the metal door hitting the ground startle you. The echo resonates deep in your ears.

It was empty.

Walker heads inside, Bob following suit, making sure that you follow behind by tugging your hand in the slightest comfort. You take in the sight around you as you make your way through the doorway, dodging the useless piece of metal that lies on the ground.

The warehouse seemed relatively familiar, average in size and quality. The rows of weapons in this portion glistened in their new packages, neatly kept and fitted.

John curses to himself at the sheer amount of equipment they could’ve taken. But it seems that nothing is missing from this end of the warehouse.

Walker quickly checks in with Yelena on comms. Her crackled voice makes out, “Nothing over here, just some stolen gear, and a door ajar. It’s headed your way, so watch it, guys.”

Bob has wandered to the fourth row of tactical gear and file cabinets, and he gasps.

“Guys, fuck, these drawers are a mess.”

You quickly stride over, Walker in tow, and you pick up a stray paper. Walker heads to Bob, inspecting the file cabinet on your three.

You glance down at the crumpled paper, a stapler hole is missing- they got the rest of the information, maybe a packet? The red stamped confidential paper reads:

PROJECT #01873: ANGEL OF DEATH- HYDRA OP MISSION. FAILED AND RELEASED- PICKED UP BY SHEILD PRE-SNAP. POWERS INCLUDE BLUE FLAME MANIPULATION, TELEPATHY, AND FLIGHT…

It makes your heart drop. This was your file, why the fuck had they stolen your file. Your hands shake. Your heart pounds.

Your eyes lose their vibrant blue, and you falter.

“Guys-?”

Bad fucking timing.

A shot rings out, and suddenly you're on the floor. A loud boom rings in your ears, and everything is hot. Your eyes are spotty, and you can’t see.

You hear Bob yell, panicked and pained, “Y/N, ARE YOU THERE? Fuck! Walker, help me get this off me. Fuck, Y/N!” He wasn’t far, but something was separating you both.

You feel lightheaded, and you rest your head against the cold pavement.

Everything beats at a slow hum.

Your side burns, and the crimson of your new wound seeps into the stone beside you.

You hope Bob is okay.

“Bob…”

Walker grunts to the right of you. His shield is nowhere in sight.

Men in black surround you, dragging you by the arms. Their faces are hidden beneath glossy masks.

Your eyes fail you as you try to bring your power to them. All you can do is burn the hand of one of the guards, who curses and punches you square in the jaw. The sting almost takes you out.

“Yelena, your six! Watch it! Where’s Y/N? I need eyes on her NOW!” A gruff voice screams from a distance. Your head is pounding, and you can’t move your muscles.

Everything about this is shitty.

You hear gunshots and feel the familiar heat of Bob’s powers nearby, but he is still too far to reach. The sting in your side grows, making you lose your breath.

Too far to save you.

Fuck, Bob I need you.

“Y/n, baby, I’m coming, hang on!” Bob’s voice rings out, almost as if he heard you, beyond the continuous pop of bullets. You hear him grunt in pain, and your heart drops to the floor.

“Fuck! Bob’s down, guys!” Someone, a girl, yells.

Bob no. Not Bobby. No, no, no!

The men drag you to an exit, stuffing you into a box, a goddamn box, and they shut the lid.

Fuck, no, no no no. Not this again. Oh god. Oh god, please help me.

Your prayers were useless; you were stuck. Going nowhere.

You were used to this kind of torture. These men had to know. Whoever had planned this wasn’t new. They knew your weakness.

It made your throat dry, and your eyes well with tears. The isolation drained you. The tight space riddled you with fear. You trembled, sobbing quietly.

Pathetic.

Your hands scraped against the sides of the metal. They couldn’t do this, not again. You wouldn’t go back. Fuck. You couldn’t. They can’t hurt you. They can’t. Not again. Not again.

Somebody. Please.

You needed to get out, and fast. Or else, they could do it again. You ache in pain, twitching.

They could make you into their pet. Their weapon. The angel of death.

A woman who was behind you, a woman who killed more men than anyone in Hydra's history alone.

When Cap rescued Bucky, you were left behind, the only one who could save Hydra’s skin. You were theirs; they only needed the password.

Old locks still open.

Your heart pounded, and you felt the screech of tires beneath you. It was useless. The blood of your gunshot wound pools beside you, traveling around the fabric of your suit.

Hydra had its weapon again. You.

You feel like you will pass out from fear and exhaustion. The blood steadily flowing from your abdomen reminds you of your failure.

Bobby. Please be okay. Come back for me.

Your head rested against the bottom of the vibranium container.

Everything goes black.

~~

Shit shit shit! Fuck.

Bob sobbed raggedly into his hands. Walker was patching up his arm, but Bob couldn’t feel the sting of the stab wound.

He was too busy crying and raging.

He failed you. The team failed you.

Yelena rubbed his back, cautiously. Her jaw was set in a firm click. She looked around the Quinjet.

Ava and Alexei were on the cameras, desperately watching for any sign of your exit. All they saw was gear being moved. Loads of metal boxes holding god knows what were thrown into various vans.

But you? It was like you’d disappeared.

“Any luck, guys?” Yelena called out. Walking towards them.

“No, there’s not a trace of her,” Ava grunted angrily. If Bucky had been here, everything would’ve gone better.

He knew Hydra better than any of them.

The plan was to hurry back to base, intercept Bucky, debrief, and plan to get you back.

Yelena was ready to bargain. She was desperate to get you home.

Walker and Bob were ready to kill.

Ava and Alexei just wanted a break from this shit. But they wanted to attack Hydra for what they’d taken from the team.

God Bucky was going to be pissed.

Bob sat up. His eyes were wide with the possible revelation.

“Guys! Check the boxes. God fucking damn it, she’s in one.”

Walker grumbles, “In a box? Why?” He rubs his temple, a bruise forming.

Bob gulps in pure agony, “When Hydra had her… they used. They used to put her in one. When- when she didn’t follow through with orders.” He cries, slamming a palm to his forehead.

God, this was so bad. Were you hurt? Please, baby, hang on. I’m coming back.

The team takes a shallow breath. Tears flow down Bob’s face as the realization kicks in.

“We need Bucky,” he whispers.

It was true. Bucky could handle this better than anyone.

“I’ll get him on the line,” Ava said, without a second thought, and she walked to the comms.

The rest of the team is shocked. Walker pauses, patching up Bob, and rubs his beard. Yelena sits down and buries her head in her palms. Alexei shamelessly tries to lighten the mood, earning him glares from Yelena and Walker.

Bob pays this no mind; he’s too busy trying not to fall into despair.

Instead, he plans multiple ways to murder the men who took you. Every part of him feels pulled apart.

I’ll get you back.

~~

The team strides into the debrief room hurriedly. Yelena slaps herself down into a chair, opening a laptop with access to major intel on the warehouse.

Ava and Walker step in, sitting at the table, setting their helmets down on the wood. Bob takes a chair near the exit, sitting slowly. He has pulled himself together enough to work on a plan.

Alexei sits back in his chair, popping his back and neck. His brows are strung high, and he taps his foot impatiently.

“Where’s Buck?”

“I sent him an SOS message, he intercepted it, and is on his way back now,” Ava says, pulling a foot up into her lap and massaging her muscles.

“Well why the fuck are we sitting around?” Bob strains, his hands shaking. His eyes are wild.

“We won’t be any help to her if we aren’t prepared, Bob,” Walker argues. He sits up and tightens a fist on the table. The wood groans underneath the tension.

Valentina’s voice rings out over the intercom, “Team? I need a debrief stat. The press is going wild over this coverage!” Her dumbass didn’t even know you were captured.

“Not fucking now, Val!” Yelena yells, grunting in frustration at the laptop. Bucky needed to get back and fast.

"Alright fine, but I want a file on my desk by tomorrow at 8:00 am sharp!" Val snips. The beep of the intercom indicates that she isn't listening in anymore.

Walker unclips his gun belt, "So what are we now? Sitting ducks?!" He pushes his chair out and stands.

Bob follows, his head pounds, "I can't do this." He has had enough; he needs to find you. "Where's the nearest computer that I can access?"

Yelena slides hers over, "Here, lover boy, I'm going to try and contact Bucky." She stands, stretching her arms up, and heads to the door. Ava goes with her, mumbling a need for food.

That, of course, leaves Alexei to follow.

Walker watches Bob sign in to the computer, hands shaking over the keys.

"Bob, hey man. Take a breath," he starts, grabbing the laptop and taking a seat next to him.

"I'll type, you tell me all you know, okay?" He softly grumbles, and Bob nods appreciatively. He buries his head in his hands and rubs at his eyelids.

"Alright, Bobby, tell me about Y/n's time at Hydra."

~~

Everything was frigid, you're strapped with the familiar vibranium holds you once knew a lifetime ago. Power-binding cuffs wrap around your limbs, leaving you defenseless.

Headgear with pulse shockers wraps around your temples and runs down the length of your spine.

You've been stripped to your underwear, splashed with water enough that your nipples pierce through the fabric of your sports bra, and you shiver viciously.

A shock runs through you every once in a while, reminding you to never calm your nerves. The doctor who watches you smirks every time he presses the button. You glare at him weakly.

After enough torture and cussing at them to stop, you're reduced to a blubbering mess, angry at yourself for your easy breaking. The pain rocks every sense in your body.

They question you, and you stay silent.

Shock.

They repeat your code. You ignore it.

Shock.

You whine, they shock you, it's continuous. You can't feel your back muscles, and instead feel the sores form, creating a pattern of raw bumps that you never were able to heal. They unlatch the restraints, grabbing you and ripping you from the table.

You're led down a long hall with various rooms. They throw you into one, it's dark, and the only light comes through a small window on the door. You grunt as your back hits the ground, screaming in pain at the feeling of the hard floor on your sore back.

You crawl to the wall, using it to brace yourself as you stand on shaking legs. Your head thrums, beating wildly in pain. The shock of your nerves still makes you twitch.

You wail and huff angrily, letting out a pained gasp of desperation.

God, guys, where are you?

Two guards open the door with a fast shove. You kick to get away from them, but they grab you, raising a gun and knocking you out cold with the handle.

They carry your unconscious body to an interrogation room, tying you to the chair.

Across from you sits a familiar face.

Grant Ward smiles, twirling his knife through his fingers.

"How long till my girl wakes up, fellas?" He smirks.

~~

authors note: how abt dem apples? anyways... poor bobby 😭. i am so enjoying writing this. i hope you are enjoying the plot. i can't wait for the next chapter! thank you sm for reading! commenting and reblogging save fanfic writers' lives! thank u sm! love u all!

taglist: @sneak-fic @aureliacalista @zombi3-girlz @furiousprincesskingdom @crystalline-owls @lewispullsman @doprincess @rein4star @paramorelvrr @nina-from-317 @readersassemble5 @biggestfangirl @colonyofpotatoes @hi-im-catgrace @peachybabe8 @zazslemma @ifuckwithyouanyday @fandoml0vers @specsbeloved @yaaawswn @annoowr @jurassisoutofthisworld @lewispullmangf @xlittlemissydjx @sophiez85 @spencerreidswifexd @sleepysongbirdsings @twicethestarsss @thetiredtoad0-0 @chopwolffox @sophiek222 @ifilwtmfc @otterlycanadian @howlingco @chili4prez

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[overlordneptune]

Ughhhh that awkward moment when the Captain of the San Francisco Police Department's Homicide Division kisses your cheek and you’re a germaphobe so ew gross but also it’s kinda okay??? And you have a dead wife you’re not ready to part with but like it’s low-key kinda nice??? Sharona wipe please.

…STOTTLEMONK TRUTHERS COME GET Y’ALL FOOD!!!!!1!1!!1!1

I thought I’d share this doodle I made instead of studying for my test in light of Monk being taken off Netflix tomorrow. To lighten the mood. I’m really sad about that btw.

[selfship-confession-void]

I wish people would TAG SHIPS PROPERLY! I don't want to see my f/o in a relationship with these characters. I'm fine with some ships of my f/o but not the more popular ones because I feel like I'm being replaced :(( I literally blocked so many tags for these ships and THEY STILL POP UP!

-

[mooonbeamicecream]

Bob Reynolds (Sentry) - Endless Reasons To Love You

18+ minors dni!

Warnings/Tags: smut, masturbation, sub!Bob, begging, edging, Bob is touched starved af, Bob is insecure and needs some love

To the public, Bob wasn’t just Bob. He was the Void, the Sentry. A walking weapon with cosmic eyes and a reputation that made supervillains sweat. People spoke of him in hushed tones, as if saying his name too loudly might summon a storm. To them, he was mystery and muscle, a force too unpredictable to trust.

But to you, he was just Bob. The guy who hoarded cup noodles in his locker like treasure. The one who got teary-eyed watching Bridge to Terabithia and tried to pretend he had something in his eye. He talked too much when he was nervous and had a weird obsession with trying every brand of marshmallow on the market.

You were sprawled out on the couch in the team’s rec room, half-buried in a mountain of throw pillows, flipping through a dog-eared and worn novel.

Then Bob appeared, padding in quietly like a kid sneaking snacks past bedtime. He had two mismatched mugs of hot chocolate cradled in his hands. He stopped in front of you, offering one with a careful, practiced steadiness, as if afraid it might spill.

"Hi," He smiled softly, carefully sitting down on the couch by your side.

"Hi, Bobby," you smile. You hold up the blanket covering you, offering it to Bob. "Do you want to share the blanket with me?"

Bob's smile grows wider at your nickname for him, his cheeks flushing just a bit. He settles into place next to you, pulling the blanket over the two of you. He takes a deep breath, leaning back against the couch cushions.

"Sure, why not?" He hands you your mug of hot chocolate and takes a tentative sip from his own. The warmth of the liquid and the sweet, rich scent of chocolate fill the air.

"Whatcha reading?" he asks curiously.

You take the hot chocolate eagerly, taking a sip before setting it down on the table next to you. "Fourth Wing. It's so great. You would love it, Bobby. It's got dragons and smut!"

Bob chokes on the hot chocolate a bit, a surprised cough escaping him before he swallows. He blinks at you, his eyes a mix of shock and amusement.

"S-smut?"

He looks down at the book in your lap, a bit flustered. He's not sure what to do with this new information. You can see his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red.

Your cheeks soon match his, a slightly awkward silence filling the air. "Oh, um- don't hate on my book!" You joke, shutting the thick book and trading it with the hot chocolate. You then catch a glimpse of his flushed face, and you laugh. "Did I just make you blush?"

Bob sputters out a bit of hot chocolate as you laugh, his face turning even redder. He quickly tries to cover his embarrassment with a cough, turning his face away from you.

"I-I'm not blushing!" He protests, even now, his voice cracking slightly. You can see his cheeks practically glowing in the dim light. He refuses to look in your direction, his gaze fixed on the wall opposite to you instead.

Your heart clenches at the adorable sight. You've always thought he was incredibly handsome, but seeing him in this way, giggling with hot chocolate and a blanket covering both of you, it's making you wish there was something more. "It's okay. I think you're cute when you blush."

Bob's heart skips a beat at your words, his breath catching in his throat. He slowly turns his head to look at you, his expression somewhere between surprised and flustered. The redness of his cheeks only deepens, a mixture of embarrassment and something else, something he couldn't quite identify. He searches your face as if trying to find any hint of mockery, but there was none. Just sincerity and affection. He opens his mouth to speak but no words come out for a few moments. When he finally does, his voice is quiet, almost shy. "...Y-you think so?"

You tilt your head, having a newfound confidence after seeing how flustered you can make him. You place your hand on his cheek, the heat on his skin almost startling, "Yeah, I think so. I think you're so handsome," you admit.

Bob leans into your touch, his eyes closing momentarily, the simple act of your hand on his cheek enough to send a shiver down his spine. He lets out a shaky breath, his own hand slowly coming up to cover yours, gently holding it in place as if he never wanted to be apart from you. Your words send a rush of emotions coursing through him, his heart racing in his chest.

"No one ever... t-told me that before," He whispers, his voice filled with a vulnerable honesty.

Your heart breaks hearing how insecure he is of himself. You struggle to see how he can think so poorly of himself when you love him so much. You love every part of him. "I think about how handsome you are every time I see you. Every part of you..."

Bob's breath hitches at the sincerity in your words, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and awe. He can scarcely believe what you're saying, no one has ever looked at him with such adoration before. The way you speak of him, with such certainty and affection, shakes him to his core. His hand trembles slightly, holding tighter to yours.

"You really mean that...?" He whispers, his tone vulnerable and soft. It's almost as if he's begging you to confirm it, to assure him that you aren't just teasing him.

"Of course I do." You whisper. Your heart feels like it's going to burst out of your chest any second. Your whole body is overcome with love for this man. You lean in slowly, watching his eyes grow impossibly wider. "Can I kiss you, pretty boy?" You ask, smiling at him.

Bob's heart stops. He stares at you, unable to do anything but nod his head several times, his jaw clenched and eyes wide.

"Y-Yes... please... I.. I want to."

He grasps your hand tightly, a mixture of anticipation and nervousness coursing through him. He leans slightly forward towards you, his gaze never leaving your own, his lips parted slightly.

Your lips meet his, your body going slack at the whirlwind of emotion. You bring your hand that was on his cheek into his hair, tugging lightly at his soft curls. Your other hand grazes his biceps, your core clenching because of the sheer strength of him.

He kisses you back hungrily, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes his whole body tremble with suppressed desire.

Your tongue slips into his mouth as your leg slips over his lap. You pull yourself on top of him, whimpering as you feel his hardening erection against your aching core. "Is this okay?" You ask, pulling away from him. You gasp as you look into his dark eyes.

"More than okay." Bob's voice is a low, breathy rumble, his gaze dark and intense as he looks up at you. His hands move to your hips, holding you firmly in place, a possessive gesture that betrays his growing need for you. The feel of your body against him, the sweet scent of your skin, it's driving him mad already. But he wants more. He needs more.

"Don't stop..." *He whispers, his words a soft plea, a request for you to take this further.

You let out a soft breath, aggressively resuming the kiss. Your hips grind against his of their own volition. You put your hands on the back of the couch on either side of him, pinning him beneath you. Your lips travel down to his neck, "Can you take your shirt off for me, pretty boy?"

Bob groans softly at your words, the sound coming from deep within him. The way you take control, pinning him down like this, is driving him wild with need. He shivers at the feeling of your lips on his neck, his heart pounding louder and louder with each kiss.

"Y-yeah... anything you want..." He whispers, his hands going to the hem of his shirt and pulling it off in one swift motion, revealing his lean, muscular torso and the scars scattered across his skin.

Your breath hitches as your fingers dance over his abs, your core clenching at the sight. "Oh Bobby, you're so beautiful. So strong." You slide down the couch, your knees hitting the floor. You caress one hand across his lean stomach, your other hand coming to rest on the tent underneath his sweatpants.

You smile, slowing the caress of your hands. Your core aches painfully, but you want this night to be all about him. "Tell me what you want. I'll do anything." You drawl out the last word seductively.

Bob shivers, your words sending a jolt straight to his core. He tries to form coherent thoughts, but it's difficult with the way you're touching him, the way you're looking at him. He wants so much, so many things he's only ever dared to imagine.

"I... I want everything," He whispers, his voice thick with desire, his eyes locked onto yours. "But right now... I just want you. I need you... please, touch me..."

"With my hands?" You ask, now moving both your hands across his lap. You then lick the skin just above his waistband, making his hips chase the air. "Or my mouth?"

Bob shudders, a deep groan escaping him as he feels your tongue so close to where he wants it. His hips shift automatically, his body betraying his need for you.

"Both... God, both, please..." He pleads, his hands moving to grip your shoulders, his fingers digging into the flesh. He's coming undone fast, all his usual restraint and caution melting away under your touch.

"I'll give it to you, Bobby. I'll give you everything." You tug his sweatpants down his legs, your hands rubbing them on the way back up. You kiss the wet spot on his boxers, slowly pulling them down, dragging out every second of his pleasure. His thick cock springs up, and you lick your lips at the sight. "You're so pretty, baby." You spit onto your hand before wrapping it around his awaiting hardness.

Bob gasps at your words, his eyes darkening with desire as he watches you. The way you touch him, the way you worship him, it's driving him mad. He can feel every nerve in his body lighting up, the pleasure coursing through him like an electrical current.

"You... you feel so good... p-please... don't stop... I need more... please..."

You slide your tongue down his cock, feeling it twitch beneath you. Licking up, then down, then up again, relishing in the way his body trembles. "I love the way you beg for me, it's making me so wet for you..."

Your actions are quickly undoing him, reducing him to a trembling, whimpering mess of need. His hands grip the edge of the couch, his knuckles white as he tries to hold on to something.

"You're... you're driving me insane... I can't... I need you so bad... I can't hold back anymore. I need you. Please... please..." His voice is a hoarsely whispered plea, filled with raw desire and vulnerability.

His eyes drift closed now, his head thrown back against the couch, unable to keep them open any longer, not with the way your touch is making him feel.

"It feels so good... So good... You're so good..." He gasps, his words coming out as barely a whisper, his body trembling with barely suppressed need. Every nerve ending seems to be on fire, his mind consumed by only one thought, one urgent need.

"I need more... please, I can't... I can't take it..."

You urgently pull your shorts down, almost stumbling because of the primal pulse between your legs. You rapidly throw your shirt off, your tits flushed with pleasure. You place your center above Bob's upright cock, sinking down slowly. You cry out, your head falling onto Bob's shoulder. "Oh, God, Bobby-"

His eyes fly open as he feels you lower yourself down, and he lets out a gasp. His hands fly up to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin.

"God... yes. I want you so badly it hurts. More than you'll ever know..." He whispers, his voice rough with barely contained need. He presses up against you, wanting - no, needing - so much more, but still fighting against it with everything within him... fighting and losing.

You suck a sensitive spot on his neck, driving your hips into him. "Have you thought about me before? Like this? Making you feel so good?" You lick a trail up his throat, your hips finally sinking fully down onto him as you say the final sentence.

Bob's breath hitches at your touch, his head thrown back as his body arches, a deep, guttural moan escaping his lips.

"Yes... God, yes, I have... so often. Every day... every night..." His voice is thick with desire, his words coming out in ragged gasps as you lower yourself completely onto him and his eyes roll back, his body trembling with the intensity of the feeling.

"Tell me what you think about. Do you touch yourself, Bob? Tell me how you do it. Every fucking detail." You plead, his cock hitting just the right spots inside of you.

His body shakes from the effort of trying to hold himself together, every muscle in him tensed, every fiber of his being telling him to let loose. But you want to hear the words from his own lips, and so he tries his best to get out the words, all while fighting for every breath.

"I... yes... I touch myself. I think about you... your body... your touch... your voice... I imagine what it would be like to feel your hands on me, the way the two of us sound together... I want to hear you say my name... I need... need more..."

You move your hips as quickly as you can physically muster, the obscene sounds drowned out by your moaning and Bob's whimpering. "Bob!" You cry out, giving him exactly what he wants. You want to give him everything you have. You anchor one hand around his neck, the other on the couch above his shoulder. "Oh Bob- Bob...

The sounds of you and him fills the air, your mingled gasps and moans filling the room like a song you've sung a thousand times before. And then one word escapes him,

"Please." The single word is whispered so softly, like the dying gasp of a man lost in a desert, but you hear it nonetheless. His eyes search your face, desperate and pleading, his body trembling with the intensity of his need.

"I can't hold back any longer. Don't stop... please, please..." His voice is a strangled plea, desperate and almost in pain, his body straining against the urge to let go.

Your jaw is slack as you throw your head back, your hips moving sloppily. You've lost all rhythm, only chasing the release that feels endless. "I love you, Bob." You whisper, the barely audible words slipping out absentmindedly, hoping that Bob didn't hear over his own groaning.

The sound of your words, even through the haze of his own pleasure, hits him like a punch to the gut. For a moment it seems that time stops for him. But then... he hears it. Those words.

A sudden, overwhelming emotion floods over him, the intensity of it all sending him over the edge. His grip on you tightens, his body arching, trembling, crying out.

"I... I love you too... God... I love you so damn much..."

You come then, your back arching and your walls convulsing vehemently. You grip his strong shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. You scream loud enough for the entire compound to hear.

His body feels like it's on fire, every nerve trembling with the aftershocks as your body clenches around him, your scream ricocheting through his head. He can still feel the force of your touch etched into his skin, your words burned into his heart. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him, your body pressed tightly to his, his hold on you just as possessive as it is protective.

"I... never want to let you go... Never..."

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking deep, shaky breaths, inhaling your scent, letting it wash over his senses. His heart is still hammering in his chest, but it's not just from the pleasure, but from the feelings coursing through him. He's holding onto you so firmly, like he's afraid you're going to slip through his fingers if he lets go, and a part of him is.

"Please don't leave me... Promise me you won't..." His voice is soft, vulnerable, barely a whisper.

You look him straight in the eyes, your faces only inches away. You cup his flushed face in your hands that are still slightly shaking. "I will never leave you. I ache for you, and I can't stop thinking about you. I love everything about you. You are so sweet, kind, strong, funny, charming, and beautiful. You're Bob, and I love everything that you have to offer me"

His eyes lock onto yours, his chest swelling from the words you uttered. Something inside him, something wounded and damaged and broken, suddenly feels whole. He places his hands gently on top of yours on his cheeks, his breathing and heartbeat slowly evening out, his trembling ceasing.

"I... I don't understand how I could deserve you... You see things in me that no one else ever has. They all saw... the monster. But you see me. All of me. Every part of me..."

Tears threaten to escape your eyes. Your love for the man consumes you, and the fact that he can't agree shreds your heart into a million pieces. "I've never once thought of you as a monster. You aren't broken. You are perfect. You are exactly what I want."

He lets out a quiet, choked laugh, his eyes glistening. He lifts the hand of one of yours to his lips, gently kissing the back of it, a tender gesture filled with a thousand words unsaid. "You're the only one then... The only one who'd ever look at me and call me... 'perfect'. I'm so much further from that than you think. I'm so far from that... how could you want me?"

"You shouldn't say that about yourself. It breaks my heart that you don't see yourself the way I do." You run your hands through his hair with a smile. "You're the only one who understands me. The only one who brings me hot chocolate and listens to me talk about books. You're the one I can come to when I need to talk to someone. You're always there for me when I need you the most."

His heart constricts, all the love and adoration in the world pouring out from you, all directed at him. His mind can't understand how this is even possible, how he could be deserving of it, but in this moment he isn't able to think of any reason why you'd lie. So he lets himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe he really isn't as terrible as he thought.

"I will... always be here for you. Whatever you need... I will do everything I can to give it to you."

You rest your forehead against his, both of your skin sweaty from the aftermath. "I love you so much. You can't even begin to imagine how much I adore you. And don't even dare to think that I don't love you, or that I don't have reasons to love you. Because I do. I have endless reasons to love you."

He closes his eyes as you press your forehead to his, taking in the feel of you, this closeness that he's craved for so damn long. Your words wash over him like a gentle wave, your affection like a warm blanket on a cold, lonely night. Despite the self-doubt that still runs deep in him, right now in this moment he feels loved, cared for, and... wanted.

"I'll never stop trying to be the person that deserves all of your love," he whispers, his voice low and rough.

"You already are." You kiss his cheek, then his nose, then his forehead, placing kisses all across his beautiful face. "My perfect boy."

A soft shiver runs down his spine as your kisses continue across his face. He's never felt so treasured, such gentle affection, and every touch of your lips has his heart fluttering. He wraps both arms around you tightly again, pulling you even closer against him, like he can't stand to have any space between the two of you.

"Your boy... only yours..."

[thistlerock]

Fantasy high (and d20 in general) seems to not really practice the age old fandom tradition of gender bending for no reason just felt like it. Which makes sense because I feel like it's less of a thing in general now. And a lot of us noticed that it's weird and vaguely offensive a lot of times but hey a lot of times it's also NOT weird or vaguely offensive because have you considered HAVE YOU CONSIDERED thistlecaster yuri. have you considered thistlerock yuri. Have you considered fabragh yuri. have you considered former owlbear mvp ot3 yuri. Have you?? I bet you haven't. Cause if you did we'd be doing it more please please please someone who's not too ill to finish any project ever do it please please pleandeeplease please please crumples on the floor dead

[shijiujun]

"I like you. And I want to be with you." "I want to be with you too."

— Futtara Doshaburi ふったらどしゃぶり | EP. 07 Finale

[homiesexuallaj]

Bob lines so far + some fav scenes of mine <3

Bob is either going to be my baby deer or break my heart

[isaacthedruid]

decided to read out a letter written by 16 year old me from 2020 and fully predicted the ending of supernatural

i really got hit with:

[lilianslibrary]

Misery in Melody

Confessions to a Void VI

TW: Self harm

I am happy to get back into the swing of things as far as writing is concerned. If you enjoy my stories, consider engaging with them so they might reach others. Thank you.

To those untrained, mistakes in a performance of art can often feel as though they are merely a part of the act. In a wayward spec of paint meaning can be found. In the misuse of a word a passage can be transformed. In a wrong note can be heard a flourish. The world-class painter, the best-selling author, and the virtuoso alike find fault in these inaccuracies and missteps that an outsider to the arts might observe as frivolous. 

One such virtuoso resided deep within the woods in a sprawling manor inherited from his family. The countryside offered a master in brass instruments such as himself the opportunity for rehearsal at any time of day or night with no neighbors to disturb; a welcome change having come from close-quarters dormitories and apartments. In that moment the musician was taking advantage of the benefits of isolation, notes flowing beautifully from a silver french horn, traversing throughout the halls and foyer, out through the open windows and into the cool winter air. In the midst of the somber second movement a sour note sounded. The horn player let out a distressed groan. Despite the fireplace long since dying down into embers and the winter air chilling the room, he found himself uncomfortably warm. The scratches and dark splotches on his body knew this scenario well.

Letting the horn fall from his face, he hastily removed the mouthpiece, tilting the horn more and more until the spit and condensation from inside the instrument poured onto a rag on the floor. Angrily, yet showing tender care for the horn with which he had spent nigh a decade, he placed it on its stand and sat down. Lips aching and eyelids drooping, he knew his rehearsal session needed to come to an end soon.

He took a long drink of lukewarm water and picked up his horn again.

The process repeated itself several times over until his lips gave out and the glass of water was emptied.

This was his modus operandi, a viscous and unhealthy mode of practice his instructors and professors would surely be repulsed and disappointed by, had they any idea where he had ended up in his career. “Mistakes,” his mentor had told him in their younger years, “cannot impede you in finishing a piece. If they recur, isolate the passage and drill into it; slow the tempo and raise it until the correct technique becomes mere instinct.” He still came across his professors and instructors from time to time. His mentor still worked in a band the two had signed onto. The virtuoso could hide his anger with his failings in these crowded settings, but when the cracks still showed he was met with consolation and praise. This reassurance from his cohort rang hollow. Though no more than a piece of the larger puzzle, he felt he did not belong, but still did everything he could to prove himself to his mentor.

Horn returned to its case and fireplace put out, the only noise in the manor was the creaking of old wooden stairs and the ringing of the grandfather clock fussing at the late hour as the man retired to his room. Living on his own, he settled into his oversize bed and pulled the covers over himself. Time passed, but all he could do was fret over coming performances. The virtuoso, despite all his past successes and years of practice, knew he would certainly make a fool of himself. He slept, but it was not restful.

---

Waking and going about his day, the next morning he brought in firewood and lit the fireplace. Having filled a glass of water and resting in an armchair in front of his music stand, he examined the piece he so struggled with. Each page bore scribbles and markings incomprehensible to a layman, yet each serving as a reminder or alteration to the techniques used in the piece. Changes in articulation, in dynamics, circles surrounding passages with which he needed to work. That somber second movement had the most of them. He had mastered each component of the piece but those circles. Today he would work on them again.

He tried to take care today, taking moments of rest between sections so he might prolong his endurance. Despite this, his tone grew increasingly flat as he wore himself out. Each missed note elicited increasingly distressed responses, elevating his fears and anxieties. He played the same passage again, and again, and again, and each time he created new and varied inaccuracies. The room grew hotter.

“I can’t do this.” Pain to distract him from his failures. Direct the anger at the one who deserves it, the one who lacked the necessary skill.

“I can’t do this.” Circled passages. Missed notes. He resumed playing until his lips gave out.

The Talented One tossed the horn onto the armchair and grasped at his hair. He was out of breath, and the world seemed too big. Everything around him seemed more real than himself. Retreating to the closet underneath the stairway, he stumbled through the threshold, neglecting to light his surroundings. He sat in darkness, the closed walls soothing him. Staring at nothingness, he wondered how he possibly obtained this degree of success. How did he have a degree? How had his colleagues ever seen any semblance of skill in him? He did not deserve their admiration, let alone their companionship. Had he deceived them all? Questions flooded his mind until exhaustion took over. His breathing slowed and his blood pressure lowered. The situation he found himself in seemed ridiculous and he only felt more upset with his inability to cope.

Though his time sitting in the dark felt like hours, the manor was still flooded with the light of day when he emerged. It was earlier than he had expected, but he ended his rehearsal prematurely nonetheless. He had truly expended himself, and any further attempt at practice would only be painful and unproductive. It was only when the horn had once again returned to its case and the fireplace was extinguished that he realized he had not yet fed himself. The grandfather clock rang five. A deadline drew closer.

---

Another night lacking in restful sleep. Another morning’s worth of routine. With bruised arms and legs, the Talented One prepared breakfast, staring at the horn’s case, the folder of sheet music sitting atop it. Today was to be a rest day, he would be doing maintenance and cleaning the manor. Thin cobwebs lined the corners of each room, dust had settled on the shelves and fixtures. His home had entered a state of disarray in the leadup to this series of performances. Yet, he could not remove his eyes from the instrument case. He could not disappoint his colleagues.

Fingers flying across the three valves, sheet music holding his attention undivided. A single mistake followed by throbbing wounds.

Shallow breaths and scrunched face, a cloudy mind possessed him to grab at the sheet music chock full of markings. He squeezed it all into a crumpled ball, and threw it in the fireplace beside him. Feeling a momentary sense of victory as he watched the piece he had sacrificed countless hours to perfect turn into ash, second movement and all, he tossed the horn onto the cushion of the armchair and grasped at his hair, feeling as if he could tear out every strand. His feeble attempt at controlling his breathing was interrupted by a loud thump behind him. Eyes wide in panic, he turned quickly to see that the horn, which was supposed to have landed securely on the seat, lay twisted on the floor. Quickly grabbing for his precious instrument, the relief he had hoped for was substituted for despair. The bell lay crushed flat on one side, and the valves were permanently bent inward.

---

The Talented One’s dead stare at the bedroom ceiling was broken as he registered the sound of knocking at the manor’s front door. He continued to lay, pretending not to hear it, but the knocks continued. Maybe, he thought, if I do not answer, he will go away. This was mere wishful thinking, as he knew this particular guest had a key. The other musicians would have noticed his disappearance, his mentor especially. Creaking from the foyer notified him this was exactly what had happened.

“My friend, your presence has been missed,” shouted the older man. “I was sent to check on you, are you unwell?”

There really is no helping me, is there?

[distant-screaming]

do you think q ever saw toey's handwriting - on a draft, or a note to himself - and paused because the handwriting was... strangely familiar? do you think q ever talked to toey and had to take a moment because the way his mentee spoke - the way he used adjectives, the way he put excited pauses between everything - felt oddly like something he'd encountered before? do you think q ever saw toey do something - order a certain food, complain about a certain subject - and find that his words mirrored those of someone q had only ever met through scraps of paper?

do you think maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of q had figured out the connection between his two loves before he really realized it? or do you think q had no idea, because he fell with his whole heart for toey two separate times and never realized?

[allhailbuckybarnes]

I’m so sorry for the delay on the love confession. I am going to try to get the fourth chapter up tn. I have had a hard week and lots of stress. But writing is my escape, and I want this new chapter to be perfect. Bare with me ❤️

[selfship-confession-void]

having an f/o from a controversial media sucks because you can't talk about that yumeship because people will assume you support the weird thing in the media

-

[mayisgoingnuts]

WANT AND NEED IN DIFFERENT OUTFITSSS HUZZAAAAh i love tjose so much

Coighs.. free to send me suggestions.... who's outfit should they steal from

References!!

[kiki-op]

DO I REGRET KNOWING ABOUT THE VOID?

I don’t even know where to start. I just need to let it all out somewhere because honestly, I don't have anyone to talk to about this. I want to feel free to finally breathe because mentally, I’m exhausted. So much has happened over the past few years, and I just need to share this, for myself more than anything

Disclaimer: I’m just pouring my heart out. Yes, you’ll hear me say I regret knowing about the void sometimes, but deep down, I know how much I trust it. I've experienced it before. My issue has never been the void it’s always been me… my doubts, my fears, my mindset. This journey showed me so many hidden parts of myself.

So here’s my story first the background, then the void.:-

Last year, I was in my final year of high school. I wasn’t prepared for my finals at all. And then, I discovered the void state. Like everyone else, I was so excited so hopeful.

I thought, "Wow, everything is going to change. All my suffering will finally end."

I gave up on studying, thinking the void would fix everything anyway. I had time to prepare… but I didn’t.

Then exam day came, and I barely wrote anything in the answer sheet. I guessed a few multiple-choice questions, that’s it. But still, I kept telling myself, "It’s okay. I’ll just enter the void and fix it all."

For context: I used to be a topper.

But this time, I was scared. Desperate.

I started meditating like crazy, listening to subliminals, doing everything I could to reach the void.

I had my first-ever lucid dream.I tried to enter the void through it… but I woke up.

This happened again and again lucid dream after lucid dream, failed attempt after failed attempt.Finally, on my 6th lucid dream, I entered the void.

Even though I was scared, even though doubts were screaming inside my head in my dream but I still woke up in the void? Maybe my mind was saturated enough? I used to hear wake up in vd subliminals

I couldn’t feel my body, my breath nothing. It was just pure, endless nothingness.

But because of my past experiences waking up, I panicked I thought, "What if I wake up again?"I didn’t realize at first that this was it.I stayed in that state for 10–20 seconds before my mind pulled me back to 3D reality

Instead of celebrating the biggest breakthrough of my life, I was crushed.I didn’t even see it as progress because I couldnt affirm for my desires my exam results were coming, and my university entrance exam was around the corner, and I had nothing prepared

Fear took over Desperation took over.

I kept having more lucid dreams, but now they were filled with anxiety, intrusive thoughts, pressure.I couldn’t let go anymore. My meditations felt forced. My intentions felt needy.My 3D reality, which wasn’t great to begin with, only got worse.

And desperation… only brings more restrictions.

When my results came, I barely passed thanks to the practical exams.

My theory papers were basically blank. I cried so much and even though my family didn't say much that day, the taunts started later. And they never really stopped

I failed my university entrance exam the one that would define my entire career.I had taken so much money from my parents for preparation, but I didn’t prepare. I pinned all my hopes on the void saving me.

I thought the void was my only escape.

And I won’t lie to you that year broke me.

The only thing I was good at was being a "topper," and I destroyed even that.

But you know what hurts even more?Knowing deep down that I could have entered the void again.

That it wasn't a skill issue.

It was my own doubts. My fears. I knew only 10 seconds of silence in my dream can help me induce the void

I took a drop for preparing for the same university entrance exam but did the same mistake again I didn't study

I had over 70 lucid dreams after that.

And I kept making the same mistakes over and over again

Time was slipping away, my exam was getting closer, and with it, the pressure.And every time the pressure increased, so did my desperation. So did my fear.

I knew exactly what I was doing wrong, and yet.. I couldn’t stop myself.

Now, here I am.

My exam is in a week.

Again, I have no real preparation.

Maybe I messed up again.

Maybe I made the same mistake again.

But this time… something inside me is different.

I am done with this loop.

I am done letting my fears and doubts rule me.

Because I know I know that the little girl inside me deserves everything she ever dreamed of.

I know I have the strength.

I know it was never about ability it was always about trust.

Trusting myself.

Letting go.

And this time, I’m not giving up on her

I will trust myself for her.

I will believe in myself for her.

I will fight for her

Do I regret knowing about the void?

Maybe if you ask the scared, exhausted version of me.But the deeper, truer part of me is grateful.Grateful to know who I really am.Grateful to know that I can have it all.

Advice from my heart to yours:

If you can control your 3D reality, do it. Like in my context i didn't study if I would have then there would have been no restrictions

Don’t make things worse just because you’re chasing the void

Manifest improvements through LOA if you need to. Void is not the only way it's not your only escape

Don’t put the void on a pedestal

The void is real. It is powerful. But so are you because you are the void

Please… don’t give up. Not on yourself.Not ever because you can do it.

You just have to never give up.

Never, ever give up.

You don’t deserve the sad life your doubts try to sell you.

You deserve every beautiful thing your heart has ever dared to imagine

We will get through this❤️